Heart of the Assassins (An Academy of Assassins Novel Book 2)

by Stacey Brutger

The alien blood burned horribly, everywhere it touched sizzling, the smell of burned flesh clogging her nose.

  As the spider bucked in confusion, gravity took hold, and Morgan fell, landing hard on her feet in a tangle of webbing. Atlas was there even as she struggled to get free. He quickly grabbed the sticky web and wrapped the milky material around her injured arm, surprisingly smothering the agony that lit her nerve endings on fire. “Where did you learn that nifty trick?”

  She sagged in relief, having been seconds away from begging him to just rip off her arm to stop the pain.

  “I actually paid attention in class.” He gave her a crooked smile, but in the light, he looked in even worse condition, barely able to remain upright. His normally pale skin was a chalky grey.

  The fast click of claws on the ceiling had her head snapping up.

  Ward took his bone shard and drew it back like a spear, then sent the makeshift weapon sailing through the air. It struck true, met resistance when the shard pierced the spider’s grotesquely large abdomen. The spider gave another ear-splitting screech, dancing around as if to escape the pain, great globs of steaming hot liquid pouring out and splattering across the room.

  Ward ducked and rolled away, quickly arming himself with another bone, desecrating another corpse. Atlas hunched over her, hissing when the liquid poured down over them. A scream of rage and curses erupted from the ceiling, and she saw the bogie trying to stay on the spider’s back, riding the spider like a bucking bronco.

  Then the bogie was launched through the air, the spider scrambling across the ceiling in a blur, squeezing into a tiny crack that should’ve been impossible for her to fit. More liquid dribbled down the wall as she wiggled the last of her legs through, then disappeared.

  The bogie had dropped to the ground, the impact stunning her. She sat up, frantically glancing around the room, her eyelashes surprisingly long, her green skin a pea color, her tattered clothing hanging off her bony frame, as if the coverings were an afterthought, her fingernails were extra-long but well-maintained…Morgan squinted…and painted. When the bogie registered her predicament, her yellow eyes widened in alarm. She scrambled to her feet, hissing at Morgan with pent-up rage, leaving globs of spit peppering the floor, before sprinting for the nearest web as fast as her bowed legs would allow. She wasn’t as fast as the spider, but she scurried up the web like a cargo net, fighting for each step.

  When Ward turned to go after her, Morgan waved him off. “She’s not important. We need to find a way out of here.”

  He hesitated a moment longer, frowning after the retreating bogie, before reluctantly agreeing. “Yes.”

  He didn’t sound happy at being denied a fight, aggression pouring off him as he stalked away in search of a door.

  Morgan scooted away from Atlas, worried at his stillness, then nearly lost her lunch when she saw his back was stripped bare of clothes…and skin. She hacked at the nearest web, carefully spreading the delicate material across his back, the silken layers leaving behind a sticky film on her skin that no amount of scrubbing would remove.

  When she turned to gather more, Atlas caught her hand. “I’m fine. You need to find the others.”

  She wanted to protest but knew he was right.

  It was only a matter of time before their captors discovered they were still alive. She wanted to rescue everyone before it happened, fearful her men would be left behind if she didn’t locate them quickly.

  She wouldn’t have them become snacks for the dryads’ freakish pet.

  She wove around the webbing and bookshelves, tripping over benches hidden in the white mesh, searching for her team, but saw no sign of anything but more webs. Nausea churned in her gut when she realized what that meant…they were completely encased in the cocoons.

  She closed her eyes, focusing on anything that would give away their location. Muffled sounds came to her right, and she hurried after the slight noise to find Draven and Ryder pinned to the wall, almost completely smothered. Draven’s furious, stormy blue eyes were the only thing visible as he was held immobile, while Ryder was almost completely wolf, using his teeth and claws to hack away at the webbing, but making little progress.

  She closed her fist, beckoning her knife, grateful when the metal formed in her palm. One clean slice around their bodies, and both of them collapsed to the floor, barely throwing out their arms in time to avoid face-planting.

