by L. M. Pruitt
I’m not sure how long I slept. Not long, because the first thing I noticed when I jolted out of my slumber was the sun shining through the windows. It turned the pretty, thin curtains transparent, a pale film of blue on the otherwise heavy air.
I’d been told the windows were specially tinted to allow in light but not UV rays. My look of confusion had been met with one sentence. “The whole exploding in daylight thing.”
Williams was such a smartass.
The second thing to tip me off was the pounding in my head. Worse than your worst hangover ever pounding. I’m relatively good with pain – thank you, Mother Superior – but this was excruciating. Running on empty followed by not nearly enough sleep always gave me a bad headache, but this was outlandish. If my head could have rolled off my shoulders, it would have felt better.
The third thing weighing in on my not having slept long was the guard in the chair across from me. He looked very much like he wanted to kill instead of protect.
Thoughts about why he was relaxing in what was probably an authentic piece of Art Nouveau furniture – with a very long, scary blade in his lap – made the pain in my head explode.
We sat there for a moment. Me – bleary-eyed and only partially dressed. Him – alert, scary and dressed. The bedside clock’s ticking echoed in the room, and the silence stretched until it was thinner than thread, begging to be broken. I was more than happy to oblige.
“I assume you’re going to try and kill me?”
The guard, who was supposed to be on my side, nodded, his shaved head shining dully in the late morning sun. I couldn’t stop staring at the tattoos covering his face and what I could see of his upper body. It reminded me of Celtic knot work, but it seemed… off. It was still beautiful work, starkly black against his glowing white skin; but it was wrong.
“I don’t intend to try, Prophecy. I was sent because I’m the best assassin seen in the past seven hundred years.” He smiled briefly, amused. “Well, I suppose I haven’t really been seen – but my work definitely has.”
“Looking to share your resume, boast a little?” I let the sheet drop to my waist, thankful beyond reason I had kept some of my clothes on. I was also thankful that men, no matter their age or species, are men. His slim fingers stilled for a moment in their massaging of the knife blade, his eyes traveling south before rising back to my face. When he met my eyes, I made sure to keep them blank – why, no, Mr. Looking to Kill Me, I wasn’t trying to distract you with my marvelous cleavage. After a moment, he spoke again.
“I usually just complete my assignment and collect the remainder of my fee. Seeing as I’m a few hours ahead of schedule, I suppose I could take a few minutes to share some of my exploits.” This time, the smile was genuine when he asked, “Perhaps you’ve heard that Hitler and his mistress were killed in the bombing of their safe house by Allied forces?”
I stared at him; slack jawed, forgetting this was not the time to be impressed by a guy’s job. “You’re telling me you killed Hitler and Eva Braun? No way. Seriously?”
He laughed a deep, joyous sound so at odds with the conversation and situation it was more than a little freaky. “I must say, it’s almost too bad I have to kill you. It’s been a long time since anyone has been so amused with my accomplishments. He made the grave error of sending more than a few vampires to the concentration camps, turning them over to his horrible doctors as “subjects” in their various experiments. His reasoning was anything that killed an undead would truly kill mere humans. He was, quite simply, pure evil.”
I blinked, thrown off by the last words he spoke. “Pure evil? Like Satan and the Anti-Christ pure evil?”
He laughed again and rose. His boots made loud thuds as he crossed to sit on the edge of the mattress. The look in his eyes now was one I was very, very familiar with. Sometimes, you have to let the people who only get off on hearing you scream, get off. Survival is much more important than a misplaced sense of pride.
His fingertips running up and down my arm made the hairs there stand on end, something else he found amusing. This close, I could see his eyes were black. Not that he had a large pupil, but the iris was the dark ink of midnight. For some reason, the detail freaked me out like nothing else in our encounter had. The sudden racing of my pulse made him smile, which only served to scare me even more, if possible at this point.
