by Nia Night
Whatever it was, I couldn’t just let her die.
I found myself moving before I was really aware of doing so, fire magic pulsing under my skin. Ibrahim’s magic was so strong now that it permeated the space, twisting my stomach. My own magic pushed forward anyway, fighting the recoil, wrapping itself around Ibrahim’s, burning through it, wrenching free its grip around Raidyn’s throat.
It took every ounce of power I had, every morsel of flame in my veins, but somehow, I managed. I don’t think I would have been successful if not for the fact that my intervention caught Ibrahim off guard. Raidyn hit the ground, falling in a heap, gasping as the air flooded back into her lungs, blinking to clear her vision.
“Go,” I told her, still holding off Ibrahim’s dark magic with great effort.
Okay, so sometimes a Sister did run, and Raidyn was not stupid. She was out the door and gone before I could draw another breath.
That left only Ibrahim and me.
The Demon turned toward me, death in his dark eyes, and I braced myself for whatever he would do next.
25
In the silence that followed, one could hear a pin drop.
Then, in a voice as low and even as it could be, Ibrahim asked, “Why?”
I swallowed, searching for words. The ones that came out were not the ones I would’ve expected. “I’m sorry,” I said. “I just couldn’t let you kill her.”
“She killed my brother,” Ibrahim said in that same too-calm voice.
“I know.”
The Demon King took two steps toward me, violence lacing every shift of muscle. The two of us had not been fond of each other since we’d met, but I’d never felt the full force of his anger, had never sensed the true danger that seeped out of him until just now. The way his dark magic pulsed and stretched toward me made my throat go dry, calling up old memories and the feelings that accompanied them.
I took a step back before I realized what I was doing, then reminded myself that I was not the kind of bitch who backed down, and held my ground instead.
“It was an order,” I said, as if that somehow made it better on Raidyn’s part. “She was just doing what she was told.”
Ibrahim’s lips twisted, turning his handsome face into a mask of darkness. “A Mark,” he said, still with such calm. “Idris was just a Mark. Is that what you’re saying?”
I almost wished he would yell instead. There was something so unsettling about the inflectionless way he was speaking. I cleared my throat.
“No one chooses to be a Sister, Ibrahim,” I said. “We do the best we can with what we’re given.”
His dark magic had reached me now, was hovering in the air just before making contact. My own fire magic thrummed in response, but didn’t go on the offensive. If he gripped me the way he had Raidyn, would I be able to break his hold again? Just from the look in his dark eyes, I knew the answer was very likely no.
“You keep saying that as if the Sisterhood stripped you of free will,” he said. “As if taking so many lives was the only option, as if it makes your sins somehow less repulsive.”
Despite the fear that he was inciting in me, my old friend Anger reared her head. “You know what? I’m fucking sick of the judgment,” I snapped. “First from the lying Angel, and now from a holier than thou Demon King, of all fucking people. I was ten years old when the Sisterhood found me. My mother had just been murdered in front of me, and I had no one to turn to, nowhere to go. I was a Gods damned child, and I was only doing what I had to in order to survive. So you can just go fuck yourself, buddy.”
Darkness pulsed, swirled… but still did not make contact.
“I should kill you,” the Demon said.
I spoke through gritted teeth. “You can try.”
“Better yet, I should have just let you die when you were tied to that pole. Or in the Alleys with the Accursed. You weren’t worth saving then, and you aren’t worth shit now.”
“Do what you gotta do,” I said. “But quit acting like your shit doesn’t stink.”
Ibrahim took another long stride forward, standing so close now that I had to tilt my head back to meet his eyes. His scent wrapped around me, rain and brimstone, his wide chest rising and falling slowly, his magic curling around my shoulders, cascading down my back.
“I hate you,” he said.
I shoved him hard, making sure he stumbled back, the fuck up out of my face. “I didn’t ask for any of this,” I snarled. “I didn’t ask to be an assassin, and I didn’t ask to be the child’s guardian. None of the burden that’s fallen in my lap did so because of any choice of mine. Maybe you should have left me to die, because I didn’t ask for you to save me, either. I would have been better off than dealing with all this shit.”
Distantly, I was aware of the sound of a door opening and closing somewhere nearby, but the damn shop could have been on fire in that moment, and I doubt I would have paid the flames any mind. The whole world had become the anger and resentment surging between the Demon King and I, the sole focus our fight.
I expected retaliation from my shove, expected him to lash out. Hells, I wanted him to, if for no other reason than to physically shove his insults down his stupid throat with my fists.
But Ibrahim did not strike out at me, though his powerful, dark magic continued to swirl a hair’s breadth from making contact with my skin, he did not retaliate.
I thought maybe that this was for someone’s sake other than my own, as he’d already told me he wished he’d left me to die, and that was when I remembered the child.
Vida.
I turned toward the door that led to the back hallway behind the shop, to where the child had been standing only moments ago, witnessing the brutal fights taking place.
She was no longer standing there.
