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

by Stacey Brutger

  Morgan’s spine stiffened, while Atlas growled and staggered to his feet, ready to tear into him. She caught his arm, then pushed him toward Ward. “Keep him out of trouble.”

  Taking a deep breath, Morgan stripped down to her tank top, conscious of the various marks on her skin.

  “Interesting.”

  Morgan turned to see Katar studying her, the syringe resting in his hand forgotten. He began circling her, standing so close she could swear she felt his breath bathe her shoulders, making her skin crawl. It took all her control not to call her blades forward. The only thing that saved him was he very carefully made sure not to touch her.

  “The last time someone tried to make me do something I didn’t want to do through those marks they died horribly.”

  “Mmm-hmmm.” He answered distractedly, nudging aside the strap to her shirt. “He’s beautiful.”

  The phoenix fluttered against her spine, pulling away from him, and Katar lifted his hands and backed away. “Can’t have you going boom.”

  Not until I get what I want from you was left unsaid.

  Katar walked away, yanking a book off a shelf, quickly flipping through the pages until he found what he wanted. He shoved the book at Ward, pointing at something on the page. “I want you to carve this sigil into her.”

  “No.” Ward didn’t even spare the page a glance, and received a nasty shock in retaliation.

  Katar cast her a sharp glance. “This sigil will help you cast magic. If he doesn’t do what I say, I don’t have a use for him.”

  Meaning he would kill him.

  She highly doubted the sigil did anything of the sort, but it didn’t matter. She wouldn’t risk Ward’s life over it. This wasn’t the first time someone carved magic into her—she would deal with the consequences.

  “Do it.” A muscle in her jaw clenched at the idea of wearing another mark.

  Ward approached her slowly, reluctance in his every step. “This will bind you to him. If any harm comes to him, you will suffer the effects as well.”

  Meaning she couldn’t kill the bastard, and she barely bit back a snarl. “Do it.”

  With an abrupt nod, he picked up a knife. The blade bit into the flesh of her shoulder, and she clenched her fists to stop from flinching, blood dribbling down her back as she watched Katar cut a similar sigil into his own arm. Once both sigils were completed, Katar spoke a phrase in what sounded like a bastardized version of Latin. Magic snapped in the air, searing along the fresh lines of the sigil, sealing the wounds shut and locking the spell into place, leaving the newly carved sigil feeling like a third-degree burn.

  “Sit.” Katar stared at her expectantly, and she raised a brow at him. A compulsion to do as he said tickled at the back of her mind, but it was one she could easily ignore, the magic weak.

  Anger darkened his face. He muttered something under his breath, and a spell crashed into her. She staggered back a step, the breath knocked out of her, the crushing weight easing after a few seconds as the spell broke apart.

  Morgan sucked in a breath of air, only to receive another blast of magic. After an hour of one spell after another, her endurance was at an end. She was exhausted, phantom pain riddling her body, tremors making her muscles quiver pathetically.

  “Interesting.” Katar went from angry to curious to determined, then he finally appeared pleased, which didn’t bode well for her.

  She barely resisted the urge to shove interesting up his ass, but glanced at Ward and Atlas watching from the sidelines with stoic faces. If she put up a fight, they would die. She could possibly kill Katar before he could get to them, but she couldn’t be sure the sigil wouldn’t kill her before her immunity to magic would break the spell connecting them.

  “Place your hand over the flame.”

  Morgan jolted at his order, so busy staring at the guys, she hadn’t heard him approach. Resting on the table sat a lantern with an exposed, dancing flame.

  “I don’t heal quickly. It’s not one of my talents,” she warned, but he didn’t seem to care. Waiting impatiently for her to obey, he kept his finger hovering over the button to the shock collar.

  Gritting her teeth, she thrust out her hand, the flame licking at her palm. Pain seared across her nerve endings, and it was everything she could do not to yank her hand back. But after a few seconds while she expected her skin to blister, crack and burn, the opposite happened. Her skin seemed to accept the heat. She could feel the warmth from the flame, but the expected pain vanished. The same thing happened when she touched Ascher—his heated touch didn’t hurt her.

