Claimed by the Assassins (An Academy of Assassins Novel Book 3)

by Stacey Brutger

  Morgan’s brain paused at the thought, realizing what she said was true. As Breanna wove in and out of traffic, Morgan glanced at the side mirror, expecting to see the guys’ van following. Then Breanna took a sharp left corner, nearly slamming her face against the window. “The guys—”

  “—will be safe from the dead as long as they stay away.” She swerved behind a dumpster, then killed the lights.

  Morgan whipped around to stare at Breanna, studying her face for a lie. “You’re sure?”

  She was not about to risk the guys’ lives if she could help it.

  “Positive.” A grimace twisted the banshee’s face. “The Wild Hunt has only one target. Since the guys didn’t see the ghosts, they’re free of the hunt.”

  Morgan wilted against the seat, her heartbeat taking longer to return to normal. Then she stiffened. “The guys won’t give up searching for me. They’ll keep coming, tracing me through our mating bonds.”

  Even as she spoke, their van swung around the corner, the ass-end kicking out. Instead of slowing, they picked up speed. The van blew past them, scattering papers and trash in its wake, then seconds later, slammed on the brakes, the tires skidding a number of feet before jerking to a halt. The backup lights kicked on, the tires giving a chirp of protest when the van bulleted backwards.

  The tires shrieked again when the van came to a halt next to them.

  The passenger doors flew open, spitting out Draven and Atlas, quickly followed by Ryder and Ascher. Even before they approached the car, the locks on her door clicked, and Morgan had to smother her chuckle. “You know that won’t keep them out.”

  “No,” Breanna turned to look at her, her beautiful face drawn tight. “But it will give me a few minutes to talk to you. If you go with them, I can’t help you. You’ve been marked for death. If you can’t survive until morning, you’ll become one of the Wild Huntsmen, forever doomed to hunt down others like yourself. You will have no choice in who you hunt or you will pay the consequences. Eventually, they will wear you down and you will learn to obey.”

  Breanna’s gaze dropped betrayingly to the mark on Morgan’s cheek, and Morgan touched the cut. To her surprise, it hadn’t healed. Draven walked around the vehicle to her side, but they were parked too close to the wall. Even if she wanted to get out this way, she would need to lower the window and crawl out…and even then, it might be a tight squeeze.

  Ascher and Ryder stood in front of the vehicle, as if they could stop a ton of steel and metal from mowing them over…and maybe they could.

  Atlas stood outside the driver’s side door and tapped the tip of her black blade against the glass, the vicious smile on his face promising retribution.

  Breanna swallowed hard but didn’t show any other sign of fear.

  Determination settled like a lead weight in her gut when she realized Breanna was telling the truth. So far only she had been marked, but it would only be a matter of time. She turned toward Breanna and nodded. “Will you give me a second?”

  Breanna glanced at the rearview mirror, her head cocked as if listening or seeing something that Morgan couldn’t. Then she reluctantly nodded. “Hurry. If you can’t get rid of the guys, I’m out of here.”

  Morgan lowered her window, then grabbed the roof and wiggled until she was sitting on the window frame. Draven didn’t hesitate. He grabbed her waist, then hauled her out backwards, dragging her toward the front of the car, until she was surrounded by the guys.

  Kincade was the last to join them. “What the hell is going on?”

  His eyes narrowed on her face, then he reached out, as if to touch the injury, and she quickly caught his hand, not wanting to risk the tracker transferring to him somehow. There was a hardness to him that reminded her of when they first met, and she realized that she’d scared him. Badly.

  “I’m sorry.” She squeezed his hand, knowing her next words were going to hurt him, wishing that she had more time to explain. “But I need you and the rest to go back to the school.”

  “No.” His fierce scowl told her she might as well have asked him to castrate himself. His grip tightened while he no doubt was contemplating the many ways to physically stop her from leaving. And maybe he could. She could skip out on them, but it wouldn’t be fair. Besides…they would only continue to track her down.