Ibrahim seemed to notice her absence in the same moment as I, and we practically shoved our way past each other as we burst through the doorway.
To find the hallway beyond empty.
“Vida?” I called out.
No answer.
Ibrahim ran up the staircase while I went to the back door tucked behind it that I hadn’t noticed earlier, and found that it was unlocked, and cracked open. As if someone had left in a hurry. I stepped out and found an alley beyond. Also empty.
When Ibrahim came back down the stairs, I already knew what he was going to say.
“She’s not up there,” he told me.
We exchanged an accusatory look, then broke apart without a word, Ibrahim going to search the rest of the shop while I searched the streets beyond the alley, calling out the child’s name again and again.
And receiving no answer.
“I found this,” Ibrahim said, stepping out into the alley and handing me a slip of paper.
I looked down at it, at the quickly scrawled words.
You are free to choose your own burdens now. Goodbye Iliana.
-V
My heart sank. Ibrahim and I broke up to search the surrounding areas in hopes we might catch up to her.
An hour passed before I returned to the shop, not sure why I should return, but not knowing where else to go, either. As the minutes ticked by, my anxiety over her absence only increased, and by the time I stood once more in the antique shop, it was safe to say I was freaking the fuck out.
Are you going to leave me? the child had asked me. I had not even considered how it would feel if it were the other way around. She’d had to have heard me call her a burden in my argument with Ibrahim, had to have taken it personally, even if that’s not how I had meant it. And with the success of Bella’s spell, Vida’s signal was muted, and she was gone.
And that shit was absolutely my fault. Maybe I hadn’t asked for any of this, but somewhere along the way, I’d taken responsibility for it, had resigned to the fact that I was Vida’s guardian, and her safety was my obligation. I stood in the shop, feeling lost, looking down at the braided bracelet Vida had tied around my wrist.
The bell above the shop door dinge
d, and Ibrahim walked in, looking as flustered as I felt.
“No luck?” the Demon asked.
I shook my head.
We stared at each other in silence for several seconds, all of the rage we’d been feeling an hour ago gone. My fingers toyed with the braided bracelet, and Ibrahim’s eyes followed the movement. He let out a long sigh and pulled up the sleeve of his shirt to reveal a matching bracelet tied around his own wrist. Vida must have given the other one to him.
It seemed that somewhere along the way, the child had managed to touch both of our dark hearts, and whether this had been against our wills or not did not seem to matter.
“We need to find her,” Ibrahim said. “Before someone else does.”
Finally, something we could agree on.
I nodded. “I still hate you,” I said.
The Demon King snorted. “Believe me, the feeling is mutual… And when I see your Sister again, I will kill her.”
I didn’t argue. I didn’t see the point. All I could think about was Vida, all I could feel was the guilt over letting her hear me call her a burden enough times to finally make her leave. I’d been so busy thinking about how unfair this whole thing was to me, about how I hadn’t asked for any of this, that I hadn’t thought about how equally unfair it was to Vida. She had not asked for any of this, either. She’d just been handling it with a lot more grace.
And, now, she’d gone an unburdened me. It was such a Vida thing to do that I wasn’t sure how I hadn’t seen it coming. The child was perhaps the most considerate person I’d ever met, always sure not to be a nuisance, poised under the worst of conditions.
I had to get her back. I had to.
“What now?” Ibrahim asked.
I blew out a heavy breath and went to the wall of weapons, selecting a few and strapping them to my body. Once that was done, I turned toward the Demon King.
“Saddle up, shithead,” I said. “And let’s go find our kid.”
The End… for now
Book 3 in the Sisterhood of Assassins Series, coming soon.
If you would like to be notified when it releases (and be privy to release day sales) become a Sister and join The Sisterhood’s Newsletter to get access to exclusive materials like an official copy of The Sister’s Code, Iliana’s favorite workout, updates about the series, and other cool shit.
About the Author
Nia Night is an author of urban fantasy. She’s the mother of two badass little ladies, and a badass herself, except when it comes to insects. She’s terrified of insects.
In her free time, Nia enjoys strolls under the moonlight (always carrying a self-carved wooden stake, in case she has to slay some vamps or something), pretending she has to save the world as motivation when working out, and then eating any questionably edible items she can find immediately after aforementioned working out.
Additionally, she excels at creating randomly awkward social interactions, but is actually pretty chill once you get to know her.
For more info, check out NiaNight.com
Review, please ;)
If you enjoyed this book, please consider leaving a short review. Reviews are like gold to indie authors, and Nia loves to hear the thoughts of readers!
A Note from the Author
Dearest Sisters (and Brothers),
I hope you enjoyed book 2, and rest assured that the following books are already in production and will be hitting a Kindle near you very soon.
In the meantime, I hope you’ll consider checking out some of my other urban fantasy books. Nia Night is a new pen name I write under, but I’ve got 5 other completed series just waiting for you to discover them under the pen name H. D. Gordon.
So while you’re waiting for the next installment of the Sisterhood Series, why not check out some of those?
