Heart of the Assassins (An Academy of Assassins Novel Book 2)

by Stacey Brutger

  To her surprise, Ryder sported claws and fangs, his large frame bulking up even further. He brought up his shield, and held his ground while the giant tried to pound him into the ground, Ryder’s feet sliding across the stone surface. On the fourth hit, the shield cracked and began to splinter, and the crowd went wild.

  On an upward swing, Ryder grabbed the handle of the maul. When the cyclops shook his weapon, trying to dislodge the wolf, Ryder used the momentum to leap toward the cyclops’ face. Using what remained of his shield, he launched the wooden spikes at the cyclops’ vulnerable eye.

  On the third try, the last makeshift spear struck true. The cyclops roared and began to cartwheel his arms, one lucky swing sending Ryder flying through the air. He hit hard and rolled. The giant didn’t hesitate, though he couldn’t see, and began stomping the ground, until the arena’s floor shook with the force.

  “Get up!” Morgan jumped to her feet, yelling at Ryder at the top of her lungs.

  He didn’t hesitate, his wolf bursting from his skin in the next second, and began to nip and tear into the cyclops. Without his sight, the cyclops became easy prey…as long as Ryder could continue to avoid the wild swings of the giant’s meaty fists.

  The ground began to shake, and Morgan twisted to see the leshy shoot vines through the stone floor, displacing the cobblestones. The vines erupted a few feet away from Draven, trying to ensnare the siren. Morgan had always admired the graceful way Draven could move, never more so than now as he leapt, spun, and twisted out of the way as vine after vine shot through the air, trying to impale him. But Morgan knew he wouldn’t be able to keep it up indefinitely.

  The leshy seemed to grow, his feet becoming rooted…until he was able to draw strength from the very ground where he stood.

  Draven must have realized the same thing. The leshy should’ve been a lush green, but his translucent skin made him appear almost black. His long hair of branches and beard of moss framed yellow eyes that oozed a dark, sappy liquid. More vines shot from the creature as the stems continued to thicken, resembling a tangled mess from trying and failing to ensnare its prey.

  Draven gave a cocky smile and grabbed hold of the nearest knot.

  In seconds, the vines began to wither, dripping water all over the floor, as if Draven was sucking the moisture out of the vegetation. The leshy twisted, the vines coiling frantically like a snake’s tail, desperate to escape, but Draven refused to give up. When a large vine snapped off, the leshy gave a horrible screech that hurt her eardrums.

  Ignoring him, Draven gathered the tough vine, and gave a sharp whistle before tossing it through the air. Kincade turned, caught the makeshift rope, and began to create a lasso. Kincade’s clothes took the brunt of the beating, his gargoyle stone surface keeping him relatively safe, but she could sense he was flagging.

  He quickly looped the rope, but instead of launching it through the air, he flung it on the ground in front of the stampeding horse. When the centaur front hoof landed in the loop of the lasso, Kincade jerked back with all his considerable might, the momentum yanking the beast to the ground with a vicious thud. As the centaur struggled to stand, Kincade didn’t hesitate, leaping into the air and bringing his sword down. Instead of aiming for the man, he struck the blade deep into the horse’s chest. To her surprise, the horse tried to rise, his hide quivering before he dropped back to the ground, his sides billowing one last time before falling still.

  Though Morgan knew it was survival of the fittest, her heart hurt to see such a majestic beast fall.

  The cyclops was on the ground, unmoving, while Ryder used his claws and fangs to finish ripping out his throat. Black blood covered the arena.

  Only the valkyrie and leshy remained.

  “Declare them winners.” Morgan turned toward Katar. “Call off the fight.”

  “No.” Katar was leaning forward in his seat, pouting as he watched his fighters being torn apart.

  The leshy was turning brittle, no longer able to keep up with being drained, and unable to pull enough nutrients from the earth. Unwilling to admit defeat, Morgan saw a slash of metal slash through the air, and a set of tiger claws raked across Draven’s side.

