by A. K. Koonce
I could stay here forever.
“I slept here…” My voice shakes while my stomach turns. “I slept here. I never went home.”
Shit, shit, shit.
My arms and legs push at the overly restraining blankets and I fight to get out of his luxurious bed.
Armond will kill me. He’s already untrusting of me.
I just made it worse. My feet stumble on quick steps as I trudge around the enormous room looking for my boots. The white carpet and walls are pristine and make the morning sunlight a blinding sight to behold. I nearly flinch away from it once more until I see two muddy boots laying near the door.
The cool door knob meets my fingertips and I’m already racing down the hall in seconds, shoving my boots on as I go. Rory’s hulking frame slows me down when we meet at the stairs. His glare is assessing and hard and I try my best to weave around him without any forced conversation.
Until Jameson’s obnoxious voice trails down the hall after me as he makes his way over.
“You could have at least thanked me for a lovely evening, Al. Who’s doing the walk of shame from my bed, you or me?” His fucking bicep that I was admiring just the night before skims over my hair as his hand settles against the wall and he leans into me in the most casual of stances.
Rory’s narrowed gaze shifts from me to the asshole behind me three times before I finally push away from both of them and storm down the curving stairs.
But apparently, just because I walked away doesn’t mean Jameson is done performing.
“Have a good day, baby. Make the world a beautiful place. Inspire others. Lead with your heart not—” I slam the door before one more inspirational babble can fall from that man’s ridiculous mouth.
Every day is a new fiasco in that house.
The building is eerily silent when I race through the front door. I push it quietly closed behind me and take calming breaths to settle my heart rate before anyone notices me.
But I’m alone. The room is empty. Not a single sound resides within the monstrous home that houses hundreds of assassins.
Then his smooth voice resounds through the walls like the voice of god himself is commanding me.
“Good morning, my Hunters and Huntresses.”
A knowing sort of feeling starts to tangle through my stomach. Old floor boards whine beneath my stalking steps as I take my time following the echoing trail of his voice.
The lighting down the long hall becomes dimmer and dimmer with every step I take. Warped wood paneling surrounds me. I pause just outside the door. A single breath is all I allow myself before I push it open, my head held high as a few darting glances pass my way.
Until his silver eyes land on me.
“Ahhh, thank you for joining us, Hart.” His long fingers clasp together. He stands tall on the front stage, high above the hundreds of assassins before me. “I’m so happy that you took a moment to remember where your loyalties lie.”
The fear racing through my heart demands that I run the other way, but the facade that I’ve lived for so long remains perfectly in place. The traitorous sound of my hesitant steps against the flooring is the only noise when I trail among my peers to the powerful man waiting for me. There’s a gleam in his eyes. A dangerous and hungry gleam that should say everything. And still I walk forward.
My chin tilts as I look up at him from my place at his feet.
“My confidants tell me a young man has been visiting you at the darkest hours of the night.”
The darkest hours of the night? His flair for the dramatics doesn’t go unnoticed by me. Not that I’ll be commenting on it.
“Have you found solace in the enemy? A love to have but never again to hold?” His head tilts just slightly, his eyes narrow on me and the sound of my slamming heartbeat fills my ears but I keep my features smooth. Vacant even.
“The target is clever. Mason Bothwell caught me tracking him.” The lies fall from my lips on a steady breath. “When I escaped with barely my life, he came after me. He followed me here. He was a threat to us all.” My tone carries among my peers and I’m sure to look out at the crowd of them as if their safety and mine is one in the same. “I killed him before any harm could ever come to my family here.”
I don’t even allow myself a calming breath as I look up with nothing but obedience in my eyes. Armond’s thin lips pull into a low grimace.
I’ve fucked up.
He lowers himself and the smooth material of his slacks crease as he crouches lower to meet my gaze.
The clipped words he speaks next slices fear right through my heart.
“Then tell me how he ended up in your rooms once again this morning.”
There’s no time. There’s no time to react. His power slams into me. Without even touching me the force of his power pushes me to my knees and then flat against the floor. He drains me slowly. He pulls at my life and my magic at the slowest torturing pace. I can physically feel it tearing away at my body.
“This is what happens to us when one of our own chooses love over the higher power.” The casual tone of his voice is the opposite to the searing pain he’s inflicting on my insides.
It rips through me as I lie quietly on my stomach, staring out at the white particles of dust that line the dark floorboards. I can’t seem to make a sound. A part of me considers just letting go. Fading out into the blackness that presses at the edges of my sight.
But a more dominant part of me wants to correct him. I want to scream down his throat until the message is entirely clear to everyone in this room.
I didn’t do any of this for love. There is a greater sentiment than love, and that’s survival. I don’t love Mason. I barely tolerate Jameson. I loathe Rory. I almost— almost— respect Tylin.
But love has nothing to do with my disloyalty.
The feed of his power wrapping around my own becomes apparent within me. I push past the pain to focus in on the feel of his power intertwining with mine.