  “It’s the phoenix. You have successfully merged with him, and he’s protecting you.” The avarice in Katar’s expression twisted knots in her stomach.

  “We must test your blood.” After he nearly drained her dry, Morgan staggered over to the guys and watched while Katar used her blood in one experiment after another…only to fail. He rampaged through the room, breaking glassware at random, when his eyes fell onto them. He snatched up the last syringe, and strode toward them with a feverish expression.

  She couldn’t allow him to use her blood on anyone. She was too afraid about the consequences. “If you’re wondering if it will save you from the infection—it won’t.”

  “Explain.” Katar scowled at her, irritation making him more dangerous.

  “You infected Atlas.” She pulled his shirt away from his neck, and already black lines were spreading over his skin. “He’s had my blood, and it didn’t stop him from become infected.”

  “Maybe it wasn’t the right combination. The right kind of tests—”

  “He’s my mate. If my blood was going to work on anyone, don’t you think it would be him?”

  Insanity flashed in Katar’s eyes for a few seconds, then he screamed in rage and threw the last syringe with her blood against the wall, the glass shattering upon impact. He then stilled, staring blankly at nothing, and she knew whatever came next would be even more implausible and increasingly hazardous.

  She needed to distract him. After a glance around the room, studying the experiments, her chest tightened in dread.

  “You’re not making a cure, are you?” He was too happy with his tests, and they were no closer to the cure than ever. “You plan to go back to Tartarus.”

  “If we can complete the ritual, we’ll be able to save the realm and take control of its magic.” He gave her a beautiful smile. “We were interrupted the last time, but this time, with you, it will work.”

  “You tried last time, and not only did everyone else die, the fog descended over the realm. What happens if another plague is released?”

  “That wasn’t my fault. I chose the wrong people. That’s why they died and I didn’t.” Katar began to scurry around the room to collect supplies, oblivious to the disaster he’d created. “It doesn’t matter if another plague is released. If you fail, you will be dead. If we can’t fix the fog, who cares what happens next? Everyone else will be dead as well…or wish they were.” He laughed, as if destruction of the realm was an exciting adventure.

  When he seemed satisfied with everything, he headed for the door, turning at the last second to wave her forward. “Come, we must go.”

  “No.” She refused to cooperate any further with his cockamamie scheme. If she was going to accompany him, they were going to do things her way. “I’m not doing a damned thing without my men.”

  Katar smiled as he walked toward her, so the slap to the face that left her ears ringing took her by surprise. She straightened, using the back of her hand to wipe off the trickle of blood from where her lip split.

  “You’ve already infected Atlas. He’ll die regardless. If you want my assistance, I will need my men to protect me.” She cocked her head and smiled. “Give me incentive.”

  He narrowed his eyes dangerously, before they slid toward Ward, but she was already shaking her head. “He’s not my mate. I only met him two days ago. If I was him, I would run off at the first opportunity. And before you think about
infecting him, you’ll be in the same situation…why would I help if he’s going to die?”

  Katar scowled, then began to pluck at his lips, mumbling to himself as he paced. He stopped so suddenly that his robes swished around him and gave her a blazing smile. “You’re quite right. Let’s go to the games and watch your companions.”

  Her stomach churned at his cheerful tone, his expression so full of glee, she began to doubt the wisdom of her plan.

  In trying to save her team, she feared she might have inadvertently plunged them into even more danger.

  Chapter Twenty

  When they exited the room, Katar left them in the hands of the captain of the guard and a contingent of soldiers before hurrying off to do what he called “important business”. No doubt getting ready to travel to Tartarus. One glance at the guards, and Morgan knew they were miserable but resigned to their jobs. If she and her men tried to escape, they would receive no aid from that quarter.

  Morgan hadn’t been aware of time passing during her own personal hell inside Katar’s laboratory. When they were escorted outside, the sun had long since fallen.

