The Priest's Assassin

by V. C. Willis

  I blinked at the blade slicing through, my muscles burning with excitement. A yelp came from overhead, her footing failing her as the pine buckled and began to fall. She let the arrow fly, and it cut open my thigh. I abandoned the claymore and shouldered the falling trunk. The tree twisted and shook her down in the other direction from where it fell, keeping her from harm’s way. Panting, puffs of steam rolled from my lips as I stared at where she lay, shocked. My legs shook, the adrenaline waning, and I sank to the ground. I feel like an animal. Wincing, I pulled the arrow from my back. When did she hit me with that? When I went for Ale? The wound closed faster than expected as I came to my senses.

  “That’s never happened to me before,” announced the assassin lying flat on her back.

  “Which part?” Glancing at the tree, the cut through the elder pine sent a shudder through me. All those years on the farm I tried to do that with nothing but my hands being jarred until numb. I even tried over winter, but… what changed? What did Red Wine shake loose last night? And should I be scared to follow Ashton’s footsteps beyond this?

  “I’ve never had someone cut the tree out from under me.” She sat up, picking me apart. “How did you find me so fast, Prince Ashton?”

  Prince Ashton? Shit, that’s right. That’s my name now, isn’t it? Clearing my throat, I decided to speak normally. Not like anyone in this century ever heard him talk. “You ever seen a Willow hound trail game?”

  “Y-yeah?” She crossed her arms. “But I’m no deer. And we’ve never met, so as a bloodeater from that distance, there’s no way…”

  “Oh, I could smell that sweat you broke out in when I caught Ale.” She flinched, and I smirked. “And thanks to you two having some fun before coming this way, I could smell him on you.”

  She fell back, groaning. “I can’t believe you could… don’t you tell a soul!”

  I laughed, but it was short-lived when I heard John’s voice calling me. “Dante!”

  “When a priest calls your name like that, you can’t exactly disobey,” I muttered, rising to my feet. “Granted, felling a tree shook everyone, I imagine. I meant to shake the trunk, not cut it down. My apologies… Mead?” I guessed.

  She jumped to her feet, excited as she confirmed, “That’s me. Your personal rogue and archer extraordinaire.” Bowing deeply, she was even tinier than Red Wine in stature, light on her feet considering how fast and far she had climbed the tree. “You owe me three.”

  “Three?” We were walking back, and I bellowed, “We’re fine! Coming your way!”

  “Three gold,” she demanded, flicking her fingers as she skipped up next to me. “For the three arrow strikes that landed and stuck. I think Ale only got one, but I don’t think Red Wine will even count that one.” She tapped my ear. “Still blood there I see.”

  “Here’s six,” I scoffed, digging them out of a pocket. “And five more coins for a new bow.”

  “New bow?” She took the gold, curious now.

  “For Ale. I broke it in the heat of the moment. Thank you for allowing me to… warm up.” A chill rolled over me. John should be busting through right about…

  “Dante!” John stumbled to a stop, almost slamming into me. “What the hell happened?” He picked me apart, confused as he spoke slower. “I thought… with all the blood…” He wiped my shoulder, then the ear. “You’re healed?”

  Blood. Oh, how I want his blood and the warmth it brings me…

  Chapter 11

  The Priest’s Barrière de Force

  Mead had disappeared, leaving John and me standing in the dark staring at one another as if it were the first time all over again. Snow began to fall. The hushed tapping all around muted our hearts beating in a futile race against one another. Blood. My fangs itched. The terrible thought boiled up, and I covered my mouth to hide the monstrous canines I had grown weary of in the mirror. John’s hand glided over me, chasing blood stains, and finding them hiding nothing or hints of how they appeared. With each discovery, his brow knitted further. I endured this confusing mixture of want made of lust and hunger as I indulged in the heat of his hands against my body.

