Academy of Assassins (An Academy of Assassins Novel Book 1)

by Stacey Brutger

  It was over.

  Or it should have been.

  Yet the fighting around her continued unabated. Her men were surrounded, bloody and battered, and losing ground. Morgan staggered to her feet, her torque dropping to the ground as she grabbed every ounce of magic around her. The shield bowed under her demand, then began to stream toward her. She ignored the way the magic burned through her body like a fever, short-circuiting her brain. The only thing that mattered was protecting her men. The rest of the world fell away.

  The air rippled when a rift tore open at the entrance to the room, revealing a dark pit of nothingness. A wicked, ice-cold wind whipped through the room, the howl deafening. The instant it touched one of the soldiers, an inky blackness gathered behind him like a giant fist and yanked him through the portal.

  One after another, the soldiers disappeared.

  When the others noticed the disturbance, a few tried to run, but it did no good. The students and her men hurriedly put their backs to the wall. The wind ruffled their clothes, tangled their hair, but ultimately left them alone. As the last man was sucked into the portal, the rift snapped shut with a loud crack and vanished in a puff of smoke.

  Her strength deserted her, and she fell to her knees.

  Beneath her, the floor was wet, and her brain had a hard time processing what she saw.

  She lifted her hand from the sticky mess, staring blankly at the blood, when memories rushed back so fast her head spun.

  Ryder!

  “No.” The denial was torn from deep in her soul. Knowing she was too late, Morgan frantically searched the room, then scuttled across the floor on her hands and knees when she finally spotted his still body.

  Careful not to hurt him, she cradled his head in her lap, her tears splashing his face. When his brows wrinkled in annoyance, her sob caught in her throat.

  He was alive.

  Her senses returned in a rush, time returned to normal, and the world came back into focus.

  But even as she listened, she heard his erratic heartbeat slow, his lungs rattling as he struggled for air.

  Morgan ran her fingers through his hair, gently brushing it away from his face. “I know you can hear me. I need you to fight. I need you to change into your wolf. You told me he can heal anything. Will you do that for me?”

  Those glorious brown eyes of his opened, but they were dulled with pain, his wolf nowhere to be found. Panic speared her chest when his heart skipped a beat.

  It took forever before she heard the next thump, and she knew they were running out of time.

  Only a foot away rested the knife that had almost killed them both, still glowing feverishly from her blood. A reckless, dangerous idea came to her, so stupid it might actually have a small chance of working. Conscious of the men heading toward her, she knew she had only a small window of opportunity.

  Snatching up the knife before they could reach her, she lifted her arm, and slashed the blade deep. She didn’t even feel the metal bite into her flesh until seconds later, when it began to hurt like a bitch, throbbing in time with her heart. Kincade and Ascher both swore, and she snarled at them when they tried to pull her away. She held her bleeding arm over the wound in Ryder’s gut, watching the bright splash of her blood dribble down into his wounds.

  The blade in her hand warmed, and she instinctively brought it over his chest. The tip of the metal beaded up, and a blob of liquid metal dropped next to the gaping wound in his abdomen. Two more drops fell in rapid succession, and she watched them break apart and sprout legs until they resembled little black spiders. In an instant, they scrambled into the wound and disappeared.

  The metal began to drip faster, and more spiders burrowed under his skin.

  Ryder gave a terrible scream, his agony sending her stomach pitching wildly, and her hands shook. She nearly lost her nerve and jerked what remained of the blade away, until she saw the little spiders were weaving his injuries together, both on the surface and underneath.

  Seconds began to stretch, her body drooping with exhaustion, her shoulders slumping, and she realized she was slowly being drained of magic as surely as her blood continued to escape her veins.

  But she didn’t stop, didn’t relent.

  She refused to give up on him.

  Ryder’s eyes began to glow, his wolf rising, and she knew if she could hold out a little bit longer, he would survive.

  Her head swam, and she distantly noted her many cuts weren’t healing. As she stared into Ryder’s wound, she sensed the metal shaping organs, threading together his injuries.