“No, Prophecy, pure evil is something so rare that those who have been touched by it are invariably changed.” His hand slid over my naked stomach, and I felt my muscles tremble. “Even Lucifer, in all his evil, was once chosen of God. And, though he was cast out of heaven, he retains the beauty and grace that placed him so near to the Almighty. The Anti-Christ, when he arrives, will share his father’s beauty and charisma – these things will draw people to him.”
His cold hand trailed upwards, cupping my left breast. I wanted to break his hand, every bone in it, but it would have to wait a few minutes. His eyes shone with amusement as he massaged my flesh, almost like he was waiting for me to yell, cry, or beg.
“You are remarkably self-possessed. Or maybe you prefer a little danger with your mating?” One finger dipped below the lace of the bra, flicking across my nipple, and he chuckled when it peaked in response. “I might be able to indulge you. Pity, truly, that I still have to kill you in the end.”
“Yes, that part is truly a pity.” Slowly, cautiously, I moved one hand to brush over his face, tracing his tattoos with one finger, edging closer to his eyes. I didn’t know if I’d be able to do it, but I would damn well try, and before he got most of his clothes off. “I only ask that you move the knife out of reach, at least until we’re finished.” His eyes narrowed. I leaned forward until I could lick his lips, laving them gently, unsurprised when his body twitched. “I have a feeling it would put me off my game, if you understand what I mean.”
Men, no matter their age or species are men, and this person sent to kill me reacted in the same way any fifty year old pot-bellied trick on the street would. He did exactly as I said, dropped the knife to the floor and kicked it away. If women would get over using sex as a weapon, they’d rule the world in one or two months, tops.
Weapon discarded, he pushed me back onto the mattress, balancing my lower body on his knees. His body, when he pulled his shirt off, was impressively muscled and covered with more of the somehow wrong tattoos. Needing just a few more minutes, I asked, “Why so much ink?” You only need a short question to get a five-minute monologue from a man.
Taking my hands, he did exactly as I hoped he would and ran my fingers over the various tattoos. One for Hitler – the largest, because Hitler was pure evil; a pair for the Kennedy brothers and one in a similar vein for Kennedy, Junior; a surprisingly pretty and delicate one for the Queen of Scots; another for Lincoln, which made me ask if he was responsible for all U.S. president assassinations – to which he responded, “Only the ones that succeeded.” The more he talked, the higher he drew my hands and the closer he moved to me. Only a few more inches, and I could hopefully execute my plan.
The ones closest to his eyes were marks from his killing of Jack the Ripper and there was no mistaking how excited my exploration of his tattoos was making him. His hands dropped away from mine, moving toward his belt buckle, and I knew this was my only chance. Taking a deep breath and reminding myself that now was not the time to be a total girl, I settled my thumbs over his eyeballs and pressed hard.
Apparently I got a boost of strength with being the Prophecy. Even though I pressed hard, hooking my thumbs to make sure I’d sever the optic nerve, there was absolutely no way humanly possible I could have pushed them hard enough to do the job in under a second. I ignored the wet plop on my skin as his eyes fell out, drove my knee up with all the force I could, and twisted my body to make sure he wouldn’t fall on top of me.
The horribly loud and keening screams he let loose were enough to make every hair on my body stand on end. My breath coming in shallow pants, I twisted, pulled and shoved myself off the
mattress, hitting the hardwood floor with a thud I hoped would get someone’s attention, although I had a feeling the man’s screams would do a better job.
Unfortunately, my thud tipped him off to my location. Even without his eyes – my stomach rolled involuntarily at the thought – he was still deadly as hell. I scrambled to my feet a split second before he leaped, growling, and landed right where I had been. The door, when I rattled the knob, was locked with a key I was betting Super-Assassin had in one of his pockets.
Great. Just great.
“You won’t make it out of this room alive, Prophecy. I’ve been paid well to ensure you don’t continue your rise to power, and I’ve yet to not complete an assignment.” We were circling each other, a deadly game of cat and mouse, and I had no doubt which one I was. “I might have let you die with some dignity, with a lack of pain, but now. Now, I’ll enjoy every scream.”
