“No, I didn’t miss. I don’t ever miss,” she protested.
“Maybe I need another ale. That must be it. Will you be a good lass and fetch me another?”
She nodded and pushed up from his lap. With the flick of his fingers the shilling flew through the air. She caught it effortlessly and giggled.
“Can I examine those dice, sir?” Viktor asked, leaning forward to look at them.
“Are you calling me a cheat?” The dealer’s eyes narrowed.
“Of course not, sir. I’m asking to examine your dice. If they are missing the crown, then I will call you a cheat. Now, the dice if you don’t mind?”
The dealer scowled and lifted the first dice, turning it over to show the crown symbol clearly marked. “Do I need to continue?”
“If you don’t mind,” Viktor stated, nodding toward the next dice.
The dealer lifted each one, the crowns unmistakably present on all three. “Satisfied?”
“I won’t be satisfied until I win my money, but I’m confident you aren’t using trick dice.” He grinned.
A scream whipped Viktor’s head toward the bar. “Let go of me!”
He saw the arm of his escort clenched tight in the hands of the man who had eyed his coin purse at the bar.
“I said let’s go now, you filthy drab!” The man snarled at her, tugging her toward the stairs that led to the rooms above.
“Let go of me!” she screamed as she resisted. Her pleas caused the men in his group to howl with laughter while he dragged her away.
Viktor stood from the table. He flipped the tails of his black leather cloak behind him, moving his hand to the dagger in his sash.
“Release her,” he growled, the depth of his voice left no question to his threat.
The patrons in the tavern grew silent, their attention focused on the impending battle. A round of fevered shushes silenced the room. All eyes turned to Viktor as he stood immobile, his intimidating stature looming over the room. Rigid. Waiting.
The man holding the girl stopped, yanking her to a halt with him. She whimpered when he tightened his grip on her arm. “Release her, or what?” He smiled a crooked smile, his jagged tooth catching on his lip.
Viktor lowered his chin and deepened his glare. The men at the bar rose one by one, hands hovering above their weapons. Viktor’s eyes never wavered though he took count of their numbers. Sixteen if he counted correctly. A difficult fight even for someone of his skill. The woman whimpered again as the man’s grip tightened on her once more.
“I said... release her.” Viktor’s muscles twitched in anticipation.
“Bugger off,” the man chortled. “Come on, whore.” He yanked her forward and Viktor’s hand flew to his dagger. It sliced across the room and drove deep into his wrist, nearly severing the hand that held her. He yowled as he released his grasp. The woman fell forward, terrified eyes turning to Viktor while he stood, unmoving.
“Go. Now,” he commanded her. She nodded her thanks and raced out the back door. Sixteen pairs of eyes fell to the man now bleeding on the floor, clutching his wrist. Sixteen pairs of eyes now moved back to Viktor.
“Get him!” they yelled as they fell over one another, racing toward him with weapons drawn.
Viktor slid two of the daggers from the armed baldric strapped to his chest. He eyed up the incoming charge. The man in the lead had them all by six inches in height and one hundred pounds of muscle. The bloke three men over was less impressive in size, but covered in scars and battle wounds. No doubt he knew how to survive a fight. With his two most direct threats in his sights, Viktor let loose his two daggers. They arrived at their targets in unison, both men dropping to their knees, clutching the daggers embedded in their throats.
Viktor slid his sword from his sash and prepared for the first wave. The first man arrived, his inexperience showing as he took an early swing. An easy sidestep and a jab sent him hurdling to the ground, blood spilling unchecked from his abdomen. The next man entered the fray just as carelessly. Viktor cut him down before he even had a chance to swing.
“I can do this all day,” he sneered as they filed through the opening between the tables to reach him. He had two more men down at his feet before they smartened up and began to encircle him. Viktor glanced at his surroundings, backing up now so he couldn’t be surrounded. The half-circle of men shrank as they pushed in toward him.
The first man lunged. Viktor jumped his blade and swung at him. He caught Viktor’s swing, pushing back as their swords collided. Viktor leapt onto the table and flipped backward, severing the man’s jugular as he landed. The circle closed in, blades flew as Viktor deflected each blow, cutting through them with ease and thinning the remaining men down to eight.
“Come on now, gentleman,” Viktor said, standing ready for the next assault. “No more of you need to die. Let’s just call this a night, you can buy me an ale and I can get back to winning my game. What do you say?”
A snarl erupted from the man to his left. Viktor swung to deflect the blow while another man attacked from his right. He kicked out, sending the man flying backward while battling the attacker on his left. Another sword joined the attack, this one narrowly missing his arm. For the first time since the fight began, Viktor could feel the tides slipping out of his favor.
