Assassin's Kiss

by Paris Brandon

  Then what? She’d be able to run from them all? Hide for the rest of her life while an entire civilization was destroyed? She’d been hiding for years. What good had it done her? She could help Bastian now or become Fontaine’s pawn or the Brotherhood’s victim. Her choice. She chose not being anyone’s victim. The rationalization got her to her feet. Hunger prodded her to find some food she could manage.

  Hunger…and the smell of smoke. She almost ran in the other direction when she scented the campfires and roasting meat. Those who hunted them would be smart enough not to alert them. It had to be a village. That meant people and food. She couldn’t just walk into a village and ask for something to eat. Someone would remember her. But she could steal something—a small amount that could be attributed to a dog or a child.

  There had been a time when she’d first started running that stealing or eating out of a dumpster had been her only option. There weren’t any handy dumpsters around so it was going to be a piece of roasted…whatever. As long as it wasn’t moving or moaning when she bit into it.

  She knew how to be careful. She’d been doing that for years and if she were honest she was getting more than a little annoyed at herself for having to rely on Bastian. The heat that flared between them was one thing but she’d earned every shred of self-respect she’d managed in her short life and she wasn’t ready to give any up.

  When she got to the edge of the clearing there was just a lot of open space between the jungle and the back of the huts that formed a large semicircle. If she moved a little bit, she could see black smoke curl from between two of them. She smelled burning hair and grimaced. They hadn’t cleaned what they were roasting. A prickle of unease raised the hair on the back of her neck as she strained to see. She wished she hadn’t.

  A small adolescent male who had been caught mid-shift, lay on the ground. One still-human, sinewy brown arm was flung away from the furred chest that had been split open and set afire. His open, horrified stare at the instant of his death marked his handsome young face and would be destroyed as soon as the fire consumed him.

  There were maybe twenty other males, all human. Three wore long black coats and silver dagger-crosses swung from the chains around their necks. Brotherhood. Two of them held a struggling, crying old woman between them. Their faces were drawn into snarls that mocked the dead boy.

  The rest wore loose tattered and stained cotton trousers. They were bare-chested except for the crude wooden crosses hanging from twine around their sturdy brown necks as they knelt and chanted words she couldn’t make out.

  The old woman, her thin gray braids hanging limply on her sagging chest, twisted in the grip of the black-coated men while the third turned and started chanting over her. He raised a wooden club, embedded with iron spikes, and Kira wanted to scream.

  She couldn’t get any air into her constricted lungs. She felt the old woman’s fear and her own anger as she watched the man strike her again and again, chanting louder as the bloodied woman screamed. The two holding her didn’t let go until her screams stopped. Then they dropped her alongside the burning body of the adolescent shifter.

  The black-coated men were still chanting. She didn’t need to hear the words. They were ingrained in her memory. They were the same words someone had chanted over her years ago, someone in a black coat, wielding a silver dagger-pointed crucifix. She couldn’t move, unable to look away from the horror. She opened her mouth but the scream died in her throat.

  Sebastian clamped one leathery palm over her mouth, grabbed her around the stomach and yanked her farther into the jungle. She bit and kicked him and when she tried to turn in his arms, he loosened his grip and let her. She kept pummeling him, silent tears running down her cheeks. She beat at his shoulders, pounded his back and grabbed two fistfuls of hair at the back of his neck. Burying her head beneath his chin, he carried her as he ran, while her body convulsed with silent sobs.

  He didn’t stop until he reached the hidden camp he’d made the night before. Her tremors had subsided but when she slid down his body, her knees buckled and she landed in a heap at his feet.

  “Promise me you’ll never let that happen to me.” Her voice was as unsteady as her legs.

  He nodded when she glanced up—pale, tears still streaming down her cheeks. He didn’t want to think about that now. He didn’t want her thinking about it. He bent to uncover the cache of fruit he’d managed to find.

