by Anna Hackett
Samia shook her head to break the odd spell of his gaze. “I’m the woman who’s going to kill you.”
He cocked an eyebrow. “How about a name instead?”
She frowned down at him. He wasn’t afraid. When she held a knife to a man’s throat, she expected fear. Then she felt the power in him, pulsing under his skin, twirling in the air around them. He probably thought he could best her. But she had her own powers and it wasn’t just her skill with a knife.
“You don’t need to know my name,” she said.
In a flash of movement, he pushed her off him, surprising her with his strength and speed. She possessed far more strength than an ordinary human, even more than most of the beings she hunted. But this man was strong.
He tried to pin her, but she kicked at him. Her foot connected with a rock-hard stomach. She heard her father’s voice in her head, intoning her training. If he was here, he’d berate her for playing with her target.
Get the job done, assassin. Fast and clean.
They rolled across the dirt. Samia scissored her legs and managed to get on top of him again, straddling his chest. She jammed her knees into his sides and heard him grunt.
She slashed down with her knife, aiming for his throat, but at the last minute he dodged. Her blade sank deep into his shoulder.
He grunted and suddenly, a strong wind rushed over them. His body faded beneath her, like the wind was taking him away, and she dropped onto the ground.
Dammit. She scrambled to her feet. He’d escaped and all she was left with was a bloody knife.
She watched the blood drip down the hilt of her blade and over her fingers. Bile rose in her throat and another scene shot through her head.
A young face, lifeless. Innocent blood on her hands.
Strong arms clamped around her from behind. She was tugged back into the hard planes of a big body.
“That wasn’t very nice.” A masculine drawl.
She didn’t buck against him, instead she stilled. Patience was an assassin’s most valuable skill. “I wasn’t trying to be nice.”
His breath brushed over her ear. “My name’s Dante.”
“I know who you are, Mr. Venti.” She had an inch-thick file on Dante Auster Venti, Warrior of the South Wind. He and his brothers were Italy’s most eligible bachelors—rich, good-looking. But few knew what hid beneath their wealthy playboy personas.
“Well, you have the advantage. I’d very much like to know the name of the woman sent to kill me.” His arms tightened on her. “Or we can just stay here like this all night.”
Annoying bastard. “You’ll be dead soon, so I guess it doesn’t matter. Samia. Samia Hassan.”
“Samia.” He murmured it, like he was rolling it on his tongue, savoring it. “I’d like to know why you’re trying to kill me.”
“Because you’re dangerous.” She needed to remind herself that the job she did was important. Someone had to take down the strong beings that hurt those who were less powerful.
His lips brushed her temple. “No argument there, but the same could be said about you.”
His words were like a slashing knife to her chest. “I don’t hurt innocents.” She closed her eyes. Except for one terrible mistake.
“I don’t either.”
His voice sounded sincere and she detected no lies. Her heart kicked against her ribs. That was another of Samia’s skills—the ability to feel truth and lies.
No, he had to be trying to trick her. He wouldn’t be the first target to try anything to escape an assassin.
Except at this moment, this man had the upper hand. Why try to convince her of his innocence?
The elders had told her that he had killed, and used his powers against humans. From the brotherhood enclave in Morocco, they always researched a case beyond reasonable doubt before assigning it to an assassin. They were never wrong. “That’s not what I’ve been told.”
“Who do you work for?” he asked.
She remained silent. The brotherhood was so secret little was known about it in the outside world. It was the way they liked it.
One big hand slid over her belly, splaying over the inch of bare skin bared between her black T-shirt and dark trousers.
“Who do you work for?”
His hand tightened on her and she felt a spike of heat. She sucked in a breath. What was wrong with her? She jerked against him. Not once had she allowed herself to be distracted on a mission. Especially not by a man.
And not by someone she was sent to kill.
He spun her and Samia took her chance.
She kicked out, catching him in his hard stomach. He stumbled and cursed. She jumped at him.
And found herself caught mid-jump, held up in the air by a heavy gust of wind.
Venti held one palm up, his golden-brown eyes burning with an inner fire. Like something very dangerous lurked inside him. She felt the strength of his power wrap around her.
Samia pushed but didn’t move at all, held in place by the wind.
She cursed and stared at those eyes again. Then Samia noted something else, with the sharp instincts that made her an excellent assassin and kept her alive.
This man didn’t have the eyes of a killer.
She’d dispensed justice to many killers over the years, and each time, she’d seen the evil reflected in their eyes. Oh, Venti looked like a man capable of killing, but not one who’d take the life of an innocent for pleasure.
No. That couldn’t be. The elders had sanctioned his assassination.
“Fine. I’ll find my own answers.” Venti’s hand gripped the neckline of her shirt and with a twist of his wrist, he tore it open a few inches.
She gasped. The neckline gaped. He flicked the black fabric away and exposed her tattoo.
The black stylized writing was Arabic calligraphy and sat above her left breast. It spelled the word death and was the symbol of the brotherhood.
He gripped her shirt tighter and dragged her closer. His fingers were warm against her skin. “You’re Hashshasin.”