  “Sorry.” She winced and silently cursed herself for not reacting fast enough to catch them.

  “Go.” Draven shooed her away with his hand, not even bothering to lift his head, as if he needed to focus on just breathing. “We’re fine.”

  Taking him at his word, she focused on Kincade and Ascher, not surprised to see them dangling from the ceiling, wiggling to get free, but without much luck. Smoke rose from Ascher, but the heat seemed to create more of a cement around him instead of burning him free.

  She backed up two steps, then took a running start, grabbing onto Kincade’s legs and pulling herself up. He bucked and jerked, nearly unseating her, when she smacked his thigh. “Are you trying to make me fall?”

  He stilled completely at her question, and she pulled herself up until she could see his face behind a thin patch of webbing. It took nearly all her strength to rip away the silken material, and she leaned her head against his, absurdly grateful to find him alive.

  “You’re unhurt?” Kincade scanned her face, his only concern for her.

  “Relatively.” She lifted her head at his gruff question, then smiled at him in apology. “This is going to hurt.”

  She reached up and cut the cord holding him to the ceiling. She kicked away from him as he dropped, grabbing hold of Ascher, which sent them swinging. She heard Kincade land with a solid thump and winced. Ascher’s mouth twitched in amusement, but his eyes remained dark, clearly perturbed at being bound and held immobile.

  She reached above him, grabbed the surprisingly thin web and cut. He plummeted to the ground, where Draven and Ryder easily caught and lowered him to the ground, tearing him free of the netting around him.

  Kincade sat slowly, struggling to contain Loki as the little mutt jumped all over him, inspecting him for injury and licking any surface he could find, the big gargoyle unable to fend him off. Despite the situation, she couldn’t help but be amused the way Kincade picked the mutt up by the scruff of his neck, stared him down with a stern face despite the way the hound’s little butt wiggled like mad, then cracked and placed the beast back on his perch, scratching him under the chin.

  Her nerves settled at their display.

  They would be all right.

  She released her knife, still amazed as she watched the liquid metal slither up her arm to form a solid cuff again. She remained dangling by the web-like rope, her vantage point giving her an unrestricted aerial view of the whole room.

  No wonder the spider could pick them off so easily, they were like mice at the mercy of a hawk.

  Ward was working and hacking his way through the maze of webbing, but no closer to finding an exit. From her vantage point, she saw the wall clearly, making a mental note of its position, then turned back to her search.

  When she found no sign of Chander, dread sank its claws along her spine.

  Could the spider have killed him already?

  When she was about to loosen her hold, she heard the faintest of sounds…a heartbeat. She twisted, sending herself swinging, her eyes landing on a corner cloudy with so much webbing she didn’t see the outline of a body. Morgan swung her legs back and forth, until she gained enough momentum to launch herself through the air.

  She wasn’t sure if she caught the webbing or if she just kind of stuck to it. Not allowing her mind to think too long about the ginormous spider in all its furry glory, Morgan quickly pulled herself up hand over fist, struggling to keep as much of her body as possible away from the sticky substance. Her arm began to throb painfully with each flex of her muscle, though the burning sensation never returned.

&n
bsp; She called upon her knife once more, sawing away at the stubborn webbing, thankful for the black blade and its ability to cut through anything, suspecting any other weapon would’ve immediately dulled or snapped in half on the first cut.

  After she trimmed away a third of the netting, she spotted Chander’s still form.

  “Cut him down.” Atlas spoke from below her, the rest of the guys staring up at her with varying degrees of concern. “We’ll catch him.”

  With a nod, she sliced the last cord connecting him, watching him drop like a dead weight. True to their word, the guys easily caught him and tore him free. He coughed so hard his back bowed as he gulped air.

  Morgan released her hold on the web, then pushed herself away from the wall. She expected to land on her feet, but strong arms plucked her out of the air.

  “Kincade.”

  He pulled her close to his chest, looking like he had no intention of letting her go, and she wasn’t in any mood to complain. Loki peered down at her, unmoving as he inspected her. Her arm still hurt like a bitch, and they still needed to escape, but they had survived. “The door is that way.”

