An Assassin's Death

by A. K. Koonce

  I personify the phrase “all work and no play”. It’s been a long time since I let myself get distracted by male attention.

  He’s entirely too strong. I can’t escape this position I’ve somehow gotten myself into. I need him distracted, and while I doubt he won’t see through my motives, I take my chances and grind my hips up into his, rubbing my center over the hardening length of him.

  His eyes snap to mine. Heat flares in their depths as I continue circling my hips upward. The leather of my pants make it hard to get as close as I want to. I bit my lip, making my face vulnerable as I try to entice him to join in the pleasure. Moving under him, I struggle to keep my mind on escaping his grasp, enjoying the feel of him between my thighs a little too much. Maybe I need to take a night off and get laid so I can quench this irritating need. This attraction issue is clearly starting to cause problems.

  When he starts thrusting himself against me, his hips rocking just right, I know I’ve hooked him. I let out a sexy, low moan and wiggle, trying to get one of my legs between his. The moment his thigh makes contact with my clit—even through my layers of clothing—I gasp. My body thrums, and I can’t help but to take advantage of the position as I rock and massage myself. When he drops his head down toward my neck as we writhe together, I know the time has come to make a move. Shimmying into position while he’s lost in our movements, I bring my knee up into his manhood once more.

  Poor sap. Who falls for that twice in one night?

  When he grunts in pain, I wrench one wrist free from his grip and push him off to one side of me. Sliding out from under him, I work to free my other hand. It’s the one that holds the knife. Getting a little momentum, I fling the knife away from us and, in a twist I didn’t see coming, he releases me.

  I slip away as Tylin rolls onto his back and cups his balls, groaning. He peeks up at me and starts laughing. Laughing. The guy just got his balls busted—twice—and he’s fucking laughing. Narrowing my eyes, I cross my arms over my chest and wait for the little mental breakdown he’s going through to end.

  “I should have learned my lesson the first time.” He sits up, his features turning back to that heavy, serious look, giving me emotional whiplash. He seems to have recovered from the hit he took rather quickly.

  “Now who’s the rookie?” I give him a little smirk, happy I bested him. Needing a little more distance between us before he gets to his feet, I take a few steps back.

  “You are.” A new voice causes shivers to run down my spine. It’s dark and gravelly, deadly, and definitely not Tylin’s.

  I tense, ready to spin around when I feel the cold, unmistakable feeling of metal against my throat. I freeze, not daring to make a move. Swallowing, I feel the sharp edge of the blade teasing my carotid artery.

  “Fuck.”

  Three

  Gone in Sixty

  At this point, you probably think I’m not the deadly assassin I say I am. I’ve been distracted by cock stroking, gravelly voices, and I’ve been caught off guard twice in less than ten minutes. Not my finest hour, I’ll admit.

  But the night is still alive with possibilities.

  And when the night ends, someone may die.

  It won’t fucking be me.

  I’ve been trained not to use my powers unless backed into a corner. Never draw unwanted attention to the Lifeless League.

  But Tylin already knows and whoever’s holding my life in their hands, knows more than he should. It’s now or never.

  A shaking feeling swirls within me and I release it without thought. The room quivers. The lights flicker, teasing the shadows until it fades out entirely. The white glow emitting from my palms is the only indication I’m the source of the mysterious power.

  Darkness washes over the room and Tylin takes a single step closer to me before time itself halts.

  A smile tilts my lips as I hold his confused gaze. It’s still there. Time still exists. I am not a god after all; only someone who’s been trained to use the spaces within the line of time, someone able to force her power into it.

  What’s even better? Tylin knows. I see it in his watchful but unblinking eyes. I step out of my attackers embrace. His arms remain held in place without anyone to clutch on to. The black fabric of the face mask that covers the lower half of my features is the only thing that hides my identity. My hood fell off long ago, revealing my silky dark hair in long, messy waves.

  I peek back at the man behind me. My stomach sinks as I realize he was next on my list. Just like Tylin and myself, the mark is right there against his throat.

  I hate this. I’m not weak but I’ve never felt more unsure of myself than I do right now. The other man, Rory Durdin, has a similar but larger overbearing build to Tylin. His hair is short, blending in with the neatly trimmed beard that lines his square jaw.

  Tylin and Rory would be easy to finish off right now. I check the silver timepiece hanging from my hip. It’s worn from the all the years I’ve held it just like this. It was once a shining gift from my leader. It doesn’t hold power like I do but it does seem to be unaffected by my abilities. The soft ticking of its mechanics fills the silence.

  Sixty seconds is all I hold the power to manipulate. I have another thirty seconds left to decide their fate.

  It isn’t enough time to decide much.

  It is enough time to flee. Which I hate. I mean hate. It kills me that the thought is even crossing my mind. My gaze falls to the low way Tylin’s jeans are slung across his narrow hips. He insinuated his mark was there.

  He acts like his dick itself is marked.

  As if it’s big enough. Someone give this man a reality check.

  But still, I can’t help but take a step closer to him. My throat goes dry as my fingers raise between us.

  He can see me. Both of them can. They’re aware of me. There just isn’t anything they can do about it for another—fifteen seconds.