  “I should have known,” she said tiredly. “I thought I was good at this.” She rubbed her eyes and shook herself, looked as if she wanted to cry forever but was determined not to.

  He ripped a mango open, holding it out to her.

  She took a deep breath that ended in a strangled hiccup. “I’m not used to anyone watching me eat. I’m not used to caring about how I look. I just watched a kid who had his chest ripped open and I’m pretty sure his heart was torn out and burned. I don’t know if the old woman was his mother, his grandmother or just some poor soul who spoke up when she should have shut up. They beat her to death while she begged for her life.” There was a mournful acquiescence in her sad stare. “And all I want to do is get as far away as possible. I’m not getting away though, am I? I’m never getting away.”

  She reached for the fruit, took a bite and juice dribbled down her chin. She swiped it away, defiantly.

  He didn’t bother to nod or acknowledge her ramblings. They both knew it was true. There was no time to stop and try to convince her otherwise. She didn’t have a choice at this point. Fontaine was behind them and it looked as if the Brotherhood, with their superior transportation, was at least parallel to if not ahead of them.

  The three men hadn’t sprung fully formed from the jungle. They had to have a vehicle and his guess was that it was close. That should have been his first concern, not that Kira had been running, unprotected through the jungle.

  She was finishing off her third mango when he pantomimed steering a car and pointed in the direction from which they’d just come. She nodded.

  “I’d be happy to steal their ride and yes, I can drive anything they’ve got,” she said, wiping her hands on her jeans. She was still shaking but she was on her feet and she looked very determined. Or pissed off. He couldn’t tell.

  He was going to have to rely on an ambush and he was going to need Kira’s help. He pointed toward the village and smacked one fist on his open palm. She narrowed her eyes.

  “Well, I didn’t think they were going to hand us the keys. I suppose I’m the bait, again.”

  Pissed off, it was.

  * * * * *

  The only thing scarier than an outright thug who wanted to kill you for money was someone who truly believed that a higher power had directed him to destroy you. Of course, using that logic, Bastian should have been the scariest. At the moment, he was all she had.

  She was through being scared. She hoped. The purr of the large engine made her gut clench but at least she wasn’t standing in the middle of the road ready to flash her naked breasts. Instead of using her as bait, Bastian had opted for the much simpler lift-a-gigantic-tree-into-the-middle-of-the-road, plan. Worked for her.

  She’d never had the guts to steal a Hummer before. People who owned Hummers tended to not be happy with insurance reimbursements. They wanted to go Terminator on your ass. They’d have to get in line.

  One man jumped out of the mud-spattered vehicle before it stopped. Bastian leaped from the jungle, tearing the gun and the hand that was holding it away so fast that there was barely time for the black-coated thug to scream before Bastian slashed his throat open. Another man jumped from the back, rolled and got off two shots before the driver panicked and backed up, rolling the Hummer over his head. The driver was reaching for his gun when Bastian drove his claws through the man’s chest and jerked him through the window of the still-running truck.

  She should be used to how quick he was but it always amazed her. She forced herself to walk out of the jungle where she’d been hiding. She didn’t look at the bo
dies as she stepped over one to hoist herself into the truck. After what they’d done to the young shapeshifter and the old woman, remorse was the farthest thing from her mind. She glanced out the front window of the Hummer. Bastian was bent over the hood, breathing hard.

  She stuck her head out the side window. “I’m good but it would be easier to get out of here if you moved the tree out of the road.”

  He held up a hand but he didn’t look at her. Just give me a minute. That’s when she noticed the blood spurting from his back. By the time she got to him, it had slowed to a steady trickle and the hole was literally knitting itself back together, matting his fur in the process. He straightened and she saw the hole in his shoulder was going through the same process.

  She eyed the dried blood and matted hair before sliding a glance to the tree blocking the road. “Do you need help?” He raised a bushy brow and his lips drew back over his teeth in what could only be described as a grimace.