  Atlas’ fever broke an hour earlier, leaving him weak and shaken…and the infection fully rooted in his body. She could already spot minor changes. His normally pale skin began to darken along his fingers and ears, his frosted hair was beginning to turn silver in the dark light.

  “I’m turning.” He didn’t glance at her, obviously feeling her gaze.

  “Yes.” She saw no point in denying it. “How are you feeling?”

  “Are you asking if I feel insane?” He gave her a sardonic look, raising a brow at her. “Then no. While many creatures revert to their more primitive selves, elves are different. We turn dark.”

  He sounded grim, but Morgan had never met a dark elf or read much about them. They were myths, having died out long ago. “What does that mean?”

  “It means that you should kill me the first chance you get.”

  Morgan recoiled from him. “What the fuck!”

  “No matter how much you want to save me, it’s already too late.”

  “You’re an ass.” She couldn’t look at him without giving into the urge to smack the stupid out of him. She marched ahead a few paces, forcing the guards to keep up with her. They’d just bonded, and Atlas was already asking her to give up on him. “I took you for many things, but I didn’t expect you to be a coward.”

  He grabbed her arm, nearly yanking her off her feet, then instantly released her. “You don’t understand. Dark elves are controlled by their emotions. They’re possessive and destructive, their actions volatile.”

  Giddiness fluttered in her gut, and she grabbed his hand before he could pull away from her completely. “Welcome to being human.”

  He scowled at her. “Humans don’t have magic that can kill—”

  “No, they just use guns and weapons and words to destroy each other.” She refused to allow him to give up on her or himself. “So what if you’re more powerful? So am I. Does that mean I should walk away from people because I might hurt them? You are my mate, your job is to protect me, and I’m not going to let you go. If I can’t run, neither can you. You will live—for me. Understand?”

  Atlas was staring at her now, no longer avoiding her gaze, studying her so intently, she felt exposed. “What?”

  “You really mean that. You’re not afraid of me.”

  Morgan scanned the vacant village they walked through on their way to the large stadium, the streets eerily empty. The fog hovered at the edge of the buildings and part of her wondered if everyone had gotten up and just wandered away.

  “I’m more afraid of myself. I trust you to keep me balanced and centered. I trust you to be my sanity and keep me from jumping off the deep end.” She gave him a cheeky grin. “Now, if I jump, I know you’ll jump with me. I might be one of the very few people who can appreciate you for being exactly who you are…even if you become Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde.”

  Atlas appeared dazed by her confession, and she liked being able to leave him speechless.

  Ward remained quiet, trailing a step behind them. Though he didn’t physically tug at the collar, she knew he was testing the limits of the spell and receiving a nasty shock every few seconds for his efforts. Only his tight control kept him from losing his shit completely.

  As they entered the stadium through a private doorway, they were guided to a reserved booth, as if they were honored guests and not held hostage by a madman. Red velvet curtains snapped shut behind them, giving them the illusion of privacy, but not one of the guards retreated.

  The stadium was packed with different species who had at one time or another been at war with each other over the past millennia. While they might live in the village together, very few of them spoke to each other, most of them pretending the other races didn’t even exist.

  But here they all had one thing in common…they were eager for the games to begin.

  The meaning of the games became clear when she saw the blood-soaked sands and stones of the arena. They were pitting species against each other like gladiators.

  Morgan didn’t understand why anyone would willingly participate in such a thing. She wasn’t aware of speaking out loud until Katar flung open the curtain and answered.

  “Everyone who enters has volunteered to fight. Win in the arena, win immunity.”

  “But the shot doesn’t work.” Morgan was appalled, but not surprised that people would tear each other apart for a chance at survival.

  “Ah, but it slows the infection.” Katar had changed into fresh robes, but the madness in his eyes hadn’t dimmed. “Besides, everyone here is dying. Death in the arena is much faster.”

  She couldn’t fathom how he actually believed the fights were in any way humane. When she would’ve argued with him, Atlas shook his head. Reluctantly, she turned away and scanned the crowd for her men. When she didn’t see them, a deep foreboding clawed up her spine. “Where is my team?”