  He needed just a few more seconds.

  Her heartbeat thundered in her head, and she realized the beats were gradually slowing.

  Morgan heard the guys yelling, but couldn’t make out what they were saying. Hands were pulling her away from Ryder. Someone cradled her gently, and she struggled to stay conscious, knowing the longer she held out, the better chance Ryder would have to survive, but she couldn’t seem to make her body obey.

  “You did it. Ryder will live. He’s resting. You have to let go.” Kincade’s voice reached her from far away, darkness was beginning to crowd the edges of her vision, and the world gradually dimmed.

  She didn’t need to be told she was dying, it was written in their devastated faces.

  Kincade’s arms tightened around her as if to stop her from leaving him.

  Fear came through their bonds, Kincade’s and Ascher’s emotions a living, breathing presence that threatened to consume her.

  “What the hell is wrong with her? Why is she not healing?” Kincade’s question was a demand.

  “For humans, magic can be lethal. The opposite is true for those who hold magic. Our magic is tied to our life force. The little fool drained herself to save us.” Atlas’s voice was as grim as she’s ever heard it. He almost sounded like he cared what happened to her.

  “She couldn’t have known.” Draven tapped the edge of his bloodied knife against his leg in agitation.

  “Of course she knew.” Kincade gently threaded his hands into her hair. “She did it anyway to save us. What are our options?”

  Ascher was the one who spoke this time. “She needs more magic. Gather every void weapons you can find. Get her torque.”

  Cold metal wrapped around her throat, the weight comforting. More metal curled around her wrist and twined around her fingers. The magic hummed against her skin, a lick of energy that eased her pain a fraction, but did little else.

  “It’s not enough.” Draven swore viciously. “What else?”

  “In the Primordial World, only one place is guaranteed to have magic.” Ascher didn’t lift his gaze from where he was wrapping a nasty wound on her arm.

  Atlas turned his grim stare on the hellhound. “You can’t be thinking of sending her into the void.”

  “The void might make some sick, but not her. She’s drawn to the rifts because of the primordial magic.” He ripped another piece of his shirt off, then wrapped the wound on her leg, his complete attention focused on his task, as if it was the only thing that mattered. “She’s a pureblood. The void will protect her. In fact, it might be her only chance.” Ascher tied off the bandage, then stared blindly at his bloodied hands, his lips flattened in a thin line. “She will die if we do nothing.”

  “He’s right.” Kincade brushed a strand of hair away from her face. “When I step through a portal, I feel a bite of freezing air, a second of darkness, then I’m out. Every time she goes through one, it takes her longer and longer. She lingers in the void. Haven’t any of you noticed how much more relaxed she is when she steps out. Her eyes shine, not to mention her injuries heal in record time. The pure primordial magic acts like a dose of medicine. I don’t like this better than any of you, but I don’t think we have a choice.”

  Silence followed that comment.

  “Anyone else have any ideas?” Draven gripped his weapons, as if looking for something he could physically fight.

  No one spoke.

  The
vote was unanimous.

  Kincade didn’t lift his gaze from hers. “Someone find me a mirror and some rope.”

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  Morgan swam in and out of consciousness, her mind struggling to piece together what happened. When everything came rushing back, concern for the guys dispelled the last bit of fog from her mind. Unfortunately, the moment she turned her head, her stomach rebelled. She rolled and puked over the side of what appeared to be a bed.

  She sensed movement, then a pair of hands clumsily drew back her hair, careful not to tug at the strands. Ascher. He brushed his warm fingers over the nape of her neck, trying to offer comfort. Agony unlike anything she’s ever known riddled her body, and her brain felt like it would ooze out of her skull at any moment. When she managed to open her eyes, she saw Kincade holding a trashcan for her, his white face tight with concern.

  When her stomach had nothing else to give, she flopped back onto the bed, completely exhausted, her muscles protesting the abuse.

  A cool, wet cloth covered her forehead, and her eyes flickered open to see everyone staring down at her.