  Ascher wasn’t in much better shape. The valkyrie managed to retrieve her spear, repeatedly whittling away at Ascher. Not that he didn’t give as good as he got. Almost every inch of the valkyrie was singed.

  Fuck with playing fair.

  “On the count of three?” Morgan glanced at Atlas, giving him a playful smile.

  Without missing a beat, he nodded. “Three.”

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Morgan and Atlas moved as one, leaping over the railing together. While Atlas dropped straight to the ground, Morgan launched herself through the air, ignoring Katar’s screech of denial. She hit the valkyrie mid-flight, the impact sending them into a wicked tailspin, and they crashed hard to the stone ground.

  Breath knocked out of her, Morgan rolled, coming up into a crouch a few feet away. Shouting and cheering erupted throughout the stadium, amplifying the sounds until their foot-stomping thudded in her chest. Loki jumped off her shoulder, and charged the valkyrie with a snarl, his whole body bristling.

  The valkyrie reached out as if to snatch at the pup when Ascher came out of nowhere, morphing into his hellhound form in seconds and smacked hard into the valkyrie before she could take flight, sending burned feathers bursting into the air.

  He grabbed hold of her neck with his powerful jaws and gave a vicious twist, the crack of bones snapping audible even from the distance, and the once-beautiful woman slumped forward into a heap. Once his prey was down, Loki spun and danced, snapping at the fallen feathers, giving them a vicious shake, before bounding back to her to deposit his conquered feather foe at her feet.

  By the time she stood, snatching up the pup to her chest, the rest of the guys were heading toward her. She glanced to the right to see the leshy was nothing more than a pile of twigs, having been ripped apart until he resembled nothing more than kindling.

  Morgan grinned at the men, so happy to have them back relatively unharmed, she didn’t care when they surrounded her in a protective formation. She inspected each of them, touching and prodding their injuries until she was satisfied they only had superficial wounds.

  “You guys get invited to the best games.” She shook her head and sighed dramatically. “I leave you alone for one second, and you get into trouble.”

  Draven shot her a wink when she tossed their words back at them. Once she was surrounded, she gave them her report, conscious of Katar’s minions flooding the arena. “Be on guard. Don’t trust anyone. Katar doesn’t want to find a cure for the fog, he wants to finish the job of breaking open the seal of Tartarus. What did you find?”

  “Loki managed to help the kid and a few of the imprisoned hellhounds escape. Unfortunately, we were unconscious for most of the time and didn’t get a chance to collect any information.” Kincade studied her, his eyes lingering on her face. “Are you okay?”

  “Mostly.” She swallowed past the lump in her throat at his gentle tone. “Katar infected Atlas. Don’t let the bastard near you if you can help it.”

  The guys stiffened, and she noted that Kincade and Draven pocketed their weapons. Katar came charging through the gates, his robes churning around him in agitation. “Do you realize what you risked?”

  Katar pulled up short when none of the men surrounding her scattered the way he expected. He carried a chain in his hand, tugging Ward behind him like a stray dog. Though Katar might not know it, he was playing with dynamite. It wouldn’t be long before Ward lost his cool, collar or no collar.

  “You could’ve been killed.” He thrust an accusing finger at her. There was no heat in his accusation, just a murderous rage that she would dare threaten what he wanted. “You are not allowed to take such risks. You put the whole plan at risk.”

  “Your plan.” Morgan shoved at Kincade until he moved. “I told you I wouldn’t leave without my men.”

  �
��Very well.” Katar pursed his lips, his eyes narrowed, and she half expected him to kill her men to spite her. “We will leave now.”

  Morgan wanted to protest that her men needed medical care, but she feared if she pushed Katar, he would take care of the issue by eliminating the problem. Ascher and Ryder had turned human and were offered clothing. Morgan knew she should give them privacy, but she couldn’t let them out of her sight. She needed the reassurance they were really all right.

  As they exited the stadium and headed toward the edge of the village, she was surprised by the number of soldiers traveling with them.

