by Jayne Hawke
Kerry’s hand flew to her mouth.
“No! You can’t ruin this for me!”
Dean and I laughed.
“I can picture it now. Cold, rough leathery skin with sunken eyes and thin straggly hair. A weird rasping voice and an accent that doesn’t quite fit anywhere. Long bony fingers and a haggard body. They might live in caves and feed on whatever poor being wanders too close. They could be somewhere between a feral Fenrir shifter and a vampire bat,” Dean said with a grin.
Kerry narrowed her eyes at him.
“Are you telling me all of those romance novels are wrong?” she said with a huff.
We laughed again. Kerry couldn’t maintain her faux grumpiness.
“What did I miss?” Ethan asked as he walked into the kitchen.
“Kerry was trying to convince us that not only are vampires real, but they wear frilly silk shirts,” I said.
Ethan shook his head solemnly.
“It’s too difficult to get blood out of silk. They’d have to wear polyester blends,” he said matter-of-factly.
“You just couldn’t let me be happy, could you?” Kerry said.
Ethan grinned at her.
“It wouldn’t be right for a hound to let a cat be happy,” he said.
“I’m dropping a dead mouse on your pillow,” Kerry said sulkily.
Ethan laughed and took the seat next to mine.
The atmosphere was so relaxed and natural. It was easy being around the pack, being part of it. There’d been a time when I thought I’d never have a real home, and yet there it was. I just had to say yes.
ELEVEN
I wasn’t fast enough to run with the hounds, but I did need to keep myself fit. The gym at the merc headquarters was off limits since Ethan had taken me into his business, and I felt weird using that gym. It was full of ridiculously fit cu sith and shifters.
There was no new information on the blood thieves, and I needed to stretch my legs. Ethan had dropped me back in the city on his way back to his main office. There was some complicated paperwork that was bugging him. I rolled my shoulders and breathed in the crisp fresh air of the coming winter. Frost glittered along the shaded boughs of the trees and dark corners near the walls.
I hadn’t dared go down to the river since I’d killed the hag. I didn’t want to know what I’d find down there. That meant that I needed to change my route. I was walking over towards the park when I felt something. Frowning, I slowed my pace a little and tried to focus. My witch magic was still so new that I couldn’t really work with it without giving it my all.
The weird magic with the sparks in the blood was nearby. I ran my hand over my sheathed daggers and prepared to pull one out if I needed to. We were in one of the nicer parts of the city, and I didn’t want to cause a scene by wandering around with them in my hands. The old buildings were all brilliant white with heavy black beams exposed along their frontages. Smaller windows were set back into thick heavy walls. The pale sun fell along the broad cobblestones that marked the age of this part of this city.
The street was narrower than in the newer areas, but that somehow added to the quaintness. I enjoyed wandering through the old parts of the city, it was somehow calming and soothing. There was a long history there, and that somehow gave me a feeling of security and peace.
There wasn’t a single soul wandering through that particular area. I assumed they were all away in work, which suited me just fine. Of course, it also made for a great ambush. The weird magic suddenly moved. I could feel it in my mind, but it was difficult to track.
An elf dropped off the rooftop down in front of me. His dark golden-blond hair had been cut into a short, fashionable messy cut which caught me off guard. I’d thought that elves all wore their hair long. His eyes were the colour of new leaves at the beginning of spring. They watched me with merriment dancing within them. He stood still with a playful grin on his face.
I stopped and looked him up and down, trying to decide what exactly I should do next. His light woollen coat hung to the middle of his thigh and looked as though it would restrict his movements some, and I didn’t see any weapons. It would be a shame to damage his delicate and beautifully fine bone structure, or to mar his flawless skin. Still, he was an elf and very likely an assassin. Elves were widely considered to be the most dangerous of the fae. They were incredible fighters.
I wasn’t going to be intimidated.
