Angel's Assassin

by Laurel O'Donnell

  “Put down the sword, Damien,” Roke said softly from behind him.

  Damien almost instantly dropped the weapon for fear they would kill her. But then his fingers tightened over the handle. If they killed her, they would have no power over him. “You won’t kill her.”

  “Kill her?” Roke asked, startled. “What good would she be to me dead?”

  Mother removed his hand from her waist and loosened the gag, before pulling it from her mouth. Never once did he release his hold from her throat.

  A strangled sob escaped her lips.

  Damien couldn’t take his stare from her. He couldn’t look away from her light, for fear it would whither beneath Mother’s grasp. This was all his fault. He should never have looked at her. All those years ago when he had killed her mother. If he had only looked away. If he had only… But then, he never would have known her. Aurora’s light would never have touched his dark life. And he would rather die than never know her. “Damn you, Roke,” he growled.

  “I already am,” Roke said solemnly.

  Mother slid from the bed, pulling Aurora with him like a child’s play thing.

  Damien remained still. He needed to concentrate. Mother would make a mistake and Damien needed to be calm so he would not miss it. He needed his assassin skills to free Aurora. He needed the darkness inside him to contend with these monsters.

  “Put down your weapon, Damien,” Roke ordered.

  As an assassin, he would never be parted from his weapon, no matter what. If he put his weapon down, how could he stop Mother from hurting Aurora? He straightened. He would strangle the life from him with his bare hands. Damien locked eyes with Aurora for a moment, trying to instill faith, trying to reassure her. Fear radiated from her entire body. From one trap to the next. How had Roke gotten her? Damien left her with her father. “What happened to Lord Gabriel?”

  Tears welled in her eyes.

  “He is a failure,” Roke sneered. “But he did grant me a wife before his untimely demise.”

  Wife. It didn’t matter. Roke would be dead before he touched Aurora. Damien heard the gentle ting of metal against metal. He shifted his stare to Roke, without turning his head.

  Roke stood near the table with the torture instruments on it. His hand gently moved back and forth over the devices as though he were stroking a lover. “Some of these you’ve seen before,” Roke said, affectionately. “Some of these you have not.” Roke picked one up that had a sharp edged side and another side that looked like a claw. He studied it keenly. “I’ve never used any of these on a woman… before now. I imagine her screams will be just as loud as a man’s. Perhaps even louder.” He put the blade beneath the flame of a candle.

  Damien felt the stirrings of panic. He had to get Aurora out of here. If it were just him, he wouldn’t care about those instruments. He had felt their painful touch before.

  Aurora began to struggle. “Damien,” she gasped.

  Mother tightened his grip around her neck.

  Her struggles immediately ceased.

  Damien stepped toward them. “Get your hands off of her.”

  Roke’s taunting laughter reached his ears. “This is just the beginning. Mother’s hands on her will be the least of your worries.”

  Damien’s grip tightened around his weapon.

  “The longer you take to obey me, the longer her agony will be. It really is in your hands.”

  Damien grit his teeth. Slowly, he lowered the sword to the ground.

  “Kick it away,” Roke commanded.

  Damien used the toe of his boot to push the weapon across the room. It skidded across the stone floor, its polished blade glinting off the candlelight and sending reflected beams dancing to the ceiling.

  “Now the rest of them,” Roke commanded.

  Damien hesitated. He knew he could take Roke out like he had Cyclops. But Damien had no doubt Mother would kill Aurora. A violent twist of her head and her neck would snap. How he wished he had taught her to defend herself. But he had been there with her, so there had been no need. He thought he would always be able to protect her. Always.

  Damien took the two daggers out of his belt. He looked down at his blades. What a fool he had been. His reflections stared back at him from each dagger, one shadowed in darkness, one glowing in light, the man he was and the man he wanted to be. Two halves of the same whole.

  And then through the distorted reflection at the tip of the blade, Damien saw a table behind Mother, next to the bed. He raised his head. Five lit candles danced mockingly on the table. If he missed, they would punish Aurora.

  They were going to hurt her anyway.