  “Do you really think they will protect you from the fog?”

  “I took the last of my elixir. The soldiers are already infected. The fog will avoid them and search for new prey. They are to ensure your participation.” Katar was positively giddy, but she recognized the pure nerves underlying his excitement. This was his last shot. He knew he was dying, and it made him dangerous.

  The decay had traveled down Katar’s arm, spreading across the back of his hand. The skin had slackened, beginning to slough off his hand, giving him a bloated, waxy look of a body soaked too long in stagnant water.

  “If you live that long.”

  He clenched his hand, then shook it out. “Once we reach Tartarus, it won’t matter. After I heal myself and this land, I’ll be appointed the new king.”

  Unfortunately, the kingdom was run by succession, meaning if he managed to kill the current king, she would be placed on the throne, and she couldn’t allow that to happen.

  The guys shared a look with her…they were in accord.

  None of them wanted to rule either.

  “And the soldiers? You don’t think they’ll run at the first opportunity?” Morgan was skeptical.

  “Where would they go?” He waved a dismissive hand at the soldiers, like they didn’t matter. “If they want a cure, they will do what I say.”

  Her men kept her tightly surrounded. As the sun rose over the horizon, very little of the light actually hit the land. What she did see reminded her of a dark wonderland. The colors were a shade too vivid, the trees and even the grass a little too predatory. Even the innocent flowers snapped at them, emitting a noxious gas as they passed.

  Everything felt hungry and primitive, a very alien feeling since she was used to being the apex predator. The fog trailed them through the forest, but it was as Katar said…the mist kept its distance, coming forward to investigate, then retreating when it found only the infected.

  Katar went to speak with the guards, giving instructions, and Kincade scowled after him. “Why are we not killing him?”

  “If you kill him, she dies.” Atlas’s voice was flat, hatred burning in his eyes. “He marked her with a sigil. Any harm that comes to him will be visited on her.”

  “If things don’t go as planned, you have my permission to do whatever needs to be done. He cannot be allowed to gain the power of the gods.”

  “No.” Ryder growled in denial, and the rest of the guys nodded.

  They weren’t going to budge.

  “You forget.” Ascher tentatively brushed his hand against hers as they walked, seemingly absorbed in the task of playing with her fingers. “Our focus is you. We will protect you above everything else.”

  “And to hell with the realm?” she snarked at him in amusement.

  “Yes.” His blunt reply floored her.

  Her humor died, leaving her floundering over how to respond when the rest of the guys appeared to be in complete agreement. Warmth flooded her cheeks, the pleasure at their confession leaving her flustered. She absently scratched the sigil on her shoulder, unused to having anyone care. And she wanted a future with them so badly, she didn’t argue the point.

  They would find another way to stop Katar.

  She refused to give up her men when she was so close to having everything she’d ever wanted…a family to call her own.

  Desperate to change the subject, she brought up the question that had been nagging at her. “How is one supposed to locate Tartarus? I mean, technically, it’s the entrance to hell, right?”

  When she glanced around at them, she frowned, then counted the soldiers who accompanied them. “Since we’ve started, we’ve lost three soldiers. Katar swore they wouldn’t run off. Did anyone see what happened?”

  The remaining soldiers heard her question and began to look around nervously. Even as she watched, a low-hanging vine dropped around one guy, coiling around him like a snake, muffling his scream, then pulling him clear into the air, his feet kicking as he left the ground.

  Everyone glanced up to see a nest of naga infesting the treetops. Half human, half snake they little resembled the beautiful women reportedly entrusted with the divine knowledge of the gods. The infection had reverted them back to their purely predatory mode.

  Their heads were slightly flared like a cobra’s hood, the colors bright and rippling like hair when they tipped their heads and gazed down at them. Sparkling jewelry and glittering chains draped over their necks and foreheads, providing little modesty, but she suspected they wore the jewelry because they liked the shiny metals and jewels more than to provide any type of modesty. Venom dripped from their fangs as they licked their lips, their swaying movements hypnotic as they slowly twirled and twisted through the trees, oozing ever closer to their prey. Two of them played tug-of-war with one of the men they captured like a macabre game of wishbone.