He moved towards me purposefully, each step measured, each movement played to a purpose. He was baiting me, trying to get me to make a move he could exploit. Was he trained in a fighting style that relied on counters, or did he just want to see what I’d do? Either way, I left my hands by my sides. I’d know when he was going to strike. No one was too good to read. Until he made his move, I could play his game.
I watched his footwork. His balance was perfect, but he wasn’t a fighter. He wasn’t made for an arena, let alone a battlefield. He was a killer, but not a warrior. He was a murderer. He killed when it was convenient, when it suited his purposes. His steps continued to slip towards me. He was slowing down, not ready to reach me, still hoping I’d give something away.
I stood stock still, flat footed but ready to fall into a defensive posture. I knew he could see it, knew he was too good to really buy my bluff, but if he was waiting for my first move he wouldn’t be looking for my sixth. I could feel the war god magic slipping into my mind. It was subtle, almost undetectable even to me, like the very first strains of a sonata but without the build-up.
He was close, now, close enough that I could have kicked him if I’d tried, if he’d let me. I saw the blow in my mind’s eye, saw it slide over his head, felt his follow up to my ribs. Another low kick swept into my mind, and he leapt back from it. No follow up that time. Still not worth wasting the energy or the initiative. Two steps back would put him out of step and let me fall into stance if I needed to.
I took them.
A triumphant gleam came to his face and he made a long step forward. It would have put him inside my reach, but I threw myself back, my instincts wanting to stay clean and clear. I’d been fighting with blades too long. Taking him off his feet there would have put me in a dominant position. He must’ve known what I would do, otherwise he’d have been a fool to make the attempt.
I didn’t have to settle my mind. The magic had already done it. There was plenty of game yet to play. If he thought this Olympic hugbox fighting was going to settle things, he was mistaken.
He was approaching again, watching my posture. He sidestepped around me, and I stood stock still, feeling him move with my magic, the sparking sensation fading into the background. He wouldn’t be here if he didn’t know what I was. There was no reason not to take the opportunity to stretch the muscles my mother’s lineage had given me. I focused on the magic. I let my normal senses shut down. I set aside my fight with the war magic and gave it rein to show me what it knew. I watched in blind stereoscopic clarity as the elf’s body moved around mine.
I could see the curious tilt of his head, the shift forward in his balance that came from restrained overconfidence. I could see his foot movements becoming automatic, repeating in order instead of being chosen one by one. He didn’t know what I was doing. He didn’t know what I could do, could be. I chose my moment.
I swung around faster than I could have dreamt possible before I gave my magic its chance, feigned a high wheel kick to his chin with my left boot. He leaned to his right, letting the kick sweep over his head. That was as I’d planned. I tossed an ugly body blow towards his right lateral and hit air. I’d planned for his guard to be too high to come down to stop the blow. I didn’t begin to imagine he could move away from it entirely.
I met his eyes and felt the blow before it landed. Three quick, pretty strikes to my solar plexus took the air out of me, but his follow-up kick whiffed in front of my face. Either he’d expected me to bend forwards clutching my gut, or he was playing games. Either way, it was going to be a painful mistake for the pre
tty elf.
Before his foot was back on the ground, I made a quick leg kick I was certain couldn’t miss. I heard a sharp exhale as he dropped backwards, my foot swinging centimetres over his shin as he fell into a comic-book-perfect ninja pose with the leg I’d been striking at fully extended and the other tucked under him. I was getting closer, but it shouldn’t have been this easy for him. I jumped forward and stomped at his knee, but even as I did I could feel my war magic chastising me for my playground antics. His leg was gone before I even finished telegraphing the attack.
By the time my foot hit the pavement, he was back in his languorous pacing pose, a touch of wetness in his hair the only sign that he’d had so much as a moment’s workout so far. I noticed that I wasn’t breathing hard, either. The war magic was buttressing me, keeping me fit. I decided not to worry about what else it might be doing to me without its muzzle. When I was done showing the elf why he should have taken up data entry, I could get philosophical about magic all day and night.