  She pointed behind them, and the rest of the guys followed as she guided them through the maze of webbed walls. They quickly caught up with Ward, who had managed to work off most of his aggression. In a few more twists, they came upon a large door.

  Morgan put her hand on Kincade’s shoulder, and he gently lowered her to the floor.

  Then she gave a nod to Ward. “Let’s get the hell out of here.”

  When the door opened, instead of an empty hallway, there were greeted by a team of soldiers.

  “Well done.” The man in charge spoke, his face giving away none of his emotions. “Most of you managed to elude capture and even escape.” He peered over their shoulder into the room. “Not many can say the same.”

  He stepped aside, then beckoned to the guards. “Take those who were bound down to the gallery. The rest of you will follow me.”

  “No!” But even as she protested, the guards drew the dart guns holstered at their side and fired.

  Morgan flung herself out of the way, but she knew it was already much too late. A hail of darts peppered the room, striking each of them multiple times. They tried to elude being hit, but there literally was nowhere to hide. An inch-long metal dart sank into her thigh. She reached down, yanking out the barb, wincing when she saw a drop of blood mingled with a white substance hanging off the tip. The familiar burn of spider venom spread through her like lava. All the strength went out of her, and she couldn’t even bring up her hands to cushion her fall as she thudded to the stone floor.

  She watched with narrowed eyes as they separated her team, dragging Kincade, Draven, Ryder, Ascher and Chander’s limp forms down the hall. Loki crouched low against the ground, and she waved him after Kincade with a twitch of her fingers. It was all she could manage. The last image she had before her world went dark was Loki loping down the passageway after the others.

  Chapter Eighteen

  The sound of labored breathing woke Morgan, and she pried opened her eyes.

  She jerked back, then squinted in the dim light when she saw what appeared to be a wrinkled old sorcerer hunched over her. His gray hair was long and unkempt, his eyebrows like furry caterpillars, the lower half of his face hidden by a wickedly unkempt mustache, and a beard that reached down to his chest. His blue eyes were faded but sharp, his pointed ears visible through his hair. He fiddled with his robes, his fingers almost skeletal, every inch of him gnarled.

  “Mmmmm, you’re awake.” He straightened, his forehead wrinkled, his musty, faded robes swirling around him with his agitated fussing. “You don’t look like a sorceress.”

  “I’m not. I’m a hunter.” Morgan struggled against the effects of the venom, her body and mind still sluggish as she tried to figure out what happened. She pushed herself upright, then yanked the ponytail band out of her hair, trying to untangle the chunks of sticky gunk left over from the spider’s web.

  He pursed his lips, as if pouting at having a toy taken away, his interest in her waning. “Why did they bring me a hunter? How is a hunter going to help me with the fog?”

  Plans for escape vanished at his comment. If he had answers to the fog, she needed to stay.

  He turned away from her, continuing to mutter to himself, and she got a clear look beyond him into a laboratory…pulled right out of the sixteenth century. Bottle and vials of every shape and size lined the room, books lying open on every surface. Rats scampered around the room and across counters as if they were his assistants.

  An assortment of creatures were in cages under every surface and hanging from the ceiling. Decades of smoke stained the room. Mortar and pestles were crusted over with ingredients long past their expiration dates. Maggots wiggled on plates of forgotten food. Old-fashioned glass syringes lay about the lab, murky ingredients in many of them, a few even churning with tiny bugs or worms swimming in the cloudy depths, and she unconsciously rubbed her arms to make sure she hadn’t been injected with anything.

  She looked her injured arm, pulling off the webbed bandage, noting that while the skin was raw and angry, she was relatively healed.

  The eccentric old wizard pinched a bit of powder out of his pocket and threw it at the fire, causing it to roar and dance two feet high, all the while humming and muttering under his breath. Ignoring him, Morgan rose and grabbed the doorknob at her back and found herself in an ancient library.

  Of sorts.

