Fatal Assassin (Fatal Fae Book 2)

by Tameri Etherton

  As she rounded a corner, the scyver wavered a moment before following. Cian hurried across the street to put himself between the woman and the magic hunter. If the scyver wanted a fight—he’d make sure she wasn’t involved.

  He took the stairs two at a time, dodging suitcases and sleepy travelers along the way. As he passed the board listing train times, he noted which one left next for London King’s Cross. Nikala was already at the kiosk purchasing her ticket when he reached the ground floor.

  Cian casually strolled past where she stood with her back to him and went inside the booking office to buy his ticket. During his wait for her to leave SIRE’s office, he’d rummaged through the wallet he’d stolen from the businessman in the coffee shop and found £400, several credit cards, bank cards for two different banks, and an unused condom. No family photos, no store loyalty cards. A fact he found most curious. Cian had taken the cash and bank cards, then dropped the wallet into a post box. It eased his conscience to think of himself as an assassin and spy, not a completely heartless thief.

  The next available train was leaving in approximately six minutes, which didn’t give him a lot of time to debate between standard fare or first class. Cian glanced toward the trains, imagining a woman like Nikala St. James didn’t often travel less than first class. The persona he’d created in his mind for her involved a lot of expensive things, but he had the sense she didn’t need them as status symbols. She wore nice clothes and the only jewelry he noticed was a diamond solitaire on her right ring finger. But did the persona he created fit the actual woman?

  She was a mystery, he had to admit. Her manner spoke of confidence, but there had been several moments when they’d talked that he detected an unbalancing within her.

  He pressed the screen for a first-class ticket and entered the required payment amount. He’d find out soon enough if his suspicions about the woman were unfounded. On his way to the platform, he saw the scyver pacing near the kiosks. When he spotted Cian, his entire body shifted. A veil of fanaticism covered his features and Cian quickened his step. The man would need to be dealt with, but not in a crowded train station with only minutes remaining before his train departed.

  With any luck, the man would be stranded in Edinburgh without his prize.

  Luck, it seemed, was not on Cian’s side this day. His train sat on a platform that didn’t require a ticket for entry. As he stepped up into his coach, he saw the scyver board several carriages down. His mind spun into action, formulating several viable options for dealing with the menace. As a rule, he tended to only kill people when absolutely necessary, and not in broad daylight with witnesses. Definitely not on a train where the body would be found before the end of the trip. This would take planning and forethought.

  At the other end of the nearly empty carriage, he spotted a familiar blonde ponytail. He found a seat several behind Nikala and stretched his aching leg. From where he sat, he could see her slim fingers wrapped around a mobile phone. Her thumb lazily scrolled up as she checked messages or email or something he couldn’t quite see.

  An attendant stopped by his seat and asked whether he’d like breakfast. The growl his stomach gave indicated his desire and she gave him a knowing smile.

  “You businessmen are all the same. Too rushed in the morning to get a proper meal. We’ll get you sorted.” She left to ask the seat behind him about breakfast.

  Nikala turned to look his way, her eyes hardening when she saw him reclining into his seat. A mix of emotions crossed her face and she snapped her attention to the window, where Edinburgh slowly passed by.

  The train attendant swished past, her ass making a jaunty tilt in his direction. At the carriage separator, Cian saw the scyver approach, with a mean glint to his eye. Cian straightened, all senses on alert. His magic coursed through his body in a tempest, waiting to be unleashed. With as much calm as he could muster, he tamped his desire to smother this man with magic. Kill him with the very thing he hunted.

  Before Cian could stand, the scyver bellowed at the attendant to get out of his way. Without warning, he lashed out, his fist striking the pretty lady across her temple.

  Cian was on his feet and rushing to the woman even before her cry had finished its agonizing crescendo. Nikala sprang forward, too. They pushed through the cramped space to the glass door separating the carriages. The scyver wavered, as if unsure what to do with the injured woman who blocked his path. Cian took advantage of his confusion and leapt past Nikala to tackle the man. Others arrived, train employees as well as two passengers.