  When bones cracked and the man gave a muffled scream, Morgan snapped to attention. “Run!”

  To make sure she obeyed her own command, Kincade and Draven bookended her, ensuring she kept up with them as they stormed through the tangle of undergrowth, leaping over discarded bones littering the ground in abundance.

  Unfortunately, due to their panic, most of the soldiers scattered in different directions. Those with training managed to evade in small groups and follow. Those cut off from the crowd and separated weren’t so lucky, as one after another was plucked into the air as if by magic.

  It didn’t surprise Morgan to see Katar in front of the charge, leaving his people behind to suffer their fate alone. Although she wanted to stay and fight, their lack of weapons would only lead to more people getting slaughtered. She refused to risk her men in a battle that they couldn’t win.

  After traveling another mile at a brisk pace, the soldiers began to regroup around them…those who survived. The trees thinned out, the path turning rockier, while the fog became denser. She didn’t like the way it seemed to be herding them.

  Atlas kept to the edges of the group, the mist almost seemed to caress his leg as he moved past. She didn’t like the possessive touch, but the fog didn’t harm him in any way or seek to infect anyone else…almost as if they were doing exactly what it wanted. To her surprise, the sunlight seemed to reverse the effects of the fog in Atlas. In the daylight, he appeared his normal self, the tint to his skin fading, but she feared when darkness fell the infection would return with a vengeance.

  Atlas caught her frown. “Stop worrying. While dark elves have some homicidal tendencies, they are aimed at their enemies. We should reach the gates soon. You should prepare yourself. Entrance is a test of worthiness. It can be a bit…abrasive on the nerves.”

  “What do you mean?” Morgan hated tests. Tests always meant pain in her experience.

  “It will take your worst fears and amplify them. It’s the gates’ defense mechanism. To make you turn back.” His expression turned grim. “Don’t assume what you see is an illusion. Everything is backed by magic, meaning—”

  “It can kill.” Morgan rubbed a tired hand down her face, her body still aching from Katar’s abuse. “Everything in this realm seems to want to kill us.”

  “We’re getting close.” Excitement brightened Katar’s voice, the prick practically dancing as they drew closer, and she picked up her pace.

  “How many others have you sent to discover Tartarus?”

  “Fools.” Katar waved a dismissive h
and. “Apparently, only the uninfected can open the seal. After the first few parties disappeared, I had to come up with an alternative plan. That’s why I worked on discovering a way to preserve myself.”

  “The last time you cracked the seal on Tartarus, you released a plague. Has it occurred to you that there will be more traps waiting for us?”

  “Not to worry.” Almost giddy, he rubbed his hands together. “That’s why you and your men will go first. If another plague is released, it will give me time to escape.”

  Ward remained a silent shadow to Katar until now. “You’re a fool if you think you can take Tartarus and make the fog come to heel like a pet. Your immunity is already wearing off. Can’t you feel the mist edging closer?”

  “We must hurry.” Katar scowled, becoming twitchy, scurrying along faster, as if to escape the fog, and she wondered if his paranoia that the fog was hunting him might not be that far off. It stalked his every movement, as if sensing he was the one who released it and was hungry to devour him.

  By midday the soldiers had been reduced to a third of their original numbers while scavengers continued to pick them off one by one. Morgan and Katar and her men were kept protectively in the middle, and it chafed not to face the enemy directly.

  The ground became even rockier, the landscape giving way to craggy hills. The rock and sand had a red tint. Even the atmosphere was hazy, giving the landscape an alien feel that reminded her a little of Mars, the area a barren wasteland devoid of any magic.

  When they rounded the next curve, the path was bracketed by two pillars, the stones crumbled, the archway having long since turned to dust. The only way to proceed was to go through.