Shock tore through Samia’s system. Few knew their name. She fought to keep her face impassive.
“I know your people pride themselves on being shadows.” He released her, but the wind held her body in place. “But an organization can’t exist for a thousand years and think no one’s going to learn about them.”
He paced away, then turned to face her. His dark trousers outlined lean hips and long legs, and his blue shirt was rolled up, baring strong forearms.
“So, Signorina Assassin, are you going to tell me why I have a price on my head?”
She lifted her chin. “You can control the wind.”
He raised his hand. The wind around her lifted her another foot into the air. Like a damned puppet on a string. She shot him a fierce scowl.
He tilted his head. “That’s hardly a killing offence.”
Her eyes narrowed. “You infect humans with the darkness the wind carries.”
His gaze narrowed and he strode up to her. His face was only an inch from hers. “I fight the darkness of the wind. You aren’t describing me, you’re describing the evil I’m hunting.”
Her stomach turned over. The elders never made mistakes. “I don’t believe you.”
With a muttered oath, he shoved a hand through his hair. “And yet, I’m telling you the truth.”
Something in that deep voice and those cognac eyes made her want to believe him. Impossible. There was no way the elders had sent her after an innocent.
The young boy’s face came back to her. Ruthlessly, she pushed it away.
“Who hired you, Samia?” Venti demanded.
She remained silent.
He reached out and touched her neck. The touch was shocking, electric.
For a second, he looked just as shocked. Then his face hardened. “Assassin’s code, right? Don’t give up the client’s name.”
His fingers moved to the fluttering pulse in her throat. She tried to ignore the heat that followed the
touch.
He leaned closer. “Give me his name.”
She locked her jaw and fought against the power holding her. “No.”
“Tell me.”
He was so close his lips were almost touching hers. She sucked in a startled breath, her gaze locked with his. Inside, something shifted and wanted closer. She had a crazy urge to press her lips to his. Oh, God, something was horribly wrong with her.
She pulled in a deep breath, and got a hit of his sea-scented cologne. Focus, Samia. “I won’t tell you.”
“Damn, you’re stubborn.” Suddenly, his head lifted. “My prey is close.” His face took on a stark edge and his eyes darkened. “I am more powerful than you can imagine. You were stupid to pit yourself against me.”
Samia watched something ripple over his face. Something scary.
“The Hashshasin have always been arrogant.” His hands gripped her upper arms, digging into her skin so hard she knew she’d have bruises.
Then he blinked, staring at his hands on her. He stumbled back, a muscle ticking beneath his eye. He looked like he was struggling for control. “Dio. Just tell me who hired you and I’ll let you go. You need to get far away from me. For your own safety.”
Something was very wrong here. Samia’s instincts were screaming at her.
“Tell me,” he ground out. “Before I need to go and stop Africus.”
She froze. “Africus?”
“You know him?” Understanding flashed in Venti’s eyes. “He was the one who hired you.”
Venti cursed. Suddenly the wind holding Samia captive dropped away. She braced her legs to prevent herself from falling.
He faced her. “I know you’re a killing machine that can only blindly follow orders, but Africus is a danger to you. He’s one of the Tempest Winds.”
Killing machine. She lifted her chin. He was right. She was nothing but a weapon. She focused on what he’d said. Tempest Winds? She remembered a vague reference to them in her file. “I have a job to do.”
“I suggest you find another assignment and stay out of my way, Hashshasin.”
“Failure is not an option for an assassin.”
“I’m warning you.” He loomed over her. “Do not get in the way of my duty.”
“And I can’t let you get in the way of mine.” But first, she needed to find out exactly what was going on here.
A scowl cut across his face. “What am I going to do about you?”
Samia called on her power and used her ability of camouflage to meld into the shadows. “Watch your back, Warrior, because I’m coming for you.”
Chapter Three
Dante watched the assassin disappear into the night.
So, he wasn’t the only one with power. His wind whispered she was still close, and he smelled her. An intoxicating scent, like a desert breeze carrying the sweet scent of jasmine. It seeped into him, warming his body.
“Africus will drive people to kill. It’s what he does.” Dante glanced around, wondering if the lovely assassin was listening to him. Could she make her own decisions, or was she only able to follow orders?
He didn’t have time to waste dealing with her. Every minute he was distracted was another minute Africus could use to poison and kill.
“Stay out of my way.” He called on the wind. It swirled up around him, powerful and primal. It rushed over his skin and with a single thought he let himself blend with it. His body dissolved away, leaving only his soul to travel on the air.
He soared through the Forum and back into the modern city streets. He picked up on Africus’ trail and followed it, trying to push the distracting thoughts of the woman out of his head.
Africus was a cunning bastard to send a Hashshasin after him. The organization had been created during the crusades and had built a deadly reputation for being talented killers. Luca was right. The Tempest Winds were using dangerous tactics to try and win this time around.
Dante had never expected an assassin to be quite so alluring. Samia’s face rose up in his mind. Impossibly sharp cheekbones, midnight-black hair cut short, copper-brown skin, and a lean body that ignited his interest. Her lush lips were at odds with the carved face.
