by Dena Christy
DARK ASSASSIN
DENA CHRISTY
Copyright © 2015 by Dena Christy
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
CONTENTS
1. Chapter 1
2. Chapter 2
3. Chapter 3
4. Chapter 4
5. Chapter 5
6. Chapter 6
7. Chapter 7
8. Chapter 8
9. Chapter 9
10. Chapter 10
11. Chapter 11
12. Chapter 12
13. Chapter 13
14. Chapter 14
15. Chapter 15
16. Chapter 16
17. Chapter 17
18. Chapter 18
19. Chapter 19
20. Chapter 20
21. Chapter 21
22. Chapter 22
Dark Curse Preview
23. Chapter 1
Also by Dena Christy
Acknowledgments
CHAPTER 1
KINGSTON, ONTARIO
Sometimes monsters hide under the bed, crouch in the closet or stalk through nightmares. Kids everywhere know this, but adults forget this one truth when they leave childhood behind. The monster she hunted lurked in none of those places. He sat at the end of the bar.
Samara had to play this carefully; he couldn’t suspect what was going to happen or he’d bolt. Men around her stared, but not the one whose attention she wanted to draw. She could see his loss of control unfolding in front of her. Sweat beaded his brow as a trembling hand raised his beer to his lips. He needed another woman.
A satisfied smile curled on the edges of Samara’s mouth. He’s ready, she thought, running her tongue over her bottom lip. Cherry lip gloss tasted sweet on her tongue as thoughts of killing him ran through her mind. Now she needed to get him somewhere private.
She walked with an exaggerated swing of her hips, fighting the urge to curl her lips in a satisfied snarl when his eyes met hers. He froze. His body quivered like a predator poised to strike.
The dancers in her way parted like diverted water, opening a path straight to him. His eyes welded to hers, and electricity zipped through her. Lust, a wonderful human emotion, surrounded her, surged through her. The burn of her power infused her with strength. She knew what he thought, read it in his face — Easy prey.
The attack on the woman in the park had given him a taste for blood, but he hadn’t been able to make the kill. It’d get easier for him, once the madness took full control. The first kill is always the hardest. It haunted the mind for days, and sometimes months after the act. The screams of the victim echoed in a killer’s head long after the body went cold. Samara had popped that particular cherry a long time ago. She intended to make sure he didn’t find out what she already knew, that taking a life got easier with repetition. Her orders were simple: Find him, get him somewhere with no witnesses, and end him.
She stopped in front of him, and took the beer bottle from his lax grip. She raised the bottle to her lips, and room temperature liquid flooded her mouth. She swallowed, her eyes glued to his as she forced it down without grimacing. She put the bottle down on the bar with a thunk.
“You drank my beer,” he said with little inflection as his feverish eyes roved over her face and body, from the top of her head to the tip of her high-heeled black boots. She took a step toward him.
“It went flat, you wouldn’t have wanted the rest of it anyway.” Reaching out to touch him, the lust and rage inside him pumped into her body like toxic fire as soon as she made contact. She looked down, veiling her eyes from him so he wouldn’t see them turn blood red as she devoured his violent emotions. Closing her eyes for a moment, she clamped down on her self-control, so his emotions would not in turn become hers. Opening her eyes, she spotted the erection bulging behind his fly, indicating her effect on him. Too bad for him, since he wouldn’t be using it tonight.
“I think you’re done. Let’s get out of here, Rowan. I can think of something much more fun for us to do.” She pressed her body close, knowing her lush female scent would intoxicate him beyond the point of control.
Submit.
The message went from her brain, though her hand and straight into his head. Docile and quiet now, he stood and followed her without saying a word. And he never asked how she knew his name.
FORT MCMURRAY, Alberta
* * *
ERIC JOHNSON LOOKED around the bar as took a swig of his beer. He’d just got off a fourteen-day shift on a rig in the oil fields, and he was ready to burn off some steam. Restlessness plagued him all day, and he couldn’t quite figure out why. The guys on the rig said he was rock steady, because nothing appeared to rattle him, so the cause of his unease was difficult to pinpoint.
He figured he needed a woman and a run, in that order, which was why he was here at the bar. He wasn’t fussy, a pretty face would do. As long as she didn’t talk a lot, and didn’t want anything more than what he was willing to offer, which entailed tonight only. The guys on the rig had nicknamed him Lone Wolf, because he kept to himself and didn’t bother getting to know anyone. He did his work, collected his pay and took his time off alone. Of course, while the nickname wasn’t original, it was accurate, but not for the reasons they supposed.
He took another sip of his beer when a pretty brunette walked in and sat a few seats away from him along the bar. He glanced over at her, tipped his beer in salute. She smiled and looked away, before looking over at him again. And he knew he had her. A little too easy, but since he wasn’t looking for more than a one night stand, he didn’t want to put in the effort of chasing anybody.