  The scyver’s face bled where Cian had smashed his nose on the floor, and he fought against Cian’s grip on his wrists. One of the passengers held the man’s legs while one of the train attendants took Cian’s place of holding the man face-down while another attendant attached plastic zip ties to the scyver’s wrists. As they lifted him up, Nikala, who had been seeing to the battered attendant, reached out toward his leg. It was done quick, without anyone but Cian noticing. A moment later, she was crouched beside the stricken woman.

  It happened so fast, Cian might’ve doubted what he saw, but he’d been trained to notice the smallest details. Nikala St. James became even more curious and he was determined to find out everything he could about the mysterious, complicated woman.

  The male attendants took the scyver to the other end of the carriage and sat him in a seat facing away from them. They helped the attendant to stand and Cian spied a small gash at her temple that trickled blood to her cheek.

  “Do you have a first-aid kit?” Nikala studied the cut while visually inspecting the rest of the attendant’s face.

  “In there.” The woman motioned to a cupboard.

  Cian retrieved the little bag and handed it to Nikala.

  “I can do this on my own, thanks.” The attendant’s once rosy cheeks looked like chalk.

  “Shush. You take care of others all day. Just relax and let me see to your injuries.” Nikala rummaged through the kit and made tsking sounds.

  Once again Nikala surprised Cian. He’d not slotted her for a mum or even nurturing, yet here she was, comforting the attendant and assessing her wounds.

  “You hit the cabinet pretty hard. Are you sore anywhere else?” Cian asked, genuinely concerned.

  Nikala glanced at him with a cheeky grin. “Are you trying to steal my patient?”

  “Oh, you’re doctors.” The attendant breathed a grateful sigh.

  Neither Nikala nor Cian contradicted the woman. Instead, they shared a conspiratorial look while Nikala cleaned the woman’s cut and dressed it with several Steri-Strips.

  “You’ll have a whopper of a headache, but soon you’ll be right as rain.”

  “Thank you. Both of you.” The attendant gingerly touched the plasters on her temple.

  Another employee arrived and asked after the injured woman. She graciously thanked Nikala and Cian again before retreating to the bathroom.

  “Crazy morning. Must be the weather’s changing. But why would he attack Lucy like that?” The train attendant scratched at his beard, a confounded expression on his face.

  “Drugs, most likely,” Cian suggested. “They do things to a person’s mind. Makes them not right, if you know what I mean.”

  “Yeah, must be.” The fellow rapped on the bathroom door. “You take your time, Luce. I’ll cover your carriage.”

  A muffled thanks came through the partition.

  Cian headed back to his seat, his mind spinning. He didn’t think the scyver would admit to hunting a magical being, but if he did, Cian would need a ready excuse. Drugs would work for that, too, but unless they actually found drugs in the man’s system, the authorities might ask uncomfortable questions.

  “Join me, please.” Nikala stood by her seat, her hand outstretched in greeting. “I feel I owe you a debt of gratitude.”

  She owed him a debt? This day was getting more interesting by the moment.

  “I’d love to.” He grabbed his coat and placed it alongside her belonging
s on the rack above their seats. She slid across the leather to settle beside the window and he sat opposite. A table kept them at a respectable distance, and for a moment Cian wished there was no table, no space between them. He watched her fingers toy with a strand of hair that had escaped the bound ponytail. The scent of sweat drifted to him. Deodorant, shampoo, and soap mingled with the smell, but couldn’t disguise her nervousness.

  “Here. See to your leg.” She pushed the first-aid kit across the table.

  “My—?” Then he remembered the gunshot wound from that morning. “Oh, right. A dog bit me. Annoying little blighter.”

  Her smile said she knew he was lying but would let it stand. He grabbed the kit and rose from his seat. With a cocky look over his shoulder, he asked, “Are you sure you wouldn’t like to treat me, Doctor?”

  Her laugh was as unexpected as anything else she’d done that day. “I’m sure you can handle this one on your own.”

  “Pity.”