My model of his style was solid, that I knew. His style was pretty, elfin, rarely used but often practiced. He was good, better than me. He was faster than I could predict, faster than he’d showed. He was playing games. He wasn’t here to kill me, but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t. This wasn’t what he normally did. He would make his first proactive move in three steps.
When that last thought reached my mind, I started counting down. I could’ve pre-empted it, but I wanted to see if I was right. I wanted to see if my magic was right. Three steps left and he was smiling. He wanted me to know. Two steps left and his face was blank. He was letting me wonder. One step left and he was in his own head, probably doing the same calculations I had been a moment earlier. The final step landed, and he jumped forward, aiming a simple left straight at my right eye.
I swept it aside with one hand and stopped myself short of a counterstrike. Instead, I swept out to my right. He’d been prepared for a counter, and when it didn’t come there was a fractional moment where his focus was on the point he thought I should be. I took my shot, a bare-knuckle boxer’s uppercut hook, and slammed it as hard as I could to where I knew his head would be when he whipped around to see where I’d gone. It was a one-off, and I knew it. One Dinamita telegraph, cash on delivery to the elf that should have killed me ten minutes ago. If it didn’t put him down, the fight was over.
I felt the gentlest touch of elfin skin, so close I knew I’d be able to smell his overpriced moisturizer on my knuckles, and I smiled to myself even as I knew the punishment would come with interest in less than a second.
I heard a snap kick to left side of my ribs before it registered with my nerve endings. Another followed it, which I blocked readily, and a third fared no better. I could see the anger in his face. I’d won, and he knew it. We’d played a strange game of counting coup, and even if I was the one walking away with bruises this was a fight he’d remember long after he forgot my name and where the fight had happened and what it was even about.
He made a final vicious, needless roundhouse that, even through my block, made me stumble to the side, and walked off like he was taking the scenic route home from a rose festival.
I win, I thought, and made myself believe it.
TWELVE
I’d rung Ethan to tell him about my run in with the elf. He was pacing in front of our front door when I got there. Ethan vaulted over the small front gate and pulled me into his arms. I rested my forehead against his strong chest and allowed his scent to envelope me.
“I was so worried,” Ethan whispered as he stroked my hair.
I looked up at him with a raised eyebrow.
“You hired me because I’m awesome, remember?”
He gave me a warm smile that made me lean into him.
“Elf assassins are something that strikes the fear into even experienced warriors,” he said gently as he stroked my cheek with his thumb.
I reached up and cupped his cheek in my hand. The bristle of stubble pressed against my palm felt weirdly comforting.
“You won’t lose me. I’m a badass,” I said.
He laughed and moved to my side, keeping me close with his arm around my waist.
“Tell me everything,” Matt demanded from the doorstep.
I shrugged.
“Just an elf assassin, no big deal,” I said.
He glared at me.
“Make me a cup of coffee and I’ll tell you everything I remember,” I said.
We headed inside and settled into the small kitchen. Ethan insisted on pulling me into his lap and holding me close. I think it was more for his reassurance than anything.
The rest of the pack had arrived by the time Matt finished brewing the coffee. Cade served pieces of the most decadent chocolate Tiffin I’d ever seen. Whoever had made it had been very generous with the melted chocolate. The chunks of digestive biscuit were of the highest quality, and they had plenty of glace cherries in there. I bit into a piece and closed my eyes, experiencing pure bliss. It was rich, sweet, and just the right mix of chewy and crunchy. There could surely be no better food in the world.
When I opened my eyes, everyone was looking at me expectantly.
“I was walking through the nice old part of the city on my way to the park. I felt the weird magic with the sparks in the blood. He could have broken bones, but he didn’t. It was like he was playing with me. I didn’t manage to really hurt him, the bastard. He just disappeared like it was nothing when he was done.”
“He didn’t say anything?” Ethan asked.
“Not a word.”
Dean frowned, a deep growl rumbling in his throat.
“We must have missed something somewhere,” he said.
“Agreed,” Ethan said.
“The vast majority of elves live free lives in the Wilds on the fae plane. There are, however, a handful that either decided to claim territories of their own, Ryn being the primary example, or who are owned by powerful lords and ladies. I had assumed this one belonged to someone, but given he didn’t do any real damage, I’m unsure. We can, however, be sure that he is incredibly dangerous,” Ethan said.
“Elves usually keep to themselves. They remain out of politics and just keep to protecting the Wilds. No one outside of the Wilds really know what’s in there, but everyone knows you don’t survive stepping foot there unless the elves allow it,” Cade said.
“We know that someone very powerful wants you dead, or captured, if an owned elf is after you,” Dean said.
“Delightful,” I said sarcastically before I took another bite of Tiffin.
“Owning and controlling someone like Kit would give a lord or lady an advantage over the others. We’re looking for someone who’s hoping to advance themselves,” Ethan said.
“Or Ryn himself,” Kerry said.
“No. Ryn would never own an elf,” Ethan said.
Ryn was the most powerful fae in all of the territories. He owned the majority of the territories and fae businesses, and he kept the fae mostly in line and under control.
“What if the assassin isn’t owned and is just working for or with Ryn as a fellow elf?” Cade asked.
Ethan held me a little tighter.
“He could feel that Kit would give him a stronger chance against the god touched. They have been working particularly hard to drive the fae back to the fae realm this year,” Ethan said.
I rolled my jaw.
“I’m not some tool or toy to be bought and controlled,” I said.
“We know,” Ethan said softly.
“You are, however, very unusual. That in and of itself is a dangerous position to be in,” Cade said.
“Why don’t you speak to Ryn about gaining protection for Kit?” Matt asked.
“No. That would make us beholden to him. We are a free pack, and we will stay that way,” Ethan growled.
“So, you’re just, what? Going to kill the assassins, mercs, witches, and whatever else rock up to take Kit for the rest of her life?” Matt challenged.
“She deserves more,” Matt said.
“We’ll deal with it one assassin at a time,” I said.
“More coffee anyone?” Cade asked.
THIRTEEN
Ethan hadn’t been particularly happy about leaving me that evening. I’d told him that I had a bigger stack of books by my bed, but it hadn’t helped.
What sleep I did manage to get was fitful and full of dreams with prancing elves with sharp daggers. I gave serious consideration to trying to get some magical stimulant to wake me up. There was not enough coffee in the city to make me feel awake and capable of doing much of anything.
Matt was still fast asleep when I slipped down to the kitchen and made myself a breakfast comprised of Tiffin, a croissant, and couple of squares of luxurious dark chocolate. The chocolate had small pieces of crystallised orange in it, giving it the most wonderful citrus bite. It wasn’t the most healthy breakfast, but I told myself that I’d earnt it. I did survive a dangerous fae assassin, after all.
The sun was still buried beneath the horizon, having only shed the faintest touch of greyish pink across the sky. It was far too early for my phone to be ringing, and yet there it was. Sighing, I picked it up and tried to sound more awake than I felt.
“Hello?”
“Another body has been found drained of blood. I’ll be there in fifteen, with coffee.”
It took me a few seconds to process who was speaking and what they’d said.
“Ethan?”
“Were you expecting someone else to tell you about dead bodies?” he said with a laugh.
I made a half-asleep groaning sound.
“I’ll add something to the coffee. See you in fourteen.”
I stuffed the last of the Tiffin into my mouth and ran upstairs to get dressed. Kerry might be ok lounging in her pyjamas, but I wanted to look as though I was capable.
Ethan looked perfectly put together when I opened the door. His deep purple sweater brought out the beautiful shimmering gold in his eyes and hugged his powerful torso. The jeans were practical and gave me a great view of his ass as he walked ahead of me. Even his hair was perfect with a little tousling to make him sexy.