  They were all alive.

  Her heart fluttered wildly as she looked from one to the next, greedily scanning every inch of them, noting every bruise, scuff and bandage.

  Even battered, they were a breathtaking sight, bringing tears to her eyes.

  “Give the girl some room to breathe.” Morgan recognized that gruff voice. MacGregor pushed his wheelchair closer to her, forcing the guys to step back or risk being run over. Despite the harshness in his tone, she detected the thread of anxiety in his voice. “They haven’t left your side since they carried your sorry self through those doors three days ago. You cut it pretty close this time, girlie.”

  He patted her leg, clearing his throat roughly, and rolled his chair back. “I would stay longer, but I’m late for my appointment. I’m told I have you to thank for siccing Mistress McKay on me.”

  Morgan ran her hand over her blanket, studiously avoiding his gaze. “Maybe.”

  MacGregor chuckled. “Then I’ll feel no remorse for leaving you in the care of these fine men. I’m sure they have a thing or two to say to you.”

  Morgan watched him leave, increasingly uncomfortable in the oppressive silence following his exit.

  Ryder gingerly settled on the bed next to hers, while Ascher and Kincade resumed their seats on opposite sides of her bed, slouching in their chairs. Draven stretched out in the bed across from her, his legs crossed, arms behind his head, gazing contemplatively at the ceiling. Atlas stood guarding the door, watching them instead of the hall.

  Not ready to face the guys yet, she absently noted the familiar black cuff was back on her arm, but the black rings encircling her fingers were new, the webbed design making them appeared to be a matched set.

  “How are you feeling?” Kincade kept his voice carefully neutral, a dangerous sign.

  Morgan noticed wicked scars on her arms, a result of the cut Ethan had inflicted with the void weapon. Although the injuries were healed, the path the blade cut still ached deep under her skin, hard knots of scar tissue burning every time she moved. “Sore. Tired.”

  She stopped dead when she saw a dew-covered metallic spiderweb spread across her lower palm and up the wrist of her left hand. It was stunningly beautiful. She ran her thumb gently over the almost-embossed-metal web, and the strands thrummed under her touch. Seconds later, she felt a sharp pinch at the side of her palm. When she turned her hand, she saw a dainty spider perched on the edge of the web next to a tiny pawprint, its sharp little legs rooting into her skin, as if refusing to leave.

  To her surprise, instead of sensing a spider, pure wolf hummed under her touch, the beast crouched in submission, almost like he didn’t want to draw her attention.

  Ryder.

  Though the marks were different, she had no doubt they meant the same as the other two.

  They were mated.

  “I’m sorry.” Her gaze immediately flew to him, remorse making her throat thick. “I never meant to drag you into this mess of my life.”

  The big man lifted his head, and gave her a direct stare. “Do you regret saving me?”

  “What?” Morgan was horrified he would ever think such a thing. “No! Why would you even think that?”

  “Then stop feeling bad.” He shrugged, a warm blush spilling into his cheeks. “I’m glad it happened. I would do it again if it meant saving you. I’m where I need to be.”

  Morgan opened her mouth, then closed it, unable to scrounge up a response. She would fight tooth and nail against anyone who tried to claim her, control her, but they seemed content, even happy, to be tied to her. It was baffling…but she couldn’t deny she craved the sense of belonging they shared, the knowledge that they would have her back no matter what life threw at them.

  “What do you remember?”

  She turned to face Kincade, wincing at his haggard appearance. His hair looked like he’d been trying to pull it out. He was pale, making the dark shadows under his eyes look like bruises, and she hated knowing he hadn’t been taking care of himself. “Nothing much after trying to heal Ryder. Why?” She eyed him suspiciously. “What happened?”

  “You were dying.” Ascher spoke bluntly, his blue eyes shattered. He reached out, then rubbed his fingers back and forth against her arm, as if to reassure himself she was alive. “Kincade carried you through the void, hoping it would heal you. You were gone for three hours. We thought we’d lost both of you.”