He deflected blow after blow, the group closing in together now, making it almost impossible to do anything other than play defense. Viktor sized up his surroundings. He remembered the lesson taught to him when he was eighteen years old and training to be a Liberta assassin... there is no shame in retreating. Better to retreat, regroup, and return than to perish a proud man.
Viktor flew backward, running up the wall, swords slicing below him as he leapt off it and over the heads of the men that surrounded him. He couldn’t resist a taunting smile when he watched their faces fall in disbelief as he passed over head. His feet connected with the table, his muscles ready to push off and send him to safety. The table buckled beneath him, and Viktor’s eyes flashed wide as it collapsed.
“Shite,” he managed to murmur just before tumbling to the ground.
He rolled to his back, struggling to free his sword from the rubble of splintered wood. A sword descended on him and he raised his arm to deflect the blow, hoping the hard leather gauntlets strapped to his forearms would protect him. He braced for impact. Just when he steeled himself for the blow, another sword appeared above him, sparks flying when it collided with the one intended for him. A hiss of relief escaped his burning lungs. Viktor looked up to see a man towering above him.
“John?” Viktor furrowed his brow, trying to make out his features. “John Douglas? Is that you? What the hell are you doing here?”
“Are you going to lay there napping all day, or are you going to get up and finish this?” John looked down and smiled.
Viktor returned the smile and pulled his sword from the rubble. With one push he leapt back to his feet and returned to the battle.
“Causing trouble again, Viktor?” John asked, sending a man sailing backward with a kick.
“Rescuing a damsel in distress... the usual.” Viktor cut down another man.
“I think I am the one rescuing the damsel in distress right now, don’t you think?” John taunted him with a wide grin that matched the mischievous glint in his eye.
“Me? A damsel? I think not, my friend.” Viktor stuck his blade through a man’s throat.
“Certainly seemed that way to me,” John teased as they cut down two more men. “You helpless on your back; me jumping in to save you. Seems pretty damsel in distress to me.”
“I had things well in hand,” Viktor argued back.
“Sure you did.” John rolled his eyes, his sense of humor well intact even in the heat of battle.
The last two men stepped forward, blades drawn. John and Viktor raised their swords and stepped side by side. The four men circled each other, one deliberate step after another, each waiting for the other to make their move. Viktor tightened the g
rip on his sword and prepared to end this standoff with one quick move.
Two daggers flew past their heads, each hitting its mark between the attacker’s eyes. The men dropped to the ground in a heap at their feet. The tavern patrons sat in stunned silence, bodies littering the floor around them. Not even the tiniest noise sliced through the heavy air. But the smell... it permeated every crevice with death’s perfume.
Viktor looked to the man below him and then over to John, a furrow in his brow as he eyed the scattered corpses. His brow softened, and his lips pulled into a smile when he realized who must have thrown the lethal daggers.
“Charlie,” Viktor said, turning around to see her sitting on the bar sipping on a mug of ale.
“Hello, Viktor,” Charlie said with a smile, brushing a stray tendril of her fiery red locks from her face. The movement looked deceptively feminine coming from the woman that just took out two opponents without ever leaving her perch.
Viktor stepped over the bodies, and picked his way to the bar. Charlie sat perched on top, her black leather clad legs crossed, and her feet dangling as she tapped them together.
“Damn! It’s good to see you, love!” Viktor pulled her off the bar and into his arms. Hers wrapped around him in response, a tight squeeze following that caused him to let out a happy sigh. “Of all the taverns in all the world and you walk into this one.”
“It’s good to see you too, Viktor. It’s been months.”
Viktor pulled back, but maintained his embrace. “You’re looking as good as ever, love. Better even, if that’s possible.” His eyes looked her up and down.
“Viktor...,” John warned, stepping to Charlie’s side.
Charlie didn’t flinch, but flashed him her signature smile. “You look good too, Viktor. Although, I’m having a hard time seeing you without your mustache. When did you shave it off?”
Viktor rubbed his hand across the short, black stubble that shadowed his face. He was still getting used to the absence of the twisted mustache he had worn for years. “Aye, a few months ago. Lost a bet.” Viktor shrugged.
“A bet? You bet your mustache?” Charlie chuckled.
“Aye, love. I never lose bets, so I didn’t think it a risk. Alas, fate decided otherwise. What do you think? Should I grow it back?” Viktor turned up his chin, offering her a view from all sides.
“No. I like this, Viktor. You look good. Really good.” Charlie reached out to touch it.