  The flush that spread across her cheeks was more than just a girlish blush. Beneath her skin, he saw a faint glimmering. He stared hard, but the luster faded to nothing and he shook his head. In the bathroom, he took stock of the wound on his leg, happy to see that it had begun to heal. He and Rori had the remarkable ability to heal quickly, something she always said was their own kind of magic and he’d laughed because he loved her and her innocent way of looking at life. But now, he wasn’t laughing. He was grateful for whatever genetic gift they had that allowed them speedy recoveries.

  As he cleaned and dressed his wound, his mind drifted to his sister. He hoped she was taking it easy and allowing her body to repair itself. Knowing Rori, she was already stomping around Rowan’s cottage, anxious to be doing something besides waiting. He’d find a way to send her a message after he met with Malcolm. It was time he let his baby sister in on what he’d been working on for the past few years.

  He washed his hands, noting their pale plainness. The burning sword had singed his skin, he was certain of it, but now his flesh was unmarked. He turned his hands over and flexed his fingers. Even with expedited healing capabilities, this was odd. Unless he’d imagined the ghost and the blade and the shadow man. Get a grip, MacNair. You’re letting Meg’s warning about Dad interfere. Dad is dead. End of story.

  Cian blew out a breath and took stock of his appearance in the little mirror. Not bad. Hair slightly disheveled, small bags beneath his eyes, the shadow of scruff on his jaw. In all, he looked like he always looked. Ruggedly handsome, if he did say so himself. He dusted remnants of his blood from the tie and secured it around his neck, fiddling until it sat just right. With a few swipes down his coat, he dislodged the few remaining twigs and was set. No one would know he’d escaped an armed pursuit by sliding down an ancient volcano.

  At the table, a cup of coffee, along with a steaming plate of food, waited for him. Nikala was tucking in to her meal when she saw him and indicated his breakfast. “I wasn’t sure if you wanted coffee or tea. I’m sure Lucy would be happy to bring you another cup.”

  “Coffee’s fine, thanks.” He left the first-aid kit at the edge of the table where Lucy could retrieve it.

  His stomach growled again and he shrugged with a sloppy grin. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d eaten anything of substance. Did he have breakfast at Rowan’s? Or was it dinner? In Faerie, it would be nighttime. The time difference always did his head in. Whenever he’d last had a proper meal, it was too long ago to be of much good. The muffin he’d had an hour earlier barely counted as food. He started eating, making sure he didn’t shovel his food like Rori might. As hungry as he was, there was no need to eat like a troll.

  Lucy stopped by their table with fresh coffee and pastries. She saw Cian’s empty tray and scurried away.

  “I think she has a crush on you. Same with that guy.” Nikala motioned to the car attendant who’d asked after Lucy. “He practically swoons every time he looks over at you.”

  “I think she’s grateful that man didn’t kill her and can show that gratitude by filling our coffee cups. As for that attendant,” Cian waved to the young man who simpered and blushed, “can you blame him?”

  Nikala rolled her eyes with an exaggerated sigh and her lips quirked to the side. “Did you know the guy?” Her tone lowered and became serious.

  “Who? The druggie?” Cian shook his head. “Never met him before. You?”

  The tightening of her lips warned him she might lie. “I’ve seen him around the offices a few times, but didn’t think anything of it until this morning.”

  Surprised she’d admitted seeing him, and even more surprised the scyver was interested in Nikala, Cian leaned forward. “Why do you think he was following you?”

  “I have no idea.”

  But Cian suspected she did. Her hand raised toward her blouse, then dropped to her lap.

  “Tickets please.” Another crew member, not Lucy or the male car attendant, stood in the narrow walkway. They gave him their tickets and waited until he’d moved down the coach before speaking.

  “You were telling me why that guy, the crazed druggie, was following you.”

  “No, I was saying I don’t know why. I’ve seen him a few times outside SIRE. As far as I know, he’s never followed me before today. Could be he’s upset with Malcolm over a deal. I really couldn’t say.”