  He closed his eyes, steadying his nerves, calming himself. He took a breath, opened his eyes and flung the dagger.

  It flew silently through the room toward Mother.

  Mother saw it coming and shifted his position.

  The dagger flew past him and landed with a thud against the small table. The table teetered for a moment, then fell, toppling to its side.

  Mother smiled; his grip around Aurora’s neck tightened. “You missed.”

  Chapter Forty

  Damien held his breath, ignoring Mother’s mocking smile. He watched the fire from the fallen candles catch the bed curtains and race up them like the wick of a candle being lit.

  With a puff, the curtain behind Mother ignited into a tower of flames.

  Mother swiveled his head toward the eruption.

  Damien moved quickly, sending the other dagger flying. As soon as the handle was out of his hand, he started sprinting forward, his arms pumping at his side, his legs taking large strides that ate up the distance between them. He had to reach Aurora.

  Like an arrow, the dagger flew straight to its mark, slamming into Mother’s turned head, just below the ear. Mother jerked with the impact and then stood absolutely still. For a horrifying moment, Damien thought the rumors of Mother were true. He was indestructible. Mother wouldn’t die, not even a dagger in his throat would kill him.

  Then, Mother began to crumple.

  Aurora lurched forward, freeing herself from Mother’s strangling hold.

  Damien caught Aurora around the waist with one arm and grabbed the dagger in Mother’s throat with his other hand, pulling the blade free. He turned, sheltering Aurora from the gruesome death, and kicked Mother back into the flames eating away at Roke’s bed.

  Damien backed three steps away from the searing flames that grew, climbing across the top of the bed, reaching for the ceiling. His gaze swept the room as he moved, coming to rest on Roke who slowly, patiently stalked toward them. For all outward appearances, Roke appeared calm considering the dire circumstances he was in, his trusted elite guard dead, his solar igniting in flames. But Damien wasn’t fooled. Roke’s thin fingers curved, claw-like, around the handle of his sword, trembling with the ferocity of his hold.

  Damien quickly drew the dagger through the ropes binding Aurora’s wrists. He allowed himself a second to gaze down at her, to reassure himself she was real and unhurt. His solemn gaze brushed over her face, touching every gentle curve. His silent reassurance eased the fear he read in her wide eyes, a fear matching the terror in his heart. But she was safe. And she would soon be free. His slitted stare shifted to find Roke through the flames.

  “Damien,” she whispered and touched his arm, a stroke of reassuring solidarity.

  “This must be finished here,” he answered. He led Aurora into the corner near the door, far from the heat of the flames. “If something happens to me, run. Do you understand? Do not let Roke get control of you.”

  Her hand tightened over his arm, her small fingers clenching into his skin.

  He looked at her with fierce resolve. The tears he saw shimmering in her eyes made his heart ache and his mind pause. Would she ask him to leave, to give up his mission? And if she did, would he have any choice but to take her away from this horror?

  “Damien,” she whispered again, her voice thick. “I won’t leave without you. So, you had
best not lose.”

  Damien’s gaze moved over her face in a grateful caress. She was so beautiful. So achingly lovely. His angel. He would give anything for her. Even his soul. Even his life.

  He looked back at Roke who had already crossed half the length of the room. “I don’t plan on it,” he said and walked forward to meet Roke. With Aurora safe, Damien could face his tormentor, his jailor, his master, unhindered.

  “You can’t win,” Roke hissed. “My men will kill anyone who steps out of this room unless it is me.”

  Damien showed no emotion as he lunged with his dagger.

  Roke swung the blade, knocking the dagger aside. “You think to defeat me, Damien? I’ve raised you from a child. I know you better than anyone ever has. I know what you want. I know…” His voice lowered so Damien had to strain to hear it. “…that you want to be good. That you want to be better than your father.”

  Shocked at the truth in Roke’s statement, Damien reared back.

  Roke slashed his sword in an arc toward Damien’s head.

  Damien ducked and whirled, but Roke had somehow moved quickly enough to cut off his turn. Damien backed just in time to avoid the deadly tip of Roke’s sword. Mentally, he chastised himself. I have to ignore Roke’s cunning words. He is guessing. He doesn’t know anything about me.