  When he turned as if to drag her to the van, she dug in her heels. “I’m marked. If I can’t stay alive until morning, I’ll be forever trapped in the Wild Hunt. The Wild Hunt.”

  Atlas paled, then began swearing. He shoved his way through the group until he was standing in front of her, his eyes immediately going to the innocent-looking cut on her face. “Your word.”

  He grabbed her face, his fingers hard as he tipped her head back to stare directly into her eyes. “I want your promise that you will survive and come back to me.”

  Tears gathered in her eyes at his belief in her, and she grabbed his wrists, her grip no less brutal. “I promise. I just found you. I’m not ready to give you up yet.”

  He studied her for a moment longer, then kissed her forehead. He stepped back, then formally offered her the black blade he held. “Ask me to hunt with you. I’d rather spend an eternity in hell with you than live a day without you.”

  The edges of her heart cracked at his declaration, the dark burnt umber in his eyes glowing fiercely. The pale lavender of his skin might shadow him in darkness, but it did nothing to hide the honorable man who would risk everything for her.

  She touched the tip of her finger to the blade, allowing the metal to flow up her arm into a cuff, and then she slipped her arms around his waist and spoke against his shoulder, “Breanna promised to help me. We can beat them, but not if any of you are marked. I would give up my life to spend eternity with you. The bitch queen might not know it, but I suspect the huntsmen would figure it out before too long. All they have to do is tag any of you, and I would give myself up.”

  She pulled away from him to face the rest. “I know you don’t want to leave, but I’m asking you to do it…if you want to save me, you have to go now.”

  “Don’t ask that of me.” Steam rose from Ascher, his beast staring out of his eyes, and he was doing nothing to stifle the anger. They’d fought alongside each other even before the rest of the guys came into her life. He had been her protector long before she even knew she needed one.

  Morgan slowly shook her head, her throat tightening at the pain she was inflicting on them by asking them to let her fight this battle on her own. “I can’t. You’re too important to me. You’re my greatest strength…but you’re also my greatest weakness.”

  When she went to touch him, he flinched, and pain exploded in her chest. She lifted her chin, and locked down her emotions, trying not to shatter from his rejection. The others didn’t look any more convinced, and Morgan backed away from them, her heart breaking at what she was about to do. “Did any of you see what was happening at the club?”

  None of them answered, which only proved her point. “You can’t fight an enemy you can’t see. You will be a liability. If you come with me, you’ll get me killed.”

  They looked like she had stabbed them, her cruel words wounding them more than any weapon. “Go.”

  She swallowed past the hard lump in her throat, clenching her jaw to keep her voice from trembling. “I don’t want you here.”

  Breanna honked her horn, and Morgan flinched. When she would’ve turned, Draven grabbed her arm. “I love you. I’ll be waiting for your return.” His grip tightened, and his throat moved as he spoke. “Don’t let me down.”

  Then he turned and climbed back into the van.

  A single tear escaped, and she nearly strangled on her sob.

  “Go.” Kincade spoke through his clenched teeth, his face a mask of anger. “Go, before I change my mind and stop you.”

  She threw a hesitant glance at Ascher.

  Though he didn’t speak, he nodded, studying her face with a fierce look that said if she didn’t come back, he would bre
ach hell and drag her back himself.

  Ryder closed the distance between them, gathering her into a bone-crushing hug that squeezed the air out of her before gently setting her back on her feet. He glanced down at her, his wolf staring out at her through his eyes. He was clearly beyond speaking, but he didn’t have to say a word…his wolf told her that if she didn’t return, he would find her.

  She gave the guys one last look before she jumped and skidded across the hood of the car, crawled on top of the roof, then lowered herself through the window, unable to bear looking at the guys a second longer, her soul feeling like she’d shredded it.

  A knock sounded on the glass, and she turned to see Kincade standing there. Very reluctantly, Breanna rolled down the window. “If she doesn’t come back, I will spend the rest of my days hunting you. One way or another, I will find a way to make you pay.”

  Morgan shivered at the deep, throaty growl of his voice, the low sound hitting her fight or flight instincts.