“So are you from here? I haven’t seen you in here before.” The woman had moved and now stood beside him. He glanced over at her, her eagerness putting him off a little. The restlessness he was feeling still needed expending, so he told himself to get over it. He forced his features soften as he looked her up and down.
“I work on one of the rigs north of here, and I’m just in town to take some time off and relax,” he said as he took another sip of his beer. “You from here?”
He felt stiff and stilted as he talked to her. He didn’t know what to say and didn’t care what she had to say in return. She didn’t appear to notice, as she kept up her side of the conversation for a several minutes while she drank her drink. He could see her cheeks flushing, and could also smell her attraction to him. He figured it was just about time to get her out of there, and move on to the part of the evening he was most interested in.
“Do you want to get out of here?” he asked, and for a moment she seemed startled. She threw back the last of her drink, shifted off the barstool and slung her purse over her shoulder.
“Why not?” she said as she turned toward the door. Eric finished the rest of his beer, thankful she didn’t feed him some bullshit story about how she never did this sort of thing. He would take her back to his motel room, show her a good time, show her the door and that would be the end of it. And it would put a stop to his restlessness and the uneasy feeling in his gut.
SAMARA LED Rowan out of the bar, pretending to stumble a little in her high-heeled boots. It wouldn’t hurt for him to think she was vulnerable, and an easy mark for him to take.
“Where we goin’?” he asked, his words coming out in a rush as he buried his nose in her neck. “You smell good. Good enough to eat.”
“Easy, Tiger,” she said, pushing him away just as his teeth grazed her neck. It wouldn’t do for him to pierce her jugular with his sharper-than-normal teeth, so she kept him at arm
’s length. “I want to be alone with you, then you can do whatever you want.”
“You’re wrong, you know,” he said, his eyes feverish as he moved his face closer to hers. “I’m not a tiger. I’m the big bad wolf.”
She couldn’t tell if it was the beers he’d had at the bar or the fever rising within him that made his tongue so loose. If she had been the human he thought she was, she would think he was joking about the big bad wolf thing. Of course, she wasn’t human, and neither was he. He was the wolf he spoke of, a werewolf, and a mad one at that.
“Well come with me, Mister Wolf,” she said as she tried to pull him down the street toward City Park. The park would be a nice secluded spot. There was something a little poetic about ending his life in the same spot where he’d attacked that woman just the night before.
“Don’t want to go that way,” he said, even as he walked along with her. With her hand still on his arm, she could control him and make him go where she wanted. He stumbled over a raised part of the sidewalk, and his arm slipped from her grasp. As soon as her hand slipped free, she could see his madness slam into him full force and he grabbed her by both arms and dragged her into the alley.
Her heart pounded in her chest as he slammed her against the wall of the alley and pushed his lips onto hers. She could feel all his lust and killer rage as she clamped her lips shut and put both her hands on the side of his face. Struggling to absorb all this emotion, she could not move for a moment. Finally, she moved her hands down to his arms as his grip on her loosened. She turned him so that he was against the alley wall.
“Your eyes, they’re red. Why are your eyes red?” he asked, and then realization dawned and she could see clarity in his eyes where madness had been before.
“You know why, and you know why I’m here, don’t you Rowan?” she asked, careful not to let him go. Her influence on his mind was the only thing keeping him from succumbing to the bloodlust stirring inside him.
“You’re going to kill me, aren’t you?”
“Yes,” she said, her voice soft, seeing no point in pretending anymore. He didn’t seem inclined to put up a struggle so the truth would do no harm.
“How? I don’t see any weapons.”
“I’m going to put my mouth on yours and I’m going to suck out your soul. I can’t promise that it won’t hurt, but it will be quick.”
He seemed to relax, and for a moment she wondered if it was some sort of trick. Relaxation was not the typical response she got when she was executing someone. The bloodlust ebbed away, replaced by remorse and a self-loathing so deep it almost sent her to her knees.
“Do it, please. I want it to end.”
A lone tear ran down his cheek and Samara hesitated for a moment. This wasn’t right, he shouldn’t be acting like this. Still, orders are orders, she thought as the nails on her right hand elongated into spikes.
“As you wish,” she said as she sank her claws into the side of his neck and placed her lips against his.
ERIC BOLTED UPRIGHT IN BED, a searing, stabbing pain piercing the side of his neck.
“Baby, what’s wrong?” the woman from the bar asked from her place beside him on the bed, and put her hand on his arm. He shrugged her off, and her hand fell back on the bed.
“It’s nothing, Jenny,” he said as he turned his body so his feet came to rest on the floor beside the bed.
“It’s Janine,” she said as she pulled the sheet around herself and sat up. “My name is Janine.”
He rolled his eyes, although she couldn’t see him. It didn’t matter to him what her name was, because in the grand scheme of things this would be the last time he would see her. He reached for his jeans and pulled them on.