  The male train attendant moved into view, his face full of apology. “If you don’t mind, the police have asked that we get names and phone numbers for anyone who witnessed the incident. They can’t stop the train to question you, but would appreciate if you could make an appointment to speak with them at your earliest convenience.”

  Cian withdrew an ID card from his breast pocket and handed it to the gentleman. He used a small amount of magic to blur the name and face so that the man would see what he wished him to see and not what was printed on the card.

  “Viggo McCabe, thank you. And your phone number?” He handed the ID back to Cian.

  Cian gave him a number, not to his personal mobile, but to an answering service he used in London.

  Nikala handed him her ID, a little smile making a dimple in her cheek.

  “Thank you, Miss…” He peered at the ID, then at Nikala. “Virginia Pemberley. And a phone number?”

  Nikala took the proffered ID and gave him a number. Probably a service like his. When the attendant left, he looked at her with the same little smile she wore.

  “Virginia?”

  “Viggo?”

  Then she leaned forward and whispered, “I saw your ID. It was for a man, balding, with a triple chin whose name is not Viggo McCabe. Who are you, really? And why was that man following you?”

  Cian relaxed into the seat, letting his body sink into the leather. Her elbows rested on the table, giving him a glimpse of her cleavage, where a piece of silver glinted in the sunlight streaming through the window. He stared at her breasts, drawn not to their lovely curves, but to the tiny fraction of jewelry he could see. Magic encased it, he was certain.

  “See something you like?” Her tart tone a warning. Still, she didn’t move or try to close the gap of her blouse.

  She’d not been fooled by his use of magic on the ID and now, she wore something no one in the human realm should have.

  “Actually,” Cian drawled, his gaze traveling from the silver between her breasts to her face. “I do.” He pointed to her cleavage. “That doesn’t belong to you. How did you come into possession of it?”

  Her hands went to her blouse. Two fingers shook slightly as she tucked the piece of jewelry deeper into the crevice of her breasts. The color drained from her face, leaving her almost as white as the blouse she buttoned near to her neck.

  “Have you come to kill me?” The words, spoken barely above a whisper, were edged with sadness. Not fear. Not anger. Sadness.

  The simple question stole Cian’s breath. Who was this woman? And why did she think he’d kill her for a pendant?

  8

  From far away, Rori hea
rd chopping. As if someone were cutting down a tree. Or knocking on a wooden door. She shoved a pillow over her head and groaned. It wasn’t morning. Couldn’t be. Shortly after Cian left, she’d trudged upstairs, hoping for a night of dreamless oblivion. Meg’s horrid sleeping potion still coated her tongue.

  Another knock, followed by muffled voices.

  “Go away! I’m sleeping.”

  “Then you must be talking in your sleep.” Therron’s words broke through the pillow and she sat up.

  “What do you want? It’s the middle of the night.”

  “It’s not yet midnight, darling. We’re leaving immediately and unless you wish to skip questioning Acelyne, I suggest you get dressed.” The teasing note in Midna’s voice didn’t fool Rori.

  She sprang from the bed and hopped from foot to foot, jerking her pants up with her good hand. Rivulets of pain flowed through her leg and she winced. The wound on her thigh didn’t look as angry and the skin had begun knitting back together. All the same, she gave a little more care to sliding her jeans over the stitches. Rori paused to inspect her pants. They were freshly laundered, without a single tear. These weren’t the jeans she’d been wearing earlier.

  Her gaze roved over the sleeping chamber and settled on the open door to the room Cian had used the night before. Soft snores came from inside and her heart jittered with expectation. She jostled her boots over her feet and shrugged into her leather jacket before stepping lightly to the doorway.

  A peek inside melted the anxiety she’d been storing in the pit of her stomach. Curled into the blankets of the small bed was her mum.

  Rori tiptoed to kneel before the sleeping woman and brushed a strand of hair off her face in the same way Labhruinn used to do to her.

  “Hey.”

  Labhruinn’s eyes opened and a smile creased her face. “Hey yourself. Feeling better?” Her mum stretched and yawned as she sat up, her eyes cloudy with sleep.