  “You boys might not be able to kill these bastards, but she and I can.” Breanna didn’t back down from the threat, narrowing her eyes in challenge. “I can’t make any promises, but I will do my best to see that she survives until dawn. That’s all I can give you…but you’re going to owe me. Big time.”

  The top of the vehicle crinkled where Kincade’s hand gripped the metal, then he reluctantly released his hold. “Agreed.”

  “Hey—” But before she could protest, Breanna revved the engine, then slammed the car into gear, and Morgan was thrown against the back of her seat as they tore out of the alley. She couldn’t keep her gaze from slipping to the side mirror, stealing one last glimpse of the guys as they disappeared from view. They stood in the middle of the alley, unmoving, staring after them.

  It was all she could do not to grab the door handle and throw herself out of the car. She gripped her arms to keep from doing just that, her stomach feeling like she’d just gutted herself. “You’re sure they’ll only come after me?”

  “You did the right thing.” Breanna quickly glanced at her before turning her attention back to the road, then nodded out the window. “Look.”

  Even as she watched, shapes tore free from the shadows, ghosts that seemed to rise from the streets, emerging clear through brick walls. They walked through people and cars as if they didn’t exist, making their way in to the streets. As their car raced past, the ghostly forms turned their heads, watching them.

  They didn’t once look in the direction of the guys, and Morgan slumped against her seat in relief.

  But as more and more ghosts flickered in existence, her unease grew. “I don’t understand.”

  Without conscious direction, weapons formed in her hands.

  She would not go down without a fight.

  “The Wild Hunt is an old Scottish myth. I won’t go into the details, but there are three main types of ghosts involved. Warriors who acted dishonorably, those who were cursed, and those who were caught and killed during the hunt.” Breanna took another turn, heading down an empty street, not even bothering to slow as they skidded through the intersection while she worked her way out of the city.

  She plowed through one of the ghosts walking down the middle of the street. Morgan instinctively raised her hands and braced for impact, but the car sailed right through him. The air in the car turned frigid, Morgan’s breath fogging up the interior. The cold air seemed to suck the energy from her, seeking her warmth, and she shrugged away the fatigue. She didn’t have time to be weak.

  Breanna glanced at her, curiosity making her green and blue eyes swirl. “That you can see them is because of the mark, but that you can feel the coldness of the veil tells me you’re either very powerful or you have a touch of banshee in your ancestry.”

  When Morgan didn’t speak, Breanna shrugged. “The huntsmen can call upon the dead, pull them out of their graves, and force them to spy on us. Though they won’t physically attack, they can drain us of energy to live if they touch us.”

  “Got it. Avoid letting a ghost touch me.” Morgan nodded like it made all sorts of sense, then gave a wry laugh. “And how would I manage that?”

  Breanna snorted, humor tipping up the corners of her lips for a few seconds, before she grew serious. “Spells are the best way. Holy ground is better. Only the strongest can walk on blessed land.”

  Morgan nodded sagely, ignoring the feeling that she was completely in over her head. As the ghosts became less and less frequent, the blades gradually flowed back up her hands, resting heavily on her fingers and wrists, a reminder that they were there if she needed them.

  “These vengeful spirits are trapped, forever tortured for their sins, slaves to any who call them.” Breanna began to slow the car, not bothering to look at Morgan as she muscled the vehicle between two buildings, the road more of a walkway than a street. “A few believe if they stay they can have a second chance at life, while others believe they’re working off a penance, but they all ultimately obey for their own reasons.”

  “And they want me dead.” Morgan swallowed hard at the impossibility of surviving the night, the heaviness in her chest easing slightly at knowing the guys would be safe.

  Breanna turned the next corner, slamming on her brakes just seconds before they would’ve plowed into an old warehouse that had seen better days. She turned off the engine, gripped the steering wheel and stared straight ahead. “Yes.”

  “Why are you helping me?”

  Instead of answering, she asked a question of her own. “You offered me a place in this world. Did you mean it?”

  Morgan didn’t even hesitate. “Of course.”