  The room was covered with wall-to-wall books, the few tables stacked with piles of tomes taller than she could see over. Bookshelves were placed randomly throughout the room, making it difficult to determine its size. Dust covered everything, small trails in the grime, letting her know to beware of bugs and their big brothers if the size of the imprints were any indication. The books were molding on the shelves.

  Moss and vines trailed over the rusted and broken railings on the second floor, and she was surprised to see a number of withered and twisted trees occupied the room.

  She turned to see a figure hunched over a desk, flipping pages of an ancient book three inches thick, and it took her a few seconds to recognize the figure. “Ward?”

  She rushed forward and grabbed his arm. “Have you found any of the others?”

  “I have not looked for them.” He lifted his head for a few seconds, his brows lowered in confusion, before going back to reading his book. “The men are a distraction when you should be focusing on eradicating the fog. Maybe it’s best they remain gone for a while.”

  Morgan jerked back at his blunt answer, completely flabbergasted by his single-minded focus on the mission. “You’re a giant ass.”

  She didn’t know why she didn’t realize it sooner.

  “Explain.”

  “We wouldn’t have made it this far without my team. While they might be a distraction, they are needed.” She shook her head, unable to explain herself properly. “I need them.”

  Ward cocked his head, clearly not convinced, but begrudgingly pointed over his shoulder. “Your Atlas is over there somewhere.”

  Morgan waited to see if he was bullshitting her, then took off at a run. Atlas had been tossed haphazardly across an ancient, undersized couch so moth-eaten, she could no longer tell what kind of fabric covered it. His leg was half on the floor, his arm over the back, his head hung awkwardly forward to rest on his chest.

  The position gave her a clear view of his ravaged back. Skin had begun to grow back, the edges waxy, but the bones of his ribs and spine could be seen clearly. Her stomach rolled, and she sat at the edge of the couch and cupped his face.

  He groaned, opening his bleary green eyes, blinking a few times before they focused on her face. He grabbed her elbow, brushing his thumb reverently over his mark on the underside of her arm. “Beautiful.”

  She shivered, never realizing her skin could be so sensitive, the simple touch leaving every inch of her skin sensitized and craving more. It was t
he first time he voluntarily reached out to her. Uncomfortable at the flood of emotion, she cleared her throat and grabbed his hand.

  As much as she regretted pulling away, now was not the time.

  “Tell me how to heal you.”

  Atlas didn’t answer, grunting as he straightened, and she scowled down at him. “Stop moving.”

  “I’ll be fine.” He was a piss-poor liar, not even bothering to meet her eyes when he spoke.

  “Put your hands on his shoulders.”

  Morgan jumped at the unexpected voice, and whirled to find Ward standing behind her with an annoyed expression. “What?”

  “If you want to heal him, put your hands on his shoulders.”

  A surge of excitement shot through her at the chance to finally learn how to use her magic and help Atlas at the same time. She did as directed, ignoring the way Atlas stiffened when Ward neared. “What do I need to do?”

  “Focus on where you store your magic and call it forward.”

  Morgan eyed him suspiciously, suddenly nervous, remembering the last time she tried to heal herself and the crippling pain that followed. Her magic usually rose in times of trouble, guided by her instinct alone. A glance down at Atlas’s back convinced her to try again.

  She closed her eyes, then called the magic from her bones. It rose sluggishly, as if rousing from someplace deep inside, the runes on her back burning cold as magic swept through her body like a wildfire.

  “Everyone’s magic is different. Some can call lightning, others can command animals. You need to find what connects you to your magic. That’s how you can control it.”

  Morgan expected answers, not a bunch mystical mumbo jumbo. “What the hell? I thought you were going to help me.”

  If she hadn’t been struggling to contain her magic, she would’ve punched him. “My greatest magical talent is that I’m immune to magic.” She huffed in exasperation, unable to hold back her sarcasm. “How is that supposed to help?”

  He appeared intrigued by her answer, but shook his head. “While that’s interesting, it’s not magic. What happened the last time you actually used magic?”