by Everly Frost
I jolt with surprise. “What?” I search her worried eyes. “Do you think something’s happened to her?”
“Dad keeps saying she must be in hiding, but I don’t believe him.”
“Hiding from what?” I ask. “That woman isn’t afraid of anything.”
“She has something to be afraid of for the first time.” Zara lowers her voice to a whisper. “The Assassin’s Legion has a new Master.”
“I don’t see why that matters.” I scoff. “Lady Tirelli’s never been afraid of assassins before.”
“This Legion Master is different. Some say it’s a woman.”
“Well, then the rumors can’t be true. The Legion would never admit a woman to train with them, let alone appoint her as Master.” The Legion is the one Faction that is completely male-dominated. The Dominion and the Horde both respect female assassins—welcome them, in fact. But the Legion is brutal. Equality means nothing there.
“I thought so, too, but there are whispers, Striker. I’ve been reaching out to my contacts in Boston and some say there is a very powerful female assassin living in that city now. More powerful than any before her. We’re trying to identify her so that we can figure out…” She clears her throat. “So we can figure out whether she’s entirely human.”
“Assassins are always human,” I say.
“Usually.”
I study my sister, the way she worries at her lip, the sharp dilation of her pupils that is associated with fear. “What has this got to do with us?”
“Whoever the new Master is, one thing is clear: they’re coming after everyone associated with Lady Tirelli. And I mean everyone. Dad is Lady Tirelli’s weapons supplier. Trucks carrying weapons are no longer making it to their destinations and the storage warehouses are being destroyed. Dad’s bleeding money.”
My eyes narrow to slits. “You mean my company is bleeding money.”
She gives me a quick nod. “I’m afraid so.”
“You think the assassins are doing it?” I ask.
“They’re annihilating Lady Tirelli’s organization. She’s not around to protect anyone anymore. Dad is their next target.”
Despite the damage to Draven Industries, I can’t help but take some satisfaction from this information. My stepfather has flown under the radar for a long time, living under the charade of a respectable businessman. He deals with humans and supernaturals alike and most of them don’t know what he really does. “That feels like karma to me.”
Her eyes glisten, but not with power. She’s suddenly welling up. “I can’t disagree with you about that, but… I’m a target too.”
“Wait… why?”
She swipes at her eyes with shaking hands, cursing at herself. “My hands aren’t clean, Striker. I could argue that I’ve done what I had to in order to survive. That Dad calls the shots and I have no choice but to go along with everything he does. I only manage the visible operations of the company—the legal operations. But I’ve stood at his side all this time. I haven’t tried to stop him. I didn’t try to stop him acquiring the monster in that truck. I didn’t try to stop his deals with Lady Tirelli. I’m a demon, Striker.”
She takes hold of my arm, her voice suddenly urgent. “I’m also a coward. My biggest shame is that I’ve let you down. Now I’ll reap what I’ve sown.”
“No.” My voice is a whisper. “I won’t let that happen.”
She gives me a look like there’s no saving me. “You’ve been a good brother to me. I have been nothing but a shit sister to you.”
I open my mouth to argue, but she says, “There’s no saving me, Striker. I’ve destroyed innocent lives by knowingly placing weapons in the hands of violent criminals. If the assassins come for me, I’ll be ready to answer for my crimes.”
I’m cold inside. For the first time, I don’t know what to say. Zara may be everything she says she is—a willing accomplice—but I only know the sister who held my hand when I was a scared little boy without a mother, who dried my tears, told me I was strong, and convinced me I could get through it.
I should hate her, but I know deep down, her father controls everything she does. She’s just as trapped as I am.
30. Peyton Price
The day passes with agonizing slowness. No amount of ice can soothe the cut on my cheek and the pain is driving me crazy. I try extending my claws to see if that triggers my healing power, but I can’t let it flow strongly enough to make a difference. I won’t have privacy until this evening when I can hide in my room. Until then, I have to put up with it.