  Smooth skin greets my fingertips. The hard muscle of his lower abs don’t even tense beneath my touch. He’s entirely helpless. I feel like a creep and a goddess all at the same time. A creepy goddess. Perfect.

  I barely pull back the elastic of his boxers when I see the arching angles of his rune. Mine is hidden down the length of my spine. It gives me the strength to use my power to manipulate time. It’s inky, veering angles kiss down the center of my back.

  Angry, dark lines frame his hips, and just between them is a v with another v just above it. The inky details are interesting and perfectly accent his body.

  It’s a symbol I’ve never seen before, but it has the same arching lines as mine does. They’re similar, yet completely different.

  I don’t pull his clothes down any lower. My hands are barely touching him. It doesn’t stop the power I feel within him from shaking through him.

  In less than—five seconds—he could have the upper hand once again.

  I can’t give him the time to do that. I need time to sort this out. I need more than sixty seconds to understand why Armond would send me after a group of hunters.

  Hunters don’t hunt other hunters.

  And I’m not starting today.

  My eyes lock on to his, knowing he can see me clearly.

  “It was nice meeting you, Tylin.” My whispered words are sweet and innocent. “I’ll be seeing you again soon. Hopefully next time, you’ll keep your pants on.”

  My palms hold on to his corded biceps as I lean into him. I press my lips slowly to his. The thin fabric of my mask separates us, but it doesn’t prevent the warmth of his lips against my mouth.

  I won’t admit it, but he feels good beneath my touch.

  One more second is all I give myself. With a running leap, I freefall from his room. The whipping wind is cool against my skin.

  The echoing sound of their curses follow me into the night.

  Four

  We Meet Again

  My boots tread quietly against the smooth pavement. The building before me reaches high into the dark sky. It’s an ominous
structure. Gray, towering peaks spike up to slice against the heavens. It’s a deadly thing that looks like it’s at war with the world itself.

  And the assassins in this house are just as deadly.

  We have to be. The Lifeless League took me in at a young age. It gave me a home when society had turned its back on a lost teenager.

  I thrived because of it.

  Right now, though, I don’t have the balls to walk inside. I turned my back on a target. I ran away. The choice I made was the lowest of the low.

  I can’t walk back in there until I fix this.

  A prickling feeling races across my flesh. I can’t go back in there until I know why. Why would Armond have given me their names? He trained those men himself; just like he did me.

  A hunter never kills a hunter.

  My chest is tight as I stare up at the dark, shadowed building.

  There’s nothing left to do but figure out if everything I’ve ever known is a lie.

  I start by going back to where it all went wrong. Tylin’s house. On careful steps, I skim through his home like a ghost reliving the past. A plain white comforter is tucked tightly across his small mattress. I listen intently but nothing can be heard. The house is vacant.

  I wonder if they went to the League as well. If they’re trailing me the way I trailed them? If they are, then I would bet my life that all my questions will be answered soon enough.

  My fingers brush over the clean dresser in the far corner. I open the drawers one by one. A minimal amount of clothing fills each drawer, not even enough to cover the bottom.

  He hasn’t lived here long and he doesn’t seem to be intending to stay either.

  I sense him before I see him.

  “You’re a terrible assassin. The worst I’ve ever seen actually.” The rumbling tone of his voice skims across my skin, causing a shiver to race through me.

  I turn to him. Tylin’s slate gray eyes glint with mischief but the corners of his mouth are turned down. My mask is off, my hood back. I’m entirely revealed to him now. His attention lingers on the smatter of freckles that accent my features.

  They’re sweet looking. I know they are. They give me an image of innocence when my life has been anything but.

  “You’re pretty cocky for a guy who could have died less than an hour ago. I chose not to kill you.”

  “Maybe I should tone it down a little. I did just sneak into my own house.” He leans against the French doors, the moonlight casts his body in dark shadows. Only the small light in the corner provides me any view of his handsome features.

  I knew he’d follow me. I expected them both, but it doesn’t surprise me that he’s arrogant enough to think he doesn’t need help.

  “I chose not to kill you because I want you to answer a few questions before I gut you.”

  “You saying things like gut me is really killing the mood, Huntress.” He tilts his head at me. His words are low and drawn out, not at all impressed by my threats.

  “My point is, I made a choice not to kill you.” I pause as I take several stalking steps closer to him. “Why didn’t you kill me?”

  A foot of space separates his body from mine. A dark shirt now covers him up, the collar skimming along the inky lines at his neck. He looks down on me a with a hint of a smirk kissing his lips.

  He seems to always be hiding every small amount of happiness he owns.

  “It’s not every day a woman pushes me to the ground when I’m beating off just to grind her pussy against my cock.” The words are carefully spoken and he studies me intently. “I was intrigued. The last assassin your leader sent wasn’t nearly as friendly. Jared wasn’t welcoming in the least.” His bulky shoulders raise in a mocking shrug. “It’s a shame. He and I could have been the best of friends. Just like you and I.” The curve of his lips tilts down, he’s no longer taunting me.

  He’s entirely serious.

  We did have an assassin die last month.