Seconds pass in silence while I stare vacantly out at the deeply etched lines of the floor. A single shuddering breath enters my lungs and it seems to revive me. It takes more energy than I knew I had, but I take the feeling of his rushing magic and reverse it. I pull it from him to me. It’s a feeling so powerful my fingers start to shake from it, my nails scrape against the dirty floor as my hands tremble uncontrollably.
I hear my leader’s astounded gasp and I raise myself up just in time to see him crumble to the floor of his glorious stage.
Then they’re all standing. Hundreds assassins stand at once with a thundering sound of their footsteps.
And their vengeful gazes are held on me.
Eighteen
Fighting Fire with Fire
The outrage flying through the room is apparent as I find my strength and make it to my feet as quickly as I can. I know this crowd won’t hold back from me for long. I just injured their fearless leader. They don’t care about the fact that he was ready to kill me moments before I was able to reverse his power, bringing it into my own body instead.
That power pulses through my veins even now, and I grit my teeth as I hold it inside, trying to control the surplus that I’m not used to carrying. The demanding tingle of it crawls down my arms. Instead of feeling stronger like the way I did when I had Jameson’s power inside of me, I feel tainted. Realization dawns on me then as the disgusting feel of his power makes itself at home within me. I don’t want anything to do with Armond anymore. Am I becoming more like him than I realize? Is this what I’ll become? What is happening in my life? I’m starting to question the validity of all the marks he’s sent me since we first met five years ago. He always told me that our marks were chosen based on the terrible deeds they’d done. I stopped asking for the proof of their sins years ago. I trusted him. I was an idiot to trust him. My stomach sinks; whether from the power swirling inside or my sudden burst of conscious, I’m not sure.
“What the hell did you do to him?” The accusatory question is hurtled in my
direction from a hulking figure who pushes his way through the crowd and stomps up the steps to the platform of the stage.
I don’t hold back as I throw my retort in his direction. “The same thing he was doing to me.” I want to growl to make them see what I now see, but I realize my predicament and hold back. A room full of deadly assassins stare me down, anger and retribution clear on their faces. Armond’s accusations are enough to turn the room against me, and I glance around quickly, looking for my exit strategy.
“You fucking traitor!” A bitch in black elbows her way through the gathered assassins while the massive guy on the stage stoops to check Armond’s vitals.
I hold my breath, waiting for confirmation of his life or death. I’m not sure which I want. I either want him dead so that I’m free of him and the Lifeless League, or I want him alive so that I can get the answers I seek. I hate all the not knowing. I hate that I can’t trust the organization that made me.
I hate that I’ve been made in the first place. What would my life have been like if Armond hadn’t dragged me off of the street and put my fighting skills to good use? What would I be now? Would I even be alive?
This is not the time for deep reflection, Lex. I scold myself sarcastically. I don’t contemplate why I use one of Jameson’s nicknames for me. I can almost hear his annoying voice in my head coaching me through this while throwing more random useless phrases at me like he had this morning: “Wake the fuck up, Al, and get out of there. Live long and prosper” and shit like that. I shake my head at myself as I count my exit points.
Five large windows are off to my right. Negative. I’d have to claw my way out of assassins who would kill me long before I could reach the glass panes that lead to freedom.
Main entrance door. Same problem.
Back exit on one side of the stage. Possible solution.
I feel the drag of power in the room before I see the fireball that’s aimed at my head. Ducking in the nick of time, I dodge the assault.
“Seriously? Fucking fire? What? You want to burn the whole place down?” I narrow my eyes on the bitch in the center of the gathering, an unattractive sneer marring her pretty features. Before the fireball makes contact with the wall behind me, effectively catching the house on fire, she reigns in her power and the blast dissipates into a fume of white smoke. I take a step backward, getting closer to the exit, but trying to cover my movement with an arched eyebrow and snarky remark. “Cool trick.”
“You’re not walking out of here alive.” She gives me a feral grin.
I give her one back as I see her hands glowing bright orange, another blast of fire forming.
“What’s that saying?” I ask her, tapping a finger on my chin as I pretend to be thinking over my own question. The ranks are closing in as other assassins start moving to surround me. “Fight fire with fire?” I’m sure the gleam that flashes through my eyes makes me look insane. Good. Let them think I’ve gone off the deep end. Maybe I have, with the stunt I’m about to try and pull.
She releases another ball of fire and it soars toward me. There’s no time to debate my decision. I’m either going to die or this is going to work the way I hope it does. When it’s close enough I reach out, I feel the tendrils of power behind the fire she created. When Armond tried to harm me, I was able to use his power against him. I’m hoping that same theory applies now. Self-preservation.
I grab ahold of the tendrils of power and pull, making room for it inside of my body. I feel the heat of the flames licking against my fingertips as it makes contact, and I bite my tongue, drawing blood as I try not to cry out. To show weakness in this group of assassins means death. As suddenly as the pain starts, it stops, and I glance down in time to see my hands start to glow orange. Grinning, I ignore the blisters that sting my fingertips and push the girl’s power into my hands, working to form my own ball of flame. I’m amazed that my skin isn’t singeing. Other than the damage that’s already been done, I feel no pain as I toss the burning ball straight into the air, catching it again a moment later.