  At last, his blue gaze snaked back to mine and flinched. Guilt had to be written loudly in my expression. Damn you for reading me like a book, John. They dropped to where my hand covered my mouth. I didn’t shake, I didn’t recoil, and I couldn’t bring myself to run away. I’m tired of running away from this, even now that I want it more than ever. He heaved a hard sigh, looking around before looking back to me.

  “Are they all gone? Far away enough for us…” He struggled to find the words.

  “They can’t smell or hear us from here,” I offered, hand muffling my voice, and averted my gaze.

  “In that case, let’s get this over with.” Looking back, John tugged the white collar free and began unbuttoning his coat and shirt. “You’re starving, right?”

  My heart sank. “John… I can’t…” You foolish man, what is it have you been discussing with Red Wine?

  “Be fast. It’s cold.” His shirt opened, pulling it to expose a shoulder, his chest and neck glowing in the moonlight. “I’m not a fan of the cold these days.”

  “John, I’ll be fine.” Turning away from him, my blood rushed at the sight. It wasn’t like this back in the bathhouse. Has my training really changed me in only two nights? “You saw I healed. I don’t need… that.”

  “Don’t think I haven’t noticed,” his voice cut through me.

  I tensed. That tone. He’s pissed. No, it’s the same way he spoke to me at the boulder. He’s hurt. Inhaling, every part of me turned to face him. I can’t afford to repeat the silence from that time. I dropped my hands. He failed to hide the wince but recovered faster than expected. John swallowed, unmoving pulling his shirt open farther to reclaim his standing. As I rubbed my tongue against a fang, my shoulders shuddered at the urge to dig my canines into him. Still, I better look him in the eye.

  “Noticed what?” Anger seeped forward, and I marched up on him, planting a palm on the tree he leaned against. “The fangs? Rapid healing? Maybe I’m faster? Or the fact I’m—”

  “Hungry and haven’t eaten anything.” His words slammed into me, something I hadn’t noticed. “I haven’t seen you eat anything for…” Shaking his head in thought, he looked up searching for exactly how long. “That night between us over a month ago?”

  Every nerve tightened. “I… didn’t notice…” Knots twisted in my gut, searching back. When did I lose the need to eat? I get exhausted, I get thirsty, then there’s the moments of… “John. I…”

  He laughed, cupping my face with his hands. “You’re hopeless, my love. This whole time you didn’t even notice, did you?”

  My lips closed tight with contempt, shame filling me. “I was trying to avoid it… avoid you…”

  He forced my lip up, fascinated by the fangs. “You always had a set, but tonight, they seem… longer and unwilling to retreat.”

  Pushing his hand away, I let my eyes fall to his neck. “As tempting as this spot…” I caressed the skin with my fingers, the pulse pounding and calling to me. “It’ll be an obvious place if they choose to check.”

  “And where do you prefer to eat from, Barrière de Force?” The title brought my gaze back to his eyes. “I did this to you, and I will pay the price.”

  The guilt in his voice was one I shared in my own as I confessed, “I didn’t want this to be the price.” In the distance, a wolf howled, long and sorrowful. “I feel like an animal who craves… you.” I licked the salty tang of John’s neck, temptation rattling through me. “And only you.”

  “I know…” breathed John, his heart beating like the drumming of a bird’s wings. “And I’m a greedy bastard and love the idea of it.”

  Another lick and the excitement washed away the last bit of fear that he had been fighting back. Never have I tasted something so intoxicating as
you.

  He pulled me closer into him, his body shivering against my own and gruffed, “Honestly, I’d get too jealous and might kill a man if you did this with anyone other than me.”

  “Priest shouldn’t kill people.” I smirked, letting my hand wander into his open shirt.

  “Well, I’ve always heard that it’s wise to choose a Barrière de Force who is willing to put their life in harm’s way for you.” The scent of his arousal hit me, and I licked his neck again to goad it on. So hungry. “But what I didn’t anticipate is I’d be still paying for it with my blood.”

  “I would die for you,” I whispered in his ear. “But may you forgive me for the sins I commit.”

  My will broke. Fangs dug into his shoulder and regret slammed into me. Fuck, he’ll be sore, but it’s at least not as obvious as his actual neck. The way his skin popped as the fangs pushed through excited me. A rush of sweet heat filled me. I pinned him between me and the tree, and he moaned. Pleasure and pain. It only provoked me to keep drinking, my own heart beating to catch up to his. I drew it slow, fighting the urges to take greedier gulps. When I thought to pull away, he pulled me back, his shivering ceasing against the heat of my body. Another sip and I released at last.

  Compared to the other night, he feels so fragile like this… Breaking our embrace, I searched his face. Part of me wished he would see me as the monster, but instead, he kissed me. Deepening it, he reminded me we had only made decisions for the sake of one another. We’re in this together, for better or worse. The kiss ended, everything at my core settling for the first time since the first night I had been like an animal to him. He reached up to his shoulder, and I scowled.

  “Don’t make that face,” he demanded. “The kiss works for most cases, right?”

  I blinked, “Y-yeah.”

  “Look, Red Wine pointed out that I’d have to keep you going during the training. Granted, I didn’t think you’d hold up this long or heal that fast.” Swallowing, holding his shoulder still, John pushed me away. “But don’t ever avoid me if you’re feeling… hungry? Need me? Whatever that look you give me from across the room that makes me feel like a filet.”

  “Is it that bad?” I gaped.

  “Dammit, the shoulder is a terrible place,” he flustered. “We need to find a gentler place. I don’t think my neck or…” His face flushed. “Didn’t you bite me on the thigh once?”

  “The thigh?” A chuckle escaped me as I approached, buttoning up his shirt. “Is that a request, my priest? Or were we having filthy thoughts about our prince again?”

  John’s eyes darted away, scrambling to check his pockets, and he produced the white collar. “I’m the priest. I confess nothing.”

  “Let’s get back before they think we came out here to…” The heat in my cheeks rose as a mischievous expression crossed his face. “John, you didn’t…”

  “Wanted to give you no interruptions to eat so…” He shrugged before pulling on his coat. “Come on. Let’s get some sleep.”

  Snorting only made streams of steam to roll from my nose like a tea kettle whistling. I grabbed up the claymore and followed him, grabbing his sleeve on occasion to redirect him. By the time we were back in camp, I had to throw some more logs on the fire. Red Wine sat awake and on duty. She frowned as the fire grew larger, and I nodded toward the shivering knight and princess. She’s a lot like me, forgets we can handle colder temperatures. Granted, she might be worried we will draw attention, but Landon would need more time to heal. With the news travelling fast about Ashton being back, I wonder what kind of chaos will be unfolding everywhere.

  John unrolled his bedroll and motioned for me to share. Red Wine tilted her head, the mask hiding the expression I imagined consisted of a smirk and raised eyebrows. I pulled on my own shirt and coat first, and she giggled as I relented. Laying outstretched on my back, John backed into me and in minutes passed out.

  “How much did you eat?” She removed the mask at last, addressing me as she gave John a pitiful expression.

  “Not enough for that,” I reassured. “The man falls asleep anywhere, even sitting upright on the wagon.” I nodded to Basque who flicked an ear in reply.

  “Such children at heart, the both of you.” She slid the mask back on. “So, is it true?”

  “What is true?” I tensed at the obscureness of the question.

  “That you two are indeed lovers.” She leaned forward on her knees, speaking with a cautious tone. “And you’ve lost the need to eat anything except for…” Her chin pointed to John.

  “It seems to be that way,” I admitted, my chest stinging with the weight of the fact. “I hadn’t noticed, but he had.”

  “I take it back.”

  “Take what back?” I pressed.

  “You’re more like Ashton than I realized,” she agonized. “But what will you do when you outlive him?”

  “Bury him under the cherry tree next to the man you loved, I suppose,” I whispered, and she tensed. “He told me stories about you, but… I’m sorry.”