And her slanted bronze eyes. They glinted with a tough, dangerous edge, but he’d seen something else in them—pain.
Merda. The Tempest Winds were loose and here he was obsessing over a woman sent to kill him.
As Dante put more distance between himself and the assassin, he heard the frenzied, nasty whispers on the air. The prideful words echoed in his head. A heavy weariness descended and made him want to give in. To just accept the pride and give up the soul-destroying battle.
He gritted his teeth. He was tired and needed to get some rest soon, or he’d be no match for Africus. Materializing in a dark alley, he strode out onto the street. Dio, he wanted to fight, not rest. But he couldn’t risk succumbing to the pride.
Reluctantly, Dante headed in the direction of the apartment Luca kept in Rome. Venti Enterprises’ head office was in the city and Luca spent most of his time here overseeing their vast business empire.
Stalking down a darkened street, Dante thought of his brothers. Did they feel their vice twisting inside them like a wild animal? Lust for Antonio, anger for Luca, and greed for Soren. Did it whisper beguiling promises and tempt them to give in?
He expelled a breath and shoved his hands in his pockets. He would beat this. Whatever it took, he’d fight to defend mankind.
Ahead, feminine shrieks filled the air. He broke into a jog and rounded a corner. Two women were screaming at each other in a barrage of Italian, tearing at each other. They were dressed up for an evening out, in pretty dresses and heels.
The stink of pride surrounded them like smoke.
They are nothing. Leave them. You have more important things to worry about. As one woman grabbed the other’s hair, tugging hard, Dante ignored the voices in his head and charged forward.
“Enough.” He pulled them apart as gently as he could.
“She thinks she’s better than me,” one woman spat. “She wants my man.”
“You think you’re better than me. Smarter, prettier, richer.”
“You’re my best friend, Valentina, I never thought—”
“I said enough.” Dante eyed them both. “Tonight is not the night for this. Both of you, go home. Things will look different in the morning.”
The women blinked, like waking from a dream.
Valentina blinked. “You’re Dante Venti.” Her gaze moved over him. “I’ve seen you in the magazines.”
He didn’t need this. “Go.” He circled around them and kept going. He hadn’t gone far when something tickled along his senses, like the familiar kiss of the wind.
His assassin was back.
He continued walking, not giving away that he knew she was there. Damn the woman for not listening to him.
Why are you worried? She is no match for your strength.
He wasn’t worried about her killing him. What worried him was that she was a tempting complication he didn’t have time for. He tried to spot her in the shadows, but her camouflage skill was too good.
A small smile edged his lips. But she couldn’t hide from the wind.
Dante kept his power gentle, just a small stir of the air. It brought him her scent, sweet and luscious. And her location.
Slowly, he pulled his hands out of his pockets. Then he spun and reached into the darkness.
His hands closed around slim biceps. He heard Samia gasp.
Her slim, strong form appeared and before he could say anything, she swung her arm, her fist slamming into his face.
“Cazzo!” He staggered and she jumped up and swung her leg in a roundhouse kick.
Her boot snapped his head back. Even with pain exploding in his nose, he somehow managed to stay on his feet.
With a growl, he charged at her. She tried to hit him again, but Dante wrapped his arms around her, pinning her arms to her sides. He didn’t want to hurt her,
but he also didn’t want her beating the hell out of him.
She was strong—stronger than a woman, stronger than most men.
“I don’t want to hurt you,” he ground out against her ear.
“Let me go.” She jerked against him.
“Nope. Not interested in you planting your damn boot into my face again.”
“Wouldn’t want to mess up that pretty face of yours,” she snapped.
Dante managed to spin her. They were pressed together—high, firm breasts plastered to his chest and her defiant face lifted to his. Her lips were only a whisper from his.
Staring into her dark eyes, the voices in his head receded. Pride, for once, was silent.
“I told you to stay away.”
“You didn’t expect me to listen, did you?” she said.
He saw the anger burning in her eyes. The little assassin didn’t like losing the upper hand. But other emotions swam in those dark eyes. Dio, had he ever seen anyone so lonely, so haunted?
He understood what it was to hold yourself apart from others. He and his brothers did business, mingled at parties, took lovers, but they never let anyone truly close. No one understood what it was to hold power and have a duty to protect. Or to have to keep that power in check every day.
But Dante suspected this woman knew what it felt like.
Wondering how many weapons she had hidden under her form-fitting black clothes, he pushed her up against the wall of a nearby building.
He ran his hands down her sides, over her gently curved hips. He pulled a long knife from her belt. His palms slid across a toned belly and down the sides of lean thighs. He detached another knife strapped to her thigh. “Can’t have you stabbing me again.”
She jerked, trying to lift a knee. He twisted his hips to block the blow. Continuing the search, he tugged a slim garroting wire from her pocket.
“Finished?” she said angrily.
“Yes. Are you going to try and kill me again?”
“Probably.”
Dante stepped back and they stared at each other. What the hell was he going to do about her? He couldn’t afford to have her darting out of the shadows, distracting him from his hunt. She might get him killed. Or get herself killed.