All Lucinda has to do is glare at my face for me to know she wants to know what happened. It’s very difficult to tell her everything, but I snatch moments in gym class to give her the details as best I can: Raptor did it, I know something he wants to know, there’s no way in hell I’m going to tell him, and I have a day’s reprieve before I’m in for a world of pain.
When Academy Maintenance finally arrives and we’re given the task of washing walls, I nudge Lucinda. “Library.”
She gives me a rapid nod and we lug our buckets up four flights of stairs, our compliance officers traipsing after us. Ms. Sparrow interrupts us on the third landing. “Where do you think you’re going?”
We pull up sharply and I bump into Bree’s back.
Damn. Ms. Sparrow is going to make us clean downstairs instead. The teachers don’t care about keeping the neglected parts of the building clean.
The water in Bree’s metal bucket splashes back and forth. Droplets fly upward and land on her hand where she firmly grips the wooden handle. To my surprise, they disappear into her skin instead of rolling off again.
I quickly look away before I draw attention to it.
Bree clears her throat, her voice taking on a melodic tone. “Upstairs is very neglected, Ms. Sparrow. It needs cleaning too.”
Ms. Sparrow cocks her head to the side as if she’s thinking. “Upstairs is very neglected,” she says, a thoughtful frown on her face. “It needs cleaning.”
I stare at her. Did she just… mimic Bree?
Ms. Sparrow blinks at us as if we’re stupid. “Well, what are you waiting for? Get on with it!”
We hurry past her and I try to keep up with Bree, but she seems more agitated than normal, putting her bucket on the floor as soon as we reach the library and quickly stepping away from it.
The compliance officers congregate outside the room. They don’t bother coming in anymore. Girls and books must seem harmless enough to them. They have no idea that knowledge can be more dangerous than fists and girls who read books are the deadliest of all.
I murmur to Lucinda as she takes glances at Bree, too. “Cover us?”
She nods, and she and Ashley immediately plonk their buckets in the doorway, washing the doorframe and talking loudly about gym class.
I snatch Bree’s hand, drawing her to the other side of the room. She’s pale, but her aquamarine eyes are as calm as a still blue lake.
I whisper, “What did you just do?”
She shakes her head rapidly, speaking in a hushed voice. “I don’t know. I really don’t, Peyton.”
As soon as she speaks, I see them.
Teeth.
Holy hell. Razor sharp, bite-a-chunk-out-of-your-neck, shark teeth.
She grabs my arms in a way that tells me I didn’t hide my shocked reaction. “What?”
I speak carefully. “Do me a favor and, uh, touch your teeth. Do it carefully.”
She raises a finger hesitantly, pressing it to her front teeth. They are all equal lengths, all ending in a very sharp point. She snaps her mouth closed before she hisses. “What the hell?”
She sinks against the bookshelf. “What am I?”
“I was thinking demon when you persuaded Ms. Sparrow to let us come up here. But your power is definitely connected with water and you have—ahem—teeth like a marine predator so…”
Her eyes widen. She mouths, Siren?
She immediately checks her legs, but she hasn’t developed a mer
maid’s tail. Other than her teeth, which are rapidly transforming back to their normal shape, she appears completely human.
I quickly pace to the bookshelf on the far side of the room, scanning the books for the one I want. It deals with supernaturals from the sea.
“Here. We could be wrong, but it’s worth considering.”
She prods her teeth, heaving a sigh of relief to find them back to their normal shape, before she flips through the book and buries her head in it.
I, too, quickly search for the book I want.
When Lucinda casts me a questioning glance, I give her a nod to let her know the danger has passed. She and Ashley relocate inside the room but remain as much of a visual barrier between us and the compliance officers as they can.
I finally find the information I need in a book dealing with supernaturals risen directly from hell and damnation itself.
Great. So if I’m a Fury, I’m going to be one of the bad guys.
An illustration fills the page on the righthand side showing three women, each holding a whip, wearing transparent clothing that hides nothing of their feminine curves. They have deep brown eyes, long legs, and identical features, but the color of their hair is different. One has red hair, another black, and the third golden blonde.