If this is something you’re interested in, continue reading for a sneak peek at Moon of Fire (The Blood Pack Trilogy).
Until next time, keep it sinful, Sis (0r Bro.)
Xoxo,
Nia
3/11/19
Story Summary
Hustling wolfsbane is the only way Dita Silvers knows how to survive.
As a werewolf from the slums, she longs to lift her family out of poverty, and getting involved with the prominent criminals in town seems worth the potential earnings.
But when Dita makes a snap decision that changes the course of things, and a handsome stranger comes to town asking questions, her resolve to accomplish her end goals will be put to the test.
With a witty sorceress as a best friend and partner in crime, and five siblings to look after, Dita has her hands full. Female werewolves do not command the respect male werewolves do, and they certainly don’t run a bootlegging operation at the height of prohibition.
Moon of Fire is the first book in The Blood Pack Series.
Chapter 1
The moon was full and red, and the Wolves were drunk and hungry.
The sounds of the fights in The Ring floated out of the barn and into the fields beyond, an ever-present soundtrack to my Friday nights.
The main event this evening featured a brawny male on his sixty-seventh fight, the favorite over his competitor. Personally, I was more interested in the female fight that would take place beforehand. The female I’d been placing money on—and winning—was fun to watch, if one could call such a brutal fight “fun.”
I was likely to miss it, anyway, because business was flowing, and the business was what I was here for.
After taking one last long glance down at the worn parchment in my hand, I folded the paper and replaced it in my jacket pocket, leaning casually back against the wooden building behind me with feigned ease. Appearing relaxed was important, but being on one’s toes was absolutely necessary. Currently on my person, I was carrying enough Wolfsbane to make a poor Wolf’s month, and in my world, the predators were always lurking around the corners.
Catching a familiar scent on the air, I angled my head and caught sight of Phil, a frequent customer. His cracked lips pulled up as he spotted me in my usual position, his grin revealing the missing teeth the drug use had rotted and claimed. His clothes were old and carried a stench that was irremovable, and open sores spotted the skin on his arms and hands.
The weather was cool with the approaching winter, but the fine leather of my gloves never left my hands for fear of what I might contract from doing business with Wolves like Phil. I pitied the male, as well as the others, but in all honesty, I couldn’t say the hands they’d been dealt by life were any worse than the one fate had given me, so the sentiment was easily dismissed.
We all had our demons. For Phil, it was the drugs and booze. For me… Well, I had to be the demon.
“Hey there, D,” Phil crooned as he hobble-walked over to me. His tongue snaked out to wet his dry lips, and my stomach twisted, but my posture and expression remained unaffected.
“What’ll it be?” I asked.
Phil patted his pockets, as if he didn’t know the exact amount he had to barter with. “I’m a little short. Can you help me out?”
I pulled my gaze away from a small group of young Wolves who had gathered outside the barn in which The Ring was held, and gave Phil a look like he must be stupid.
He chuckled at the expression, but when I held his gaze, the laughter dried up like rain on a summer afternoon. “Always so serious, Dita,” Phil added, and sighed. “What can I get for ten?”
Still holding his eyes with the steel in mine, I reached into the fine fabric of my black jacket and produced a dime bag of Wolfsbane, exchanging it for the coins Phil handed me.
He looked like he might have something else to say, but baring my teeth a bit sent him ambling away again. I rolled my neck and scanned my surroundings, patting absentmindedly at the paper folded neatly in my pocket. Just a few more hours, and I could go home. Eat something, maybe even sleep.
The high-pitched squeal of a Wolf crying out in The Ring cut across the night, and while once upon a time the sound
had given me nightmares, I’d long since grown numb to the pain-filled shrieks of the losers. Why anyone would choose such a life was beyond me, but then again, I supposed many would think the same of my own life endeavors.
It wasn’t like I had much of a choice, though, so perhaps in their individual ways, it was the same for them.
Such philosophizing had no place in my world, so I pushed the thoughts aside and continued my hustle as the darkness of the night deepened, and then gradually gave way to the wee hours of the morning.
I was checking my timepiece when my older brother, Devon, found me. As soon as I saw him, I could tell from the look on his face and the set of his shoulders that something was wrong. Knowing our family, the matter could be any range of depravity.
Devon was a large male Wolf, handsome and muscular, with blue eyes and dark hair and an easy smile that he spent a good deal of time suppressing—at my insistence. Our enemies would no doubt see his easygoing manner as weak, and while I appreciated the quality in him, I wouldn’t allow it to get us killed.
“How’d you do?” Devon asked as he approached, straightening the lapels of his jacket in the overly civilized way he had.
“Good,” I replied. “I’m almost out. Can probably go home with zero stock if we stay another hour.” I yawned and checked the timepiece in my pocket. “You can give me the rest of yours and I’ll get rid of it if you want to go.”
“Nah,” Devon said, “we need to get home. Demarco and Dad are at it again. Delia is worried they’ll kill each other.”