  Roke chuckled softly as the flames snapped behind him, giving him a fiendish aura. “You think I haven’t watched? Do you think I haven’t seen what rests in your soul?”

  Damien didn’t want to hear his foul words. He swiped at Roke.

  Roke sidestepped the strike, moving to his right. “You’ve always been different from the others. Stronger in spirit as well as physically. But this is a fight you cannot win.” Roke’s face seemed to transform as the light from the fire kissed it, caressed it, until it appeared long and gaunt.

  Damien didn’t waste his energy with talk. He scanned the floor for his sword. There was no sign of it. If Roke ever stopped speaking long enough to attack, Damien would be hard pressed to fend off his sword with only a dagger.

  “To win this battle, you need to be your old self, willing to fight heartless and dirty. Willing to win at any cost,” Roke taunted. “I don’t think you can do that with Aurora watching.”

  “Then you are wrong,” Damien snarled. He slashed at him, and Roke stepped back.

  “The old Damien, the Damien I molded, would not have missed.” Suddenly, Roke’s eyes widened in realization. His lips twisted into a mocking, terrible smile and he straightened.

  Dread and confusion filled Damien. What had Roke discovered to give him this new confidence?

  Roke lifted his sword, holding it out before him at arm’s length. Then, he opened his hand and dropped his weapon.

  Roke’s sword landed with a dull clang at Damien’s feet. Damien stared at it, shocked. What was he up to? Had he lost his mind? How could Roke stand before his most skilled assassin, weaponless? Damien looked back at Roke.

  “Can you kill me when I am defenseless?” Roke scoffed.

  He must have gone mad! Damien lifted his dagger for the final strike. He pulled his arm back to plunge the sharp dagger into Roke’s chest…

  …and froze.

  Roke’s grin grew in triumph. The fire flamed behind him, leaping and catching on the wooden beams of the ceiling, dancing to Roke’s victory. “You are good now, Damien. See what it’s gotten you?”

  Damien’s jaw clenched. How he wanted to impale him, to finally have the freedom he desired all these years, to have retribution for all the years Roke kept him in darkness and pain. But his needs paled in comparison to freeing Aurora. He wanted to kill Roke so she could live her life free from fear of assassins. Free from Roke’s deadly influence.

  Damien’s hand shook. He wanted to kill him. With every ounce of his spirit, he wanted to end Roke’s life. But he couldn’t. Slowly, Damien lowered his arm. He couldn’t kill him. Not defenseless. And he couldn’t let him live. “Pick it up,” he commanded. “Face me like a man.”

  “She did this to you,” Roke snarled in disdain. “She made you noble. She turned you into something honorable and decent.”

  Honorable? Decent? Stunned, Damien could only stare at the monster before him. He was honorable and decent? Yes. Yes! He straightened from a combatant pose to his full height. He almost smiled. With Roke’s acknowledgement of who he had become, Damien realized that he was truly free. After so many years locked in shadow and darkness, he had finally shed the image of the dark assassin and become a man of goodness, a man of light. Honorable and decent. A man worthy of Aurora. Triumph soared inside him, giving him strength and courage and conviction. He had become the man he saw in Aurora’s eyes. She had transformed him. Her love made him whole. “Yes,” Damien agreed. “And now you will surrender to me and be charged for the crimes you have committed.”

  Seeing the victory in Damien’s eyes, Roke’s eyes darkened and reflected the flames spreading to engulf the room. “I will not go alone. I will take you with me.”

  Damien shook his head. “No, Roke, I will no longer follow in your footsteps.”

  The red curtains on the floor behind Roke caught fire with an angry explosion. Burning embers shot into the air to mingle with the churning fury of flames bursting across the thick wooden beams of the ceiling above their heads.

  “Damien!” Aurora called in warning.

  Roke’s gaze shifted to her and loathing altered his features into contempt. “She is much more dangerous than I have given her credit for,” he snarled. “She cannot be allowed to live.”

  A crack echoed through the room. A large, burning piece broke off from the beam that ran the length of the room and plunged to the floor.

