by Cari Z
Enough! Using his own blood, Rafael laid a ward around the body to keep others from desecrating it for its latent powers. He was a killer, but he killed for himself, not for the magic-hungry vultures that flocked to his targets. If they wanted blood magic, they could do the killing and spilling themselves. Soon the High One would be found. News like this spread quickly, and it was time he was away. Drawing his own short, dark cloak up and over his face, Rafael melted away into the mist, wanting distance from his latest kill and all the painful emotions it had stirred within him.
He needed a distraction, something or someone to take his mind off tonight’s events. Perhaps a gambling house. Fine liquor, luxurious surroundings and the chance to fill his pockets. Or maybe a brothel. It had been some time since he’d visited that district and nothing diverted Rafael from his own dark thoughts better than the warmth of a willing companion. He’d have to wait for his hands to heal before doing either, however. Blood and blackened skin were hardly conducive to romance or holding cards. Conscious of interested eyes watching him from the buildings, Rafael walked quickly down a darker alley, windowless and deep. Most people avoided the truly dark places in the Bright City but Rafael reveled in them. No one who valued their life would follow him into the dark.
He found a low stone stoop and sat down, letting his hands dangle between his knees. The left one still dripped slightly, a mixture of his blood and the High One’s forming a small, gleaming puddle on the ground, but the flow was already almost staunched. Flakes of crusty skin drifted down from his right hand as new tissue replaced it. The restorative powers of the magic that the High Ones consumed truly was amazing.
He was lucky to be alive. Rafael sighed and leaned his head back against the cool, damp wall. The High One had been trained by a master assassin, and not just any master. By his own master. The best there was, and that much wasn’t wishful thinking, it was an acknowledged fact throughout the whole of Clare. It was the reason Rafael had the skills he had, and not a little of the respect either. His master―
No, he couldn’t think about that right now. Not when the blood of another of Xian’s apprentices still glistened on his hands. It didn’t matter that the man would surely have killed him if Rafael hadn’t finished the job. He deserved Rafael’s respect.
Settling his body and mind, Rafael dropped into the meditative state he’d first learned as a child, nearly twenty years ago now. Gradually the tension eased from his body. His breathing slowed to a crawl, his heart thudded gently, but he didn’t move a muscle. He stayed that way for five hours, long enough for the night to drift toward dawn and his hands to mostly recover. At least, he thought as he looked at them, they’d recovered enough so that he wouldn’t frighten whoever he found to get warm with. Better a brothel than a gambling house tonight—well, today now. He was too tired to play games. Coming to his feet, Rafael stretched for a moment, working the kinks of stillness out of his back and legs before setting off into the light.
Morbid curiosity pulled him back to the scene of his kill. The way was crowded, more High Ones there now. This time they had brought guards, men and women of the Lower Half who gladly served for the chance that they might, someday, be deemed worthy of entrance into the ranks of the High Ones. Rafael stifled a snort. Those who did menial work for the High Ones almost never got changed. There were thousands more like them, just waiting for an opening in the ranks and their own slim chance at immortality. He craned his neck slightly to look at the body. Near immortality. No, the best way to become a High One was to be taken as a child and made an apprentice, indoctrinated into the system from an early age so you never questioned, never faltered, never disobeyed. If you pleased your master, he or she would change you. It took years for the process to be complete, but the wait was worth it. Or so he’d thought.
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About the Author
Cari Z is a Colorado girl who loves snow and sunshine. She is back in America, finally, and loves it, despite having to relearn how to use a clutch. Writing consumes the free time that isn't spent on a mat or playing with her husband, or both (wonderful when interests coincide like that), and she hopes you enjoy what she writes as much as she enjoys writing it.
Email: [email protected]
Cari loves to hear from readers. You can find her contact information, website and author biography at http://www.pride-publishing.com.
Also by Cari Z
Surviving the Change
Shadows and Light
Oberon’s Court: The Solstice Gift
Titania’s Court: Summer’s Child
Ladies Only: Worth a Shot