I bumped into the bed, and began crawling backward over it , never taking my eyes from him. Whatever he’d done to my guards, it was pretty obvious they weren’t coming. Which meant I got to play with Super-Assassin all by myself. Oh, goodie.
You can manifest fire. You can end him now. You know how.
Gillian’s voice rang in my head, and with it a light switched on. She was right; I knew how to make one of those crazy fireballs. Like it had been waiting there all along for something to trigger it, suddenly, there it was.
Concentrating, I took a deep centering breath. I felt the heat rise and focused, pushing it down my arm until the length of it burned, and my palm was an angry, fiery red. I began to think my hand was going to turn to ash, when the flames began to push through my skin, little licks of fire, the smell of pure heat filling the room. The faster I breathed, the higher the flames leapt, and my hopes soared.
I was going to live.
With a growl, he darted forward, and I instinctively thrust my hand into his face, gripping it tight. He began to struggle and smoke and the smell of burning flesh filled the room. The flames covered his face, ran down his body; yet, my hand and arm remained untouched, felt cooler. Giving a little push, I released him, watching him shriek and wallow on the floor.
The door blasted open behind me, and I craned my neck to see the doorway filled with people, Gillian and Williams at the forefront. Turning back to watch Super-Dead-Assassin convulsing and ashing away on the floor, I remarked absently, “I think we have a few kinks in the guard program.”
Chapter Eight
I spat into the toilet a final time, the taste in my mouth beyond description. I’d been throwing up for the better part of an hour. The heavy mass of my hair shielded my face, sweaty strands sticking to my cheeks and back. If I thought I had a headache before Super-Assassin, I’d been corrected after the two-second-behind arrival of the Cavalry. This was a headache – everything else before? Child’s play.
I flushed the toilet, and shifted to lean against the wall. The small movement amplified the pounding in my head, and when my left hand accidentally brushed my thigh I bit my lip to keep from whimpering. Apparently, even though I could produce fire, I needed to work on my technique a little bit - the burn probably wouldn’t scar, but it would be painful for a little while. Throw in the lashes on my back, which were healing pretty darn fast but not enough to suit me – I looked like a walking accident.
I jumped when something cool touched my arm and moaned at the cascading effect on my headache. A glass was pressed into my right hand and pills into my left. Without opening my eyes, I slugged them back, my stomach rebelling at the water. I’d had enough of the toilet, so I gritted my teeth and fought through the roll of nausea. A cold compress was placed on my left hand while my nursemaid of the moment wiped my face.
“Your mother didn’t do nearly as well the first time she had to use power in a hurry. It took us nearly a week to get her back on her feet.”
Gillian’s voice was low, almost casual, and yet there was a certain amount of pride in her words. “Well, looks like all those years as a street-urchin are finally paying off, eh?”
Gillian chuckled, a husky sound that didn’t seem to quite suit the image I’d been building of her in my head. “You did very well, considering the circumstances. If you had frozen or not pushed as hard, we might not be having this conversation.” The damp towel was replaced with another, and the coolness felt like heaven on my overheated face.
“She was very lucky. Hart will not be pleased the most feared assassin among vampires was brought down by a slip of a woman, with no experience in our world.”
I opened my left eye, staring out of the corner at Williams leaning against the doorjamb. “Hart can kiss my ass. If he messes with my shut-eye one more time, I’ll kick his keister just for practice.”
Williams threw back his head, laughing, and even Gillian couldn’t resist another chuckle. Encouraged by not being scolded, I braced my back against the wall, using my right hand to push up from the floor. Gillian rose, shifting to stand in front of me, and it seemed for a moment I’d be able to stay upright without assistance.
I pushed off from the wall, swaying for a moment. It took only a second for the outer edges of my vision to cloud and fade to black. I had time to mutter “Shit,” before pitching to the left. Luckily, Williams moved faster than my mere mortal self could and I wasn’t halfway to the floor before he’d scooped me up like I weighed nothing. I didn’t have to look at Gillian to know she was shaking her head. I didn’t care.