  The fallen timber sent a wave of heat toward Damien. He lifted his arm to fend off the blanket of searing warmth. The chunk of wood burned feverishly on the floor off to his left. He could hear the fire biting into the wood with hissing bursts of sound. Smoke started to form high above them, growing ever thicker.

  Damien gripped the dagger tightly in his hand, keeping his gaze focused on Roke. Throw it, a voice inside him urged. Throw it straight into his black heart and be done with it. Throw it now! His hand remained at his side, the dagger a powerless slab of metal in his fingers. He opened his fingers and let the dagger fall to the ground.

  Roke was on him immediately, his hooked fingers wrapping around his throat, pushing him back until he slammed hard into the wall.

  Beside them, the tapestry ignited, sending a scalding blast of heat at them.

  Roke released Damien and staggered back, covering his face from the gust of hot air.

  Damien ignored the wave blasting him in the face and struck back against his former master, hitting him hard in the stomach with two solid blows.

  Roke doubled over and scurried back away from the assassin, dashing across the room. He picked up a flaming side table and threw it at Damien.

  Damien swatted the small burning table aside as if it were nothing more than a pesky firefly. He took a step toward Roke, but stopped as he saw him bend to grab the dagger he had just dropped. The blade glinted in Roke’s hand.

  Around them, the room disintegrated. Larger pieces of the ceiling began to fall, igniting the furniture and the tapestries on the walls until the room roared like an inferno. The growing smoke and fire made it difficult to keep perspective.

  Damien’s eyes burned and he could hardly breathe.

  Roke smiled, showing his jagged teeth. He was the true monster.

  And then, a thunderous crack resounded through the room and the beam above them came crashing down. It struck Damien hard, sending him to his knees. A veil of blackness floated across his vision as pain ravaged his head. He struggled to stay conscious, forcing the dark curtain away from his eyes. He lifted his head to see Roke standing over him. Through the fog engulfing him, he watched Roke lift the dagger to strike. He tried to lift his arm, but it wouldn’t obey.

  Roke brought the dagger up high for the final blow
.

  The flames from the ceiling suddenly flared, spitting a steaming wind at Roke. He staggered back, covering his face from the tongue of heat lapping at him. The flames seemed to come alive, separating from the fallen beam on the floor and surging toward Roke. Like little fingers, the flames grabbed at Roke’s cloak. He whirled, trying to escape the fire. But it was everywhere, catching on his shoes, racing up his cloak. He could not escape the fiery tendrils as they curled around him in a hot, damning embrace. Roke opened his mouth and stretched out a hand to Damien.

  The thunderous pounding in Damien’s head, the roar of the angry flames all about him, prevented him from hearing what came out. The fire throbbed and surged forward, consuming Roke in its unrelenting hunger. Damien’s former master, his tormenter, disappeared in a sudden violent burst of flames. The eruption of heat singed the hairs on Damien’s arms and the scorching warmth flashed across his face. Using his last bit of strength, he turned away from the incredible inferno and the gruesome sight. The black veil again descended across his vision.

  Aurora.

  He blinked his eyes, forcing the dark curtain away. He had to get to her. He had to save her. He willed his body up, but it would not comply. He lay on the floor, seeing the fire blazing all around him. He could no longer hear its hellish roar, nor feel its scathing heat. Above him, the flames rolled across the ceiling like living clouds. Damien knew he wouldn’t reach Aurora. His strength was gone. He was using sheer willpower alone to stay conscious. She was safe. At least, Aurora was safe. Roke was gone.

  And then Damien saw the silhouette of a shadow coming toward him through the flames. Panic and disbelief welled inside him. Roke was alive! How could that be? The fire swallowed him up!

  In the next instant, Damien knew it was something more powerful, something more beautiful. An angelic figure floated through the hot firestorm. The flames flickered, but did not extinguish. Damien’s heart pounded. His eyes welled with tears. He must have died because she came to him through the molten flames, right through the middle of the raging blaze. She did not flinch from the heat; her skin did not darken and char. Aurora came to him, untouched. An angel.