  “Fine, do your three-natured super-cat thing and I’ll drive us out of here,” she grumbled, glancing down at his large muscular feet with their three-inch claws digging into the dirt. “Unless you’d like to try,” she said, fear making her bitchy. Wondering if she could have helped him if the bullet had done more damage.

  He was good but he wasn’t invincible.

  While he moved the tree, Kira went through the men’s pockets, fishing out almost five-hundred dollars in cash from their wallets. Bastian hopped in and grimaced again when she rolled back over the hapless victim of the panicked former driver. Kira’s stomach flipped over at the feel of her sliding back tire but she swallowed hard and headed north.

  He hadn’t acknowledged her stealing the money but the couple of times she allowed herself a quick glance, she caught him watching her. It bothered him. Or maybe he was just seeing something he didn’t like about her. Tough.

  “Look at it this way,” she said. “We’re using the Brotherhood’s operating capital to find a way to thwart them. How’s that for rationalization?” She didn’t turn her head but she managed a corner-of-the-eye glance. She didn’t know what to call the sound that came from his chest up through his throat. A cross between a groan and a wheeze but it didn’t sound judgmental, exactly. Not unless she were being picky.

  “Okay, look at it this way. When we get to whatever town you’re leading me to and Juan the Guardian, who, I assume, is the answer to your prayers, you’re not coming with me. Because, it’s just my guess, but you’d attract way more attention than this Hummer that we’re going to have to ditch before we get that close.”

  He nodded.

  She slowed to a stop to make sure he understood and met his wary gaze. “Now my guess is that you’re wondering why you should trust me to give Juan your message. Am I right?”

  Again, the nod.

  “The truth is, no one, has ever given a damn about me until you came along. Maybe it’s the drugs they gave me that are screwing up my judgment, making me want sex with you more than I want to be safe. Maybe when they’ve worn off, we’ll both look at one another and wonder what the hell we were thinking. Maybe then I’ll run. But not before I try to prevent what we saw back in that village from happening on a grander scale.

  “Now, how close are we?”

  He held her gaze for a heartbeat then pointed to the sky. Wisps of gray-white smoke, the kind that could be seen from industrial sections of a large city rose through bands of orange, yellow and red. She looked down at her grubby jeans and shirt, her bare feet.

  “I think it’s time to fill me in on your plan.”

  She was shaking by the time they got out of the Hummer and Sebastian knew she was running on pure adrenaline. When it gave out she was going to come crashing back to reality. He thought about that while he drew words in the dirt and barely remembered how to write Sangre de Luna. That scared him. At least she was smart enough to figure out that he wanted her to use the temple’s name as the universal Jaguar Assassin password. The next password, the one that would let Juan know it was Sebastian, was trickier. He carefully scratched Lily’s name beneath Sangre de Luna.

  Kira arched a brow at him but the only explanation he could think of was baby and that wasn’t right. Lily hadn’t been a baby. She’d been sixteen, just as he’d been. But she’d been human, and worse, Juan’s daughter. He finally managed to scratch the word daughter in the dirt.

  “I’m guessing you’re not the only one who knows Juan has a daughter named Lily. So I have to assume she was important to you and he knows it.”

  Sebastian nodded but there was no way he was going to attempt an explanation. It was too hard for him to speak clearly now. He’d chosen duty to the Jaguar Council over life on the run with Lily. How ironic. But he wasn’t sixteen anymore and Kira was even more dangerous than Lily had been.

  Even before Alvarez had tried to control him with drugs, he hadn’t been able to stay away from Kira. He sure as hell couldn’t kill her. Not now, when he could smell her, taste her on the breeze, feel her heat. A self-satisfied smile bloomed on her face. She was reading him and she’d read correctly. He wanted her and she was damn happy about it.

  “Is this Juan going to know what I am?”

  There was always that possibility but he didn’t know for sure. He shrugged and watched her expression darken.

  “Pardon me for being selfish but what’s to keep him from killing me? I mean, if he’s a Guardian of the Jaguar civilization?