  They die. It happens. It isn’t something to dwell on.

  Until now.

  “Why does Armond want you dead?”

  His arms fold across his broad chest, stretching the fabric of his shirt tightly against the hard muscle tone beneath.

  “I think that’s something you should be asking Armond, don’t you?” His words are this biting, tormenting sound.

  The spasm of his jaw shows how much he hates my leader. His former leader, really. What happened between Armond and the two men I met tonight? I’m willing to bet everything that the last two marks I am assigned to are also part of Tylin’s band of misfit assassins.

  “I guess I’ll have to ask then.” My words are hesitant. Testing.

  “That’s an excellent idea, my little Huntress.” He steps aside, letting me leave the same way I came.

  As I brush slowly past him he grips my jaw in his hand. A bruising strength holds me in place as he slams his lips against mine. It’s a quick assault of our mouths. He pulls back as quickly as he came.

  Shoving me away from himself, he stalks across the room.

  “If you break into my house again,” he pauses, his voice humming through the darkness, “I’ll choose to kill you, Alexa Hart.”

  A tingling sensation skims through my body at the use of my real name. My long hair twirls in the wind as I just stare after him.

  I suddenly feel like I’m the hunted instead of the hunter.

  Five

  The Golden Boy

  He knows my name. My full name, which means he’s done his research in the short time we’ve been apart. My steps falter as I stride to the balcony once again. It’s the only outward sign that his blunt revelation is affecting me.

  Turning in his direction, I give him a feral smile. “‘Until we meet again.” I tip my head at him.

  Then, without acknowledging his threat, or the use of my name, I hoist myself onto the railing and jump over in one fluid movement.

  Sticking to the shadows, I become invisible as I make my way away from Tylin. Fuck, but something about him is under my skin. I chalk it up to my lack of a social calendar. I just need to get out and meet people more often, that’s all. This guy is nothing special.

  It’s not like he’s some charming asshole who’s consuming my thoughts.

  No, he’s just a regular asshole consuming my thoughts.

  I pull up my collar, further concealing my face. The one good thing about my assassin's garb is that it’s all black. It’s easier to blend in that way. As I walk down the street, I make a quick plan in my head.

  I feel stupid for never having a place of my own. Not even a small hideaway home for when I need time to myself.

  Who the hell am I kidding? All I have is time to myself. Time when I’m stalking my prey. Time when I’m researching everything I need to know about my next mark. Time after I make the kill, the silence of death greeting me.

  I’m alone even now as I head to the warehouse district. Well, almost.

  I feel a presence behind me, and a smile curves my lips. I am behind on my kill list, and this guy is just asking for me to add him to it.

  Whoever is following me is terrible at it. I wonder if the man is simply a stupid citizen, or if he’s an ill-equipped assassin sent after me for failing to follow orders. Would Armond do such a thing? I wouldn’t put it past him if he already knows that I haven’t killed my marks tonight.

  Either way, citizen or assassin, my stalker needs to die. If he is not an assassin, he has a penchant for stalking women into alleyways. If he is an assassin, it’s my life or his. Guess who plans to live tonight?

  Adding a little sashay to my walk, I strut down a deserted alleyway while still heading toward my destination. It’s just a detour, really, but it allows me the privacy I’m betting I’ll need. No use attracting more attention than necessary.

  Just a little further and I’ll be able to take this guy out.

  His shoes thud on the asphalt when he turns into the alleyway, his shadow elongating on the pavement as he gets closer,
the light from the street backlighting him. I glance over my shoulder. Yeah, this guy doesn’t care that I see him at all.

  Feigning fright, I cower into myself and let my gait quicken, pretending to try to get away. Instead, I let me fingers curl around the handle of my knife, prepared to make a move.

  “You messed up, girl.” The gruff voice of the man doesn’t startle me, but his words do. Assassin then, and not one of the ones I was sent to kill tonight.

  “Mmm,” I hum, instantly dropping my frightened act. “I think that’s debatable.”

  Spinning, I slash out at him and then duck as he lunges, trying to land a punch that would have knocked me flat if it made contact. I counter every move he makes, frustrating him as he continues to attack. Men like this don’t think with their heads; not believing that a woman could ever take them down. I smile. I’m often underestimated.

  Finally, the man starts to wear out, and I make my move, getting a slice into his leg which hampers his movements. As his knees hit the ground and he cries out in pain, I slip behind him, aligning my knife with the vulnerable flesh of his neck. For the second time that evening I pause. That damn tattoo is mocking me. The Mark of the Hunter. Am I really going to slice his throat? Add more blood to my hands? Kill a fellow assassin? He deserves it.

  It’s him or me.

  Before I’m given much of a choice, I feel the draw of power the assassin below me is pulling into himself, and there’s no way in hell I’m going to let him get the upper hand. Pressing the knife a little deeper, I distract him while I draw on my own.

  Forcing my eyes closed, I focus on the strum of power within me. My muscles shake as the energy builds. Just before I’m about to release it, a man drops down in front of me, seemingly out of nowhere. Looking up, I realize he came from the rooftops. Not a hard guess. It looks like he’s alone.