  Breanna glanced at her for the first time, then nodded. “Then I need you alive.”

  Without another word, she opened her door and headed toward the warehouse. Morgan had to scramble to keep up with her.

  “The huntsmen will find you.” She twisted the handle, pausing to nod at her, indicating the mark on Morgan’s face. “It’s only a matter of time.”

  Breanna pushed open the door, hesitating before she stepped over the threshold. “You saw the dead at the club.”

  It wasn’t a question, but Morgan answered anyway. “Yes. I think after I touched you I was able to use your abilities to see them.”

  “Not exactly.” Breanna grimaced. “How many did you see?”

  Morgan did a mental count, going over the scene again in her mind, knowing it wasn’t an idle question. “Maybe seven.”

  “And you killed two. That leaves five left.” Without another word, she disappeared inside.

  “Five left?” Morgan hurried after her, but the moment she set foot in the warehouse, tingles swept over her skin. The sensation wasn’t painful, almost pleasurable instead, and her fatigue vanished. When she glanced up, she stopped short to see Breanna watching her with a small grin, like Morgan had passed some sort of test.

  “What was that?” Morgan couldn’t keep the suspicion out of her voice.

  “Holy ground.” Breanna lead her to a corner of the warehouse, weaving around metal shelving that loomed out of the darkness, ready to crush the unwary. “Since you’re marked, you’re more sensitive to it. If you had any evil intent, you would’ve been expelled from the premises.”

  Expelled…didn’t sound very pleasant, but Morgan couldn’t blame her for protecting herself. “What did you mean five left?”

  “Only the one targeted during the hunt can see the huntsmen.” Breanna turned the corner and disappeared into the darkness, and her voice floated back to her. “If you had remained with your guys, if they caught even a glimpse of the huntsmen, they would’ve become part of the hunt.”

  “Everyone in the club saw two of the huntsmen die.” Morgan hurried after her, anxiety kicking her hard enough in her chest to make breathing difficult. She wouldn’t leave the guys alone to fight a battle against an opponent they couldn’t even see.

  “They’ll be fine.” When they reached the corner of the warehouse, Breanna fiddled with a lamp resting on
the table. After a few clicks, the wick lit, casting a soft glow through the space. “They would’ve been marked if they witnessed anything. All it takes is one touch.”

  Conscious of one of them passing clear through Ryder, her heart skipped a beat. “The huntsmen walked through people at the club.”

  “That doesn’t count, or they would end up having to collect thousands of souls a night. Their touch leaves a mark that those from the veil can see and track.” Breanna waved a hand, her expression slightly frustrated as she tried to explain. “When the huntsmen died, their powers were stripped from them, turning them visible to the whole world. Your men are clean. They don’t bear the mark.”

  Breanna walked away, ending the conversation, and Morgan took the time to glance around the warehouse. The scent of oleander was stronger here, and she realized Breanna had set up housekeeping. There wasn’t much…a bed, some clothes, and a few cans of food. She hadn’t realized Breanna’s existence was such a struggle, but she refused to feel pity for her.

  Morgan lived for years in a single room, her every move monitored and studied, tormented and tortured if she stepped out of line. Having a warehouse to herself would’ve been a luxury and a blessing.

  “So how do we do this?” Morgan watched Breanna as she stood in the middle of the room.

  Energy began to gather and swirl, the power so strong she could reach out and feel it brush against her fingers. Pressure built until her ears popped. Light flashed, and she saw Breanna’s image waver as she morphed into her banshee form. Resting in her hand was a three-foot sword made completely of obsidian.

  When she glanced at Morgan, her eyes were a crystal blue that could cut, and her expression was anything but friendly. “Do you know how to use those blades you hide so well?”

  Morgan raised her eyebrows, giving a wicked grin, anticipation making her feel light, and she curled her hands into fists, enjoying the way the metal slid between her fingers, before forming into two five-inch deadly blades. “Of course.”

  “Then we take the fight to them.” Breanna lifted her sword, swung it around until it was facing the ground, then slammed it down hard and fast. “We go into the veil.”