Williams turned, carrying me back into my new bedroom. I made a mental note to have my bed moved from my apartment. There were two smaller rooms, probably former servant annexes. One was now a closet Carrie Bradshaw would have envied. The other was to house my new companion. Gillian and Williams had ganged up on me, decreeing that since it was impossible for me to be in one or the other of their presence all day and the male guard couldn’t realistically go with me everywhere, I needed to have a female companion of sorts.
I wanted to wait until I was steadier on my feet, literally and figuratively, before fighting that little battle.
Williams gently deposited me on the bed, averting his gaze when the cotton robe Gillian had wrapped me in before my hour-long purge slipped open to reveal a little too much chest. Since most men actually try to see my chest, and not avoid it, his noble gesture meant a lot. It probably had something to do with being raised in a different era, but I’d take any display of chivalry at the moment. Something about being sick makes you want to be a little helpless and girly.
Gillian laid a cool cloth over my forehead, and then reached down to pull the layers of sheets and blankets over me. They turned to leave, when a question popped in my head. “Wait. How’d Super-Assassin wind up in the guard?”
“Super-Assassin? That’s something he’s never been called before.” Williams smiled slightly, sliding his hands into his pockets. “One of Kazimir’s unique talents, even among vampires, is the ability to take on the form of another. Not for an extended period of time, say, weeks, but such a feat is possible for hours, even days.”
He glided over to perch on the edge of the bed, taking my left hand gently. He began tracing the angry red circle already fading from where the fireball had burst through my skin. I’m not into pain, like real pain, but something about the slide of his fingers over my skin had my nerve endings singing, and not because it hurt. There was a grumble from near the door, but I was getting good at ignoring Gillian when it suited me.
“Gossip spreads fast, more so when the news in question needs to be kept silent. Kazimir had been in the city for at least a week, waiting for a moment to fulfill the contract. When the call for your guard was sent out, he disposed of one of those selected and took his form. From there, he simply needed the right time.”
My eyes met his and I was shaken at how grieved they were. “So one of the men supposed to protect me has already died? And the war hasn’t even really begun yet?”
“Baptiste was a good man. His passing will cause grief among even those who’
ve sided with Hart.” Williams continued to trace my wound, his eyes somber. “He was a soldier and would not have looked upon his death as anything other than being killed while performing his duty. One he took seriously.”
I swallowed, nodding my head. Less than seventy-two hours ago, my biggest worry had been how long I was going to have to play at Ms. Talanger’s party. Now, two people were dead because of me. Oh, I knew it wasn’t really my fault. Hart had been the one to cause their deaths; but they were dead because they had been involved in some way with me, one of them before he even knew who I was. My stomach rolled again, but I took a deep breath and waited for the queasiness to pass.
“He didn’t have a family, or a girlfriend, life mate, you know, whatever you want to call it, did he?”
Williams crooked an eyebrow. “Very few vampires can have children, the dhampyr. Baptiste was too much of a warrior for such tender emotions as love.”
I sighed with relief, my tense muscles relaxing. “If he’d had any connections, I’d have wanted to see them provided for, compensated in some way. His death was in the line of duty, so to speak, and deserves to be treated with all due respect.”
The strangled sound Gillian made from her sentry post at the door had me shifting my gaze from Williams, and him turning his head. To my utter shock, she gave a short bow from the waist, before hurrying from the room. I widened my eyes when Williams turned back to stare at me. “Seriously, I don’t even have a clue what I did this time.”
Chuckling, Williams rose to stand beside the bed. “A mark of respect. Few would think to concern themselves with the survivors of a man they’ve never met. You do the Covenant proud, Jude Magdalyn.”
Before I could say anything, he laid his head on my forehead, murmuring, “Rest.”
I was asleep before he finished uttering the word.