“All right, that’s enough catch-up time,” John interrupted. “Viktor, you look good. Charlie looks amazing as always. And I do as well, of course.” A taunting eyebrow rose while he gestured to his unarguably handsome face. “Viktor, stop gambling, you’re terrible at it, and don’t grow back that horrible mustache. Are we good here?” He slung his arm over her shoulder.
“Stop gambling?” Victor scoffed. “I’m no quitter, John. You should know me better than that.”
“Still stubborn, I see.” John shook his head. “It seems things with all of us are good. I’d be better with an ale though. Barkeep?”
The terrified woman scurried to fill two more mugs. She rushed them back over, spilling them as her hands shook.
“So sorry about the mess. I hope this will help cover it.” Viktor tossed her a handful of coin and gave her a wink. “You’ve nothing to worry over about us. We’ll behave now, I promise.”
She nodded her head, uncertainty heavy in her eyes.
“What the hell are you doing here, Viktor?” John asked as the tavern patrons started speaking again, the deafening silence finally breaking.
“I was actually traveling to help Connor out with a few things. I sailed in to Scarborough, and I’m heading to Oxford to meet him.” Viktor plucked a leftover wood shard from the dark hair resting on his shoulders.
“Connor? How is he? Oh, I do miss him,” Charlie said, her voice taking on an unusual tone of warmth.
“I haven’t seen him in months either. I’ve been sailing with my crew trying to rustle up some excitement. Things have been slower for us now that you two combined our assassin factions, and the Order is no longer my enemy. I’m a little bored to be honest.”
John tipped his head. “Bored? We always have plenty of things that need tending, people that need protecting, and plots that need thwarting. In fact, we’re off on a mission now.”
Viktor’s eyes lit up. “You are? What kind of mission?”
Charlie leaned in. “Word on the street says there’s a bounty on the head of an attendee of Lord Rigley’s annual summer ball. We haven’t identified the mark, or who ordered the hit for that matter, but John and I intend to figure it out, and put a stop to it.”
Viktor smiled and slammed his fist on the table. The sound startled the shaken patrons. “A mysterious plot, an assassination attempt, and a who-done-it? Count me in!”
“You’re not tagging along, Viktor,” John contended. “Charlie and I have this well under control.”
“Tagging along? John, I’d be a huge asset. Lord Rigley’s is in London on my way to Connor’s, so I’ll just pop in with you. We’ll foil the plot, then I’ll be on my way.”
“John, I think we should let him come. We could use another set of eyes, and Viktor is as skilled an assassin as both of us.”
Viktor scoffed. “Better,” he mumbled under his breath.
“Really, Viktor? If you think you can best me, then I invite you outside—”
“Would you two knock it off before you start pissing on each other?” Charlie cut in. “Viktor is coming. We can use him, and he’s bored. Look at him for God’s sake... he’s practically shaking with excitement. Let’s give the man something productive to do.”
John shook his head and finished with a nod. “All right, you can join us. Charlie’s right.”
“Good man. You’ve learned not to argue with her already. ‘She’s right’ will be part of your daily vocabulary soon.”
“Trust me, it already is.”
The two men shot each other a look and a snicker. Charlie raised an eyebrow, and her blue eyes seared through both of them while she crossed her arms and arched a brow. “Well, now that we can agree on something, can we move forward?”
“Of course, Charlie. We’re only teasing. I have great respect for your man, here.”
“And I for you, Viktor,” John said, raising his mug in a toast. The two men clinked them together. “Except when you’re lying on your back practicing your damsel in distress routine.”
Viktor couldn’t contain his laughter any longer. John soon joined in. “I missed you both. I’m looking forward to working with you.”
“Good,” Charlie said. “Then I say we get the hell out of here. These poor people still look like they think we may go on a rampage at any moment.”
Viktor looked around the tavern to the sets of terrified, wide eyes that remained fixed on them. “You’re probably right. Well, let’s get this little adventure underway, shall we?”
John nodded. “Let’s go.”
Viktor led the way out of the tavern and on to their next adventure.
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ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Katherine Hastings loves love. It’s why she writes romance novels. Getting lost writing a romantic ad
venture is one of her favorite pastimes. When she’s not on an adventure with her characters, she can be found at her home in Wisconsin snuggling her husband, two Boston Terriers, and the world’s naughtiest cat. Two things make Katherine want to leave her happy home these days... going for rides on her dressage pony or floating at the beach in her big inflatable raft. Writing her novels while floating in the lake is one of her ultimate pleasures... that and Fried Wisconsin Cheese Curds, of course.
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In The Assassin's Arms (Daggers 0f Desire Book 1) Page 18