  It took half an hour of scribbling in the dirt and hand motions before she figured out that, if Juan killed her, he was also responsible for killing Sebastian and that couldn’t happen unless Kira guided Juan to where he’d be waiting.

  When she had finished copying everything onto the back of an envelope she’d found in the glove compartment, she glanced up at him.

  “And he won’t just put the word out that you’re to be sanctioned for dereliction of duty?”

  He still hadn’t made her understand that Juan was the only sanctuary he was likely to find for her when all hell broke loose.

  Frustrated, he knelt in the dust and tried to remember how to spell ally.

  Chapter Ten

  If the Hummer might have drawn too much attention in the open-air market, Bastian would have caused a riot. But it felt odd to be without him. Last night, she’d had a glimpse of what was happening to him. He’d panicked until he’d made her understand that Juan might be the only safety net she had if everything fell apart.

  All she’d been able to think about besides warning the Council, was the fact that old Juan might know how they could help Bastian from reverting to a primitive Warrior that he might never be able to control. If he never wanted to change, it should be his choice. The fact that he really didn’t have any choice but to trust her to find Juan relegated her once more to being a necessary evil but she didn’t want to think about that now.

  She was playing a part this morning and it was the only way she was going to get through this. The ultimate consequences couldn’t be factored in. With her bare feet and her wild hair she could pass for a crazy tourist, someone who would be sleeping on the beach and playing the guitar for money. Assuming different personas had gotten her through the past ten years. It could get her through this.

  She had money in her pocket and she could smell food. Food she recognized. Her nose led her to a stall where she could have happily spent most of the morning. She forced herself to eat the shredded pork and tortilla slowly, wandering around like everyone else. There were stalls full of fruits and vegetables, plaster saints and carved wooden crosses, used clothing and shoes. Who did she want to be now?

  Someone who wasn’t traipsing around barefoot, wearing damp jeans and a dark shirt. She wandered around and found, from separate vendors, a string shopping bag, a gently worn man’s white shirt, a macramé belt and a long black skirt. She purchased rope sandals two stalls over. She left the open-air market, made her quick change behind a stucco building and stuffed her clothes into the string shopping bag, reap
pearing as the average tourist on holiday. Miss Average Tourist bought a pair of sunglasses from an adolescent vendor and wandered aimlessly.

  The trick to appearing aimless was to become totally unconcerned and bored with your surroundings. Then, perhaps no one would suspect you were mentally dissecting the map that your lover had drawn in the dirt the night before. Another night that he’d remembered he could hurt her if he threw her down in that same dirt and took her, buried his cock so deep inside her… She shuddered, closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Focus. Find the museum, make a plan.

  The Calderon Mesoamerican Museum had morning hours, was closed in the afternoon and reopened for a few hours in the cool of the evening for tourists who wanted someplace to visit before their evening meal. Kira planned on wandering through toward the end of the morning session so she could get a glimpse of the Guardian, Juan, who also happened to be the curator. But first she had time to eat a little more and wander around, getting the lay of the land. It never hurt when planning an escape to know all available exits.

  She stopped for a moment to watch an old woman twist thin strands of wire around a rough pink quartz chip, smiled when she glanced her way and stopped working. The woman smiled back, a gap where one eyetooth was missing.

  “Someone as pretty as you has no need for my jewelry,” she flattered, and Kira almost laughed. Street vendors were the same everywhere but some were smarter than others. Kira had always hoarded money for food and necessities but the wire twisted quartz the woman sold was beautiful.

  “Here,” the woman said, holding up a pair of dangling ear wires, their green fire reminding Kira of the crystal back at Sangre de Luna. They even flashed yellow from their center. The woman held up a mirror and placed one against Kira’s earlobe.

  Her reflection always surprised her, perhaps because she so seldom looked into mirrors. She looked hard for the “pretty” woman the vendor had claimed to see, squinted and for a split second almost saw her reflected, instead of the tired, messy fugitive who was pretending to be someone she wasn’t.