  “Why, participating in the games, of course.” Katar’s smile turned vicious, malicious pleasure darkening his eyes. He gave a nod and a large gong echoed in the stadium. The crowd roared and leapt to their feet.

  Ryder, Draven, Kincade, and Ascher strode into the giant stadium. Besides a few bruises, none appeared the worse for wear. None of the guys were armed. The crowd jeered at them, and she could understand why. None of them were infected, and they didn’t live in the village. They were the interlopers.

  “If anything happens to them, I will make sure that you never reach Tartarus.” It took all her willpower to keep from jumping over the edge of the balcony to join them.

  “Don’t make threats you won’t be able to keep. You’re not the type to let the rest of the realm die for petty revenge.” He smiled condescendingly at the crowd, as if he was a freaking king. “We need the best fighters to guide us. This is the way to determine who should be allowed to go.”

  Morgan bit her tongue to keep from saying more.

  He’d made a slight tactical error—while they might need him to discover what he did to break the seal on Tartarus, he became expendable afterwards.

  She gripped the seat of her chair to remain seated, forcefully reminding herself that her men were trained assassins…but their opponents were desperate, which evened the odds considerably.

  A second gong sounded, and the gates on the opposite side of the stadium opened. The first to emerge was a centaur, a valkyrie came next, followed by a cyclops who stood close to eight feet tall. The last man-like creature that emerged resembled a fetid swamp, the thing covered with moss and dripping dark, treacly water.

  “A leshy.” Atlas leaned closer, his expression grim. “Russian and very deadly.”

  Every one of them were fierce fighters, not to mention their bodies harbored some stage of infection.

  A movement at her foot caught her attention, and she spied Loki inching along the base of the balcony. She eased out her foot, and he eagerly scrambled up her leg. She
tucked him close to her chest, almost teary, ridiculously glad to see he had survived. He wiggled in excitement, inspecting every wound, and she quickly clamped a hand over his muzzle when he began to growl.

  A third gong sounded, and her head snapped up.

  Guards entered the arena, tossing down a few weapons, clearly not enough for everyone, and sprinted for the exit. The crowd began to cheer and counted backwards from ten. The opposing team didn’t wait. They sprang forward, taking possession of most of the weapons. Only Kincade and Draven were close enough to snag anything.

  A paltry half sword and a shield.

  Three seconds remained. The guys looked at each other in silence, then rearranged themselves as they selected their opponents. Kincade kept the sword, but Draven handed off the shield to Ryder.

  Heart in her throat, she listened to the crowd chant…three…two…one.

  The centaur charged Kincade, swinging what appeared to be a flail. The chain snapped taut, the spiked ball whistled through the air. The horse part of the creature was healthy, but the man was so riddled with blackened veins, she was surprised he remained upright.

  Kincade waited until the last second, then ducked under the swirling weapon before leaping to the side, slashing out with his half sword, leaving a gaping gash across his abdomen. The centaur gave a bellow of pain, then bucked, one of his hooves striking Kincade in the thigh.

  She expected him to be limping, but realized he’d turned to solid rock at the last second, and she released the breath she’d been holding.

  Then her attention was drawn to the valkyrie when she took flight. Her beautiful wings were molten, the fringes of the feathers tinged a dirty gray with infection.

  Ascher stood in place as she swooped low, thrusting a double-edged spear at his chest. He grabbed the wooden pole under the tip with his bare hands, then used his weight to pull her out of the sky. Unfortunately, she loosened her grip at the last second to avoid crashing and rose into the air again.

  Ascher didn’t hesitate, turning and launching the spear at the giant cyclops bearing down on Ryder. The monster knocked it aside like it was nothing more than a toothpick, not even pausing in his charge. The big beast roared, spittle flying, revealing the flat, yellowed teeth it used to crack bones. The cyclops’ greenish skin had turned an unhealthy shade of gray, his fat, black veins courtesy of the infection clearly visible, even from a distance. He lifted a giant, spiked maul in his large fist and slammed the large hammer down on Ryder.