Snakes coil around their waists and torsos, the snakes’ tails disappearing into the women’s long hair. The image makes me shudder. I can’t recall ever seeing a snake, but I don’t think I’d let one roam around my body like that.
According to the book, their purpose is to carry out vengeance on the wicked by inflicting pain and disease. They were born of the primordial deity, Nyx, the mother of death. Their targets are wicked men and they especially hate liars. With the power to see into someone’s soul, to see every lie and every crime, they can discern a person’s true nature.
I remember the Fury’s rebuke to the assassin: We have nothing to give but pain and torment.
They’re self-healing, just like I thought, and they can deflect any magic, which makes them the perfect executioners.
And they can levitate.
According to the book, their very breath can dull the senses of any victim, turning the most violent, brutal man into putty waiting for the Fury’s revenge. No mints required, apparently.
Sinking into a chair in the corner of the room, I consider what I know about myself, ticking off characteristics as my mind slowly grows numb with shock.
No snakes or ability to make someone compliant, but I can tell when people are lying, see through flicker fits to the truth of other students’ powers, and I can levitate—although I only did that once. I can also literally see crimes when I pick up tainted objects—like Raptor’s dagger and Kaitlyn’s wand. And damn, I loved that whip.
Self-healing is another of my powers, but it seems to take a lot to trigger that power. Like a whole lot of Striker. Being with him, fighting with him, triggers all my powers. But… why?
I turn the page. The first line says:
A Fury is incapable of love.
I shut the book. Well, that’s it then. I’m not a Fury because I—
Dear ancients.
No, that’s not true.
I don’t.
I hate Striker. He hurt my heart in a way that nobody ever has before. I hate him so much that I want to rage at him and tear him apart with my claws.
Taking deep breaths, I run my hands over the front cover. The book is embellished with gold text: Hell and Damnation. That part is certainly true of my life.
I jump when one of the compliance officers bangs on the doorframe with a barked order. “Time to finish up.”
Bree grabs my hand as we leave the room lugging our buckets. She gives me a nod. She’s pale. Scared. But she appears resolved.
“I’ll get stronger,” she says as we walk down the corridor. “Like Ashley and Lucinda. I’ll control it. Then… when the time is right… I’ll use it.”
I meet her determined eyes.
The right time needs to be soon because I can’t keep sleeping in a room beside Striker’s, I can’t keep pretending I’m okay with Raptor pushing me around, and I definitely can’t accept that I’ll die in this place.
After putting away the cleaning gear, we make our way to dinner. Bedtime can’t come soon enough. I need privacy to extend my claws and hope that the wound on my face heals.
There’s an edge of tension in the dining room and I soon see why—nearly thirty compliance officers line the walls, standing guard. As I take my seat, Ms. Sparrow announces that we are on lockdown until further notice. It’s the first lockdown since I arrived, but my curiosity is overtaken by impatience. I have longer to wait until I can try to heal myself.
When I look around, I discover that Striker isn’t present. My annoyance quickly flips to worry. I might hate his face, but there’s a certain comfort in knowing that he’s around. If he’s not here, it could mean there’s trouble somewhere in the Academy.
Putting me more on edge, Ms. Sparrow spends the entire meal in the dining room. Usually, she departs after she’s dispensed our meals. She stands close to my table, her gaze never roaming far from me, Lucinda, Bree, and Ashley. When Osprey finally enters the room and gestures to Ms. Sparrow, the red-haired witch glides over to the door and the two women speak for a few moments. At the end, Ms. Sparrow stares hard at me again before she announces that the lockdown is over.
More than a little unnerved, I murmur to my friends, “Be careful. Something’s going on.”
Lucinda grabs my hand, her expression urgent and afraid. “You be careful. Whatever they want to know… don’t get killed over it.”