  Her head snapped around, and she studied Kincade in confusion. “I don’t understand. I thought pure magic was like poison to those not born to that world.”

  Draven sat up on his bed, swung his feet over the edge and stared down at them darkly. “He was the only one strong enough to hold you safe while you healed, and still be able to drag you back out when he knew you would live.”

  A spark of anger burned in her chest, born of raw fear, and she wished she was strong enough to punch him. No wonder he looked so wrecked. He said he was fine, but she could see the toll travelling through the void had taken on him. “Why would you stupidly risk everything for me?”

  Kincade jolted out of his chair, his face darkening as he stepped toward her. He leaned over until he his forehead rested against hers, then dragged in a deep breath to capture her scent. He smelled of hot stone and warm earth, and she wanted to bask in his warmth.

  His light green eyes were tortured as he gazed at her face. “You are everything to me. Did you really expect me to let death take you so easily? That I wouldn’t fight for you?”

  She gasped, and her heart did a silly little dance at his ragged confession. Through their connection, she felt terror chipping away at him, only her nearness seeming to ease the volatile emotion. Very gently, she cupped his face, marveling when he closed his eyes with a sigh and leaned into her. Then she reached out and smacked him on the back of the head. “Don’t you ever risk yourself like that again. Do you understand me?”

  Kincade jerked back and straightened in surprise, and Draven snorted.

  “You are not invincible.”

  Draven snorted again, and she leaned over to glare at him. “Do you have something to say?”

  “Ah…” he nervously cleared his throat, rubbing his fingers over his chin. “No, ma’am.”

  She narrowed her eyes, then gave Kincade a suspicious look. “Explain.”

  Kincade seemed to find the cheap tile floor suddenly fascinating. “I…” he tugged at his shirt, as if it no longer fit. “I’m a gargoyle.”

  His confession was so awkward, so nervous, she half expected him to say he was coming out of the closet. Her mind flashed back to the fearsome gargoyle in the garden, but instinctively knew the statue wasn’t him, and couldn’t help wonder how he would look in his other form.

  She thought of the small clues about his identity she’d dismissed as unimportant—the only thing she cared about was learning how to beat him in a fight. What species he was didn
’t matter to her then or now. Sure, gargoyles were rare, nearly an indestructible force, and highly prized, but to her, he was just…Kade. “Okay.”

  His head snapped up, and he studied her face intently. When he didn’t see what he expected, he relaxed, his confidence pouring back. “I picked you up, locked you in my arms, and stepped through the portal. I turned my skin to stone the instant we entered the void…it protected me. I half expected us to end up at the Academy, but it was like stepping into another world. Millions of bright stars were everywhere. It felt like we were floating in space. The magic was a living thing, wrapping you in this intense heat. It tried to pull you away, take you from me, and only relented when I refused to relinquish my hold. It soaked into your skin, and I watched it heal you.”

  He sounded awed and disturbed at the same time. “That’s why it takes so long for you to pass through the portals.”

  Morgan shrugged. “Those stars are other portals. I think if I wanted, I could step through them. Did anything happen to you while you were there? Did you see anything else?”

  “Like what?” Kincade tensed, and she wished she’d kept her mouth shut.

  “Oh, I don’t know.” She fiddled with the rings on her fingers. “Like the soldiers I sent through the rift?”

  Silence filled the room.

  After a minute, she crossed her arms defensively and glared at them, refusing to feel bad for killing the soldiers. “They were trying to kill you.”

  Atlas straightened, then took a hesitant step toward her. “Do you mean you can see not only other portals, but people as well when you’re in the void?”

  Morgan gave a hesitant nod. “I can feel them. Each time I pass, they become clearer. I think they can sense my presence.”

  Atlas practically collapsed against the wall behind him. “We’ve always assumed the people lost in the void had died. That no one can reach them.”

  He was so distressed, Morgan wanted to ease him. “I get the sense that the magic in the void is keeping them alive.”