Her eyes widen as she realizes that I’ve siphoned the power from her blast.
It dawns across the room just how much power I hold. Hell, it’s dawning on me just how powerful I’m becoming. The first time it happened was an accident and now I’m stealing small amounts off of every person I touch. It’s not even a conscious thing any more.
My insides ache from the near-death experience, and I know I need to get out of here before the power I’ve consumed goes to my head. The surplus is giving me a natural high and I wonder if this is how Armond feels every time he drains the life from someone. That fucking bastard.
I take another step backward trying to use the fire as a shield to keep the assassins at bay. Suddenly I wish I had Mouse’s stealth, or Tylin’s authority, or Jameson’s ability to talk himself out of any situation, or even the badass way that Rory instills fear in people. Instead, all I have is my uncanny sense of sarcasm and a wit that won’t get me too far given the situation.
One liners and the ability to laugh at my own jokes doesn’t seem to aid me nearly as much as it should in life.
“Give Armond his power back.” The roar of the man on stage reverberates through my body and I scoff, holding back a sarcastic laugh. Like I’d give the man who just tried to kill me his power back. I took ten years at most. He’s fine. Let’s not start planning his belated funeral just yet.
The giant’s eyes are like lasers, burning into me from where he stands. I feel the heat before I smell the burning fabric of my shirt. Two perfect holes are forming where he glares at me. “Really? You really have laser vision? Could you have a more cliché power?” I want to laugh and I jump out his way before he starts branding my skin. “All that muscle… wasted.” I shake my head and focus on keeping the fire in my hands contained. I’m using it to shield myself, and without it, I’m screwed.
His roar pierces the air and is joined by cries of outrage and insults from the crowd. Words like “slut” and “bitch” are thrown around like candy at a parade. Stupid, Lex. Don’t poke the proverbial beast, you idiot.
The odds are obviously not in my favor today. Still, I can’t bring myself to fully regret staying in Jameson’s bed or our truce from the night before. I wouldn’t say this was worth it but it was… nice.
I feel the power pull around the room like a vortex. The tidal wave of it grows, threatening to crash over me as the magical assassins call on their powers, preparing to attack. I’m surprised they’re willing to show their wild card to each other and reveal their powers in their haste to take me out, but I guess my death is more important to them at the moment.
Shit. Shit. Shit!
Survival, it’s the only thing on my mind. Instinctively, I know that it’s way too much energy to draw into myself. This power is still new to me. I’m not even sure how I’m able to absorb others powers and I’m unsure of how much I can hold—and what happens if I take in too much? I do know I’m not willing to test it.
I know I can’t deflect all the powers that are about to fly at me. I’m barely managing to hold onto Armond’s and keep the fire in my hands under control. I’m not even sure what the extent of the powers within the room are, but I know that they’re all lethal in their own right. My only choice is to stall, freeze time, and make a run for it.
Running for the second time in a week. That’s embarrassing.
“Everyone just hold on!” A perky blonde rushes forward holding her hands up. Nala. I want to growl at her interference, but I’m willing to keep my mouth shut to see what happens next. Maybe I can use her diversion to my advantage. I inch closer to freedom as the attention in the room shifts to her. Everyone seems to pause. Hands are poised in the air as the group prepares to attack. So much for the “never kill another hunter”. I mean, I get it. It looks like I went after Armond, but he’s the one who attacked me first. I would never make a move against him without provocation. Not in public anyway. I’m not that stupid. Yet, these assassins are
out for blood. My blood. Who fired the first shot doesn’t seem to matter.
There’s so much energy swimming inside of me that all I have to do is borrow some of it as I prepare to slow time.
With a quick glance over her shoulder, Nala eyes me and then the exit, basically telling me to get the hell out. I narrow my eyes on her in the one remaining second I have left before she turns back to the crowd.
What is this girl’s deal? She is throwing herself into the literal line of fire for me. Are we actually friends? Is this something friends do for one another? I don’t think I’m ready for this intense of a commitment.
I’ve never really had a friend before. I’m not sure the guys qualify. If their terrible form of affection is considered friendship, then I don’t think I really want another friend in my life.
“Let’s just all calm down, now.” With her attention trained on them, she soothes the crowd, but there’s a supernatural quality to the way she speaks. I can feel the effects of her voice on me as my heart rate slows. “There’s no reason for a war.” This chick is more dangerous than she appears because I’m pretty damn certain that she has the power of persuasion, even though I can’t see her mark. “Lower your hands.” Command is thick in her tone and I feel a subtle yet insistent pull that asks me to obey. With this many people in the room, her power is weaker per person. I imagine that she’s a lot stronger when her powers are focused on just one individual at a time. Either way, I let my hands fall and allow the fire ball to burn out.
Just like all assassins, Nala has a cap on how much power usage she can run through at a time, and I prepare to make my exit.
The familiar tingling races up my spine and down my arms when I call on my power over time. Just before time slows to a halt for everyone else in the room, I catch the evil grin on Miss Pyro’s face. Her hands are lowered, but her glowing palms are still facing toward me.