“Yeah, sorry about that. Listen, I just remembered something I gotta do, so…” He paused as he considered how exactly to tell her to leave. He looked at her face, and by the closed and deflated look, he guessed she got what he was saying. Good, he hadn’t want to be cruel, but he didn’t want her getting any ideas either.
She got out of bed and dressed. He reached into his pocket and pulled out some money.
“Here is some cab fare,” he said has he held the bills out to her. She turned away and walked out the door, closing it harder than necessary. Eric shrugged and put the money back in his pocket.
The pain in his neck came again, and he had a hard time catching his breath. His knees buckled and he came down on the bed. He lay panting for a moment as the pain seeped away. He lay like that for several minutes, until he felt he could stand without collapsing. Staggering towards the bathroom he looked in the mirror, but could see nothing wrong. He rubbed the skin on the side of his neck, and there was no soreness or tender spots.
Going back to the bedroom, he paced while he tried to figure out what was going on with him. First the restlessness, which having sex hadn’t cured, and now he was getting phantom pains? A sour feeling churned in the pit of his stomach, and it dawned on him what might be going on. These feelings might have nothing to do with him, and everything to do with Rowan.
He clenched his teeth when he thought about his estranged twin brother. He hadn’t seen or spoken to him in six long years, and it’d suited him just fine up until now. As much as he told himself he didn’t care, he still found himself reaching for his cell phone. He looked at his short contact list, with Rowan and his other brother Nick’s number being the only ones not work-related. He selected Rowan’s number and hit the dial button. The phone on the other end rang until it went to voicemail, and Eric ended the call.
He set his phone aside on the nightstand, shucked his jeans off and got back into bed. His brother was fine, he tried to tell himself as he snapped off the bedside light.
ERIC BOLTED upright in bed for the second time in the span of a few hours. It wasn’t pain that had him sitting up, it was the shrill ringtone of his phone.
He picked it up off the bedside table, and a feeling of dread settled over him when he saw it was his brother Nick. Debating for a moment, he finally pressed the talk button, and put the phone to his ear.
“It’s Rowan. He’s missing and you need to come home.”
CHAPTER 2
A s the throbbing music vibrated his stool and hurt his ears, Eric wanted to be anywhere else but here. Why the hell had Nick sent him here? He said Rowan came here the night he disappeared, but for the life of him Eric couldn’t figure out why. His brother must have changed a lot in the last six years. Alcohol, perfume and unfulfilled sexual desire battered his nose. At least his headache pounded in time with the pulsing music. A cautious sniff around the place had assured him there were no other werewolves present. No wonder. No wolf in their right mind would subject their senses to this painful assault.
Pinching the bridge of his nose did nothing to relieve the pain thumping behind his left eye. If he stayed her for much longer, maybe he could develop a nice twitch to go with it. That would give everyone here something to stare at, not that they weren’t staring already. He tried hard to erase the scowl on his face, but he doubted his success. None of the patrons, or the bar staff had remembered seeing Rowan when Eric showed them a picture.
As he took one last look around, his breath left his body with a soft whoosh. Another part of his anatomy came to immediate attention as he spotted the woman dancing a little off to the side. It usually took a little more work to get him to salute.
Her eyes were closed as her head rocked back, her hips snaking along to the music. Not much skin showing, and she wasn’t even within touching distance. Why then did he feel like she’d stopped halfway through giving him a lap dance? Christ, he’d just had a woman three days ago. He didn’t need the complication of another one right now.
Wincing as he stood, he found it difficult to pull his gaze from her. He moved to set his beer bottle on the bar, missed and closed his eyes for a second when it shattered on the floor. Perfect, he thought. Now he looked like an idiot.
She stopped dancing, tilting her head back down to look at him. If a
sked, he was sure he wouldn’t be able to describe her face. Her sweater, he could have told a police sketch artist about it, down to the one silvery strand of platinum hair clinging to her sleeve. The garment caressed her full, round breasts and ended two inches above her navel. A smooth expanse of stomach stretched above the waistband of her low-slung jeans, which embraced her flaring hips. It wouldn’t take much to pull them off. Not much room for panties under them either, which opened a whole realm of possibilities he didn’t want to explore. He looked at her face and met her eyes.
The music, the lights and the other people in the room faded into the background, leaving her. Just her. An invisible thread drew him closer. The pull encompassed his whole body, like she’d thrown a rope around him and reeled him in. His booted footfalls matched the heavy thud of his heart as he walked toward her.
A man bumped into her, breaking the eye contact between them. The room grew brighter, the music louder, like someone had turned on the lights and cranked the volume. Sweaty bodies pressed in on him, their tangy scent burning in his nostrils. The men looked at her, their lust not disguised by the flashing lights on the dance floor. His hands itched to grab her and shield her from their eyes.