I hurry up to the attic, meeting Zara Draven when I reach the third floor. She appears relaxed as she passes me, which must mean Striker is completely fine. I don’t like her much, but the hug she gave him this afternoon was genuine. I would hope that if he were in trouble, she wouldn’t be so casual about it.
She gives me a formal nod. “Good evening, Peyton.”
Maybe for you.
Taking deep breaths, I make my way to my room. The compliance twins peel off and head back down the stairs as soon as I reach Striker’s room.
I slow my pace, casually glancing through his open door to make sure he’s okay. He stands at his window, his arms folded across his chest. The curtains are open wide for the first time. He can see the front of the Academy from that side.
He’s fine.
I can move on now.
“There’s a new beast in the pit,” he says, his voice catching me at the last moment as I’m about to walk away. “They unloaded it this evening.”
I miss my step, halting at the side of his door. That would explain the lockdown, but it doesn’t explain Ms. Sparrow’s intense scrutiny during dinner. I keep my tone even. “What kind of creature is it?”
“The cage was covered when they took it inside.” He half-turns. His hands lower to his sides, revealing his extended claws while one side of his face remains in shadow. “I’ll soon find out.”
I manage a laugh. “You or me. It’ll be one of us.”
I can’t forget that Osprey and Raptor have promised me a world of pain if I don’t tell them what I saw in my vision. I’ve come to the conclusion that they are genuinely afraid of the assassins. Which means that the longer I hold out, the more likelihood that the assassins will catch them unawares. I’d love for the woman I saw in the Fury’s memory to creep out of the shadows one night and wreak havoc on this place.
Still, I consider how badly I want to piss Osprey and Raptor off. The reality is, no matter what I tell them, they’ll hurt me. I’ll be able to bear it if I can get a handle on my power to heal myself. Assuming I believe I can do it without Striker.
Striker suddenly turns and strides toward me, an oncoming mass of muscle and dangerous intent. With a gasp, I backpedal as fast as I can, veering left so I don’t crash into the windows.
I can’t imagine what I’ve done to make him mad. Maybe his sister told him I was rude
to her today.
He thuds into me before I can get far. I’m normally faster than this, but my instincts are dull, my reflexes sluggish. I put it down to dealing with the pain in my cheek all day.
Before I can slip his hold, he wraps his arms around me, drawing me upward in a fierce hug.
I’m so surprised, I don’t fight back. Can’t. Don’t want to, but my arms hover around him, not hugging him back. I’ve had group hugs with the girls, but this is a full-on, gather-me-up-against-him, hold-me-tightly, hug. I don’t know how to respond, where my arms are supposed to go, or where I’m supposed to rest my head. I was closer to him before when I was naked, but this feels different. Warm. Comforting.
His chest presses against mine as he inhales and buries his face in my hair. Just as I relax enough to venture to put my arms around him, he exhales carefully. “I’m sorry for what I did.”
I freeze as he drops a kiss on my forehead and lets me go, turning and striding back into his room. He closes the door quietly behind him.
Staring at his closed door, I can’t seem to find my feet. Up is suddenly down and my world is spinning. What just happened?
It’s completely out of character for Striker to apologize for anything. One minute he was telling me about the new beast and the next he was hugging me. But… why?
I scowl at his door, completely thrown. I can’t make sense of his actions, although his apology sounded genuine. I swallow a sarcastic laugh. No doubt, he’s already regretting it.
What I know for sure is that the pain in my cheek has eased. It certainly hasn’t healed entirely, but just like before, physical contact with him has triggered my healing power.
I hurry to my room, trying to focus on what I need to do.
As soon as I close my door, I release my claws, taking deep breaths, trying to find the power inside me, whatever it is, whatever I really am.
My eyelids closing, my head fills with the memory of holding the whip, how powerful it felt, the crack it made against the table. Especially the way it cut Raptor’s cheek. But his image is quickly replaced with Striker’s, his furious amber eyes and the way he dragged me up against him in his room after we kissed, the heat in his gaze making me want more.