  “He fucking hated cherries,” she scoffed, trying not to laugh.

  “I know.” And I remembered why I had done it.

  The old man’s words rattled me in a new understanding. I only keep the cherry preserves for her. One day, she’ll come back and want some more. I may not be here to see it, but I never want her to think I ever forgot what we had. John’s like that. He doesn’t move on. Too damn stubborn and maybe it’s my fault or just in the blood, but… he won’t let go, Dante. I’m warning you now in hopes you don’t push him away like she did to me. That’ll break someone’s will if you shove too hard and never confess…

  “You liked them. He kept the preserves and made them fresh though he hated the damn things.” She inhaled swiftly. “Not even when he struggled in the end did he forget you. Spoke about you more in that last year I had with him.”

  “You shouldn’t talk about matters you weren’t part of.” She stood and began to march off. “You take watch.”

  Salty blood. That’s why you got the mask. You cry and break when you are at your strongest. Let it flow. Let the red wine flow like blood…

  Chapter 12

  A Mutual Understanding

  Crossing the brackish waters had been miserable. The horses were shivering and the fire large as we worked fast to dry them. It had taken hours to get the large equines to stop shivering from their swim through the crossing with the boat. Red Wine had disappeared the moment she crossed, but her ability to scout ahead was invaluable. Biscuit had fussed, but her shivering would bring the tiny horse back to the warmth of the fire. As the sun fell, we managed to get all the gear across, the boat having to make a few crossings to move all the saddles and bodies. Regardless, I left to train in the woods once everyone had settled. She had appeared, watching as I held the stance for some time.

  Pulling herself from the tree, she seemed more serious than the night before. “You need to learn the other stances. I expect you to practice them relentlessly.”

  “Of course,” I muttered. “Are you kicking it into me, or am I mimicking you this first round?”

  “Mimicking.”

  She only used a longsword she had taken from Valiente. Wonder if she bothered to ask him? Facing me, she dropped into the first familiar stance. I followed, hellbent on being her mirror. She went slowly, waiting for me to adjust my footing as we moved into the second stance. This one pushed me forward and tall, the blade thrusting forward. The next one was a wide slash and ending in a reflection of the first stance. After that was a sidestep, changing into a more defensive stance. Each new position seemed to fall back to the first stance. She sped up and began circling me like she had done the first night. She’d lunge with the longsword, and I’d block it.

  “I’m trying to fix your stance,” she insisted after the third block.

  “Is it really that bad if I can still react
and block?” I reset and narrowed my eyes at her.

  “You can’t keep it up and learn those moves without being in the right posture.” She seemed miffed, and I smirked.

  “Try to land a hit before sunup.” I lifted an eyebrow at her, and she gave me a smug expression. “I’m betting that he taught you that, but his style is too reliant on fluid motion, and this works best for me.”

  “Bullshit,” she sneered.

  Red Wine launched a flurry of stabbing strikes. I pulled into the fourth stance, and the longsword went sailing. She held her wrist, her eyes glowing with rage. Shit, she still hasn’t healed. I thunked the claymore into the ground and grabbed her arm. She allowed me to unbuckle it to expose the purple and red wrist still broken, healing horribly slowly. Why won’t she feed?

  “I know. I know what you’re thinking but…” Swallowing, she shook her head, excuses flying from her lips. “I was born a bloodeater. You’re born daemonis, but I was different and…”

  “You’ve been too afraid to feed.” I couldn’t judge her. It terrifies me to think of John as lover and food. “Is there a reason for the fear besides the unknown?”

  “Unknown?” A huff escaped her. “I wish that was the case, but I said I’ve never met someone like me. Didn’t say I didn’t know how this works. There was someone on the Old Continent, and well, after one feeding, he lost all self-awareness.”

  “What about indirect blood?” Perhaps Viceroy Falco at least taught me one interesting ability between daemonis and bloodeaters all have the ability for.