An Assassin's Death

by A. K. Koonce

  “She needs to get rid of some of it somehow. It seems to be affecting her.” Mason crosses an arm over his chest, rests his other elbow on it, and grabs his chin as he studies me.

  “I’ve got a plan.” Jameson interlaces his fingers, stretches his arms out, and cracks his knuckles.

  The mischievous look he gives me makes me worry. It also makes my core clench around nothing. Sadly.

  He swaggers over to the bed and drops down next to me with a plop that rocks the mattress. He’s got the subtlety and fineness of a goat.

  “Whoa there.” I place a hand on his chest as his arms settle low against my back.

  He swoops in before I can utter another word and crashes his lips to mine. This kiss is voracious and all consuming. He devours my mouth, dragging a response from deep within me. Our kiss is like a battle, a give and take that leaves me reeling every time he pulls back only to crush our mouths together once again. I try to return the favor, determined to rock his world. I nip his bottom lip and then his tongue is delving into my mouth. My moan echoes around the room.

  He disengages for just a second and whispers against my lips, “Just let go, babe.”

  I have just enough time to mutter, “This isn’t going to work.” Then his tongue is back, teasing every sensitive spot in my mouth. My breasts push against his chest, trying hard to eliminate every small amount of space between us.

  Tension releases in my shoulders as my fingers grip hard onto his hair. Through my distraction, I feel the release of power, the excess I carry rushing out. I’m whole, and that’s enough. I don’t need more. I’m not eager to repeat that experience, especially with someone like Armond. The relief I feel as I dispel his energy nearly brings tears to my eyes. I didn’t want his essence floating around inside my body.

  I could kiss Jameson, except I already am. I release my tight hold on his blonde locks, wrapping my arms up around his neck and turn our demanding kiss into a gentle caress of our mouths.

  When he finally pulls back, our breath mingles together as we both breathe heavily.

  “Whoa there.” I repeat again, softly this time, trying to get my bearings as the room comes into focus. Jameson’s eyes are fierce as he holds me. I realize that he isn’t letting go.

  “Well, that seems to have done the trick,” Mason says, bringing me back into the moment.

  His eyes are heated as they watch Jameson and I, and for the first time in forever, my cheeks burn. The fact that Mason was watching us makes me hotter than I care to admit.

  It was just a simple kiss, but it feels like more now.

  Then I cringe internally. Jameson’s never going to let me live this down.

  Twenty

  Truth and Other Lies

  Exhaustion hits hard. I sleep for what feels like days. My eyes crack open to the darkness of the room only to meet even darker eyes.

  Mason’s gaze sweeps across my features, checking every part of me before coming back to my eyes. Warmth and comfort surrounds me. His chest is against mine, his palm slung low on the curve of my hip. Almost my ass. Almost.

  What a gentleman.

  Another big palm is firm against my abdomen, keeping me safely in place between the two men.

  They… stayed with me.

  My chest tightens as I think about that. It’s a feeling like anxiety, and in a way, it is. It makes me anxious to think someone might care about me. Nothing good can come of that and we all know it. Caring about someone else puts you at risk. Your own life is less important because theirs is too important.

  I can’t let that happen.

  But I think I already have.

  “I’m glad they didn’t catch you at the League.” My words are barely a small whisper but the way they make me feel is a monstrosity of emotion.

  Armond would have killed him.

  “I wasn't seen. If someone was aware of me, it was not because I was seen.”

  I nod. There are other ways those assassins could have known. Their abilities are endless. I saw that much today.

  “Until we understand this new ability, don’t try to use it. I don’t want you hurting yourself or pushing yourself too hard.”

  He’s right. I know he is. I just don’t have much control over the ability really. It’s frustrating that I can’t control the power within me.

  A quietness settles between us and suddenly, I’m staring at his lips. We’re close. Our mouths are poised so close together there’s barely room for the whispered words between us. I can’t help but let my fingers travel up the hard lines of his chest. His gaze lowers to my hand. Needy energy swirls all through me as I touch him slowly. It feels natural, my hands on his body.

  “Were you jealous? In the kitchen.”

  He shakes his head just slightly but he doesn’t add anything to my question.

  “Were you jealous when Jameson kissed me?”

  His head tilts forward, almost demolishing the space between our lips.

  “Did you want me to be jealous?”

  It isn’t an angry question. It’s a curious question that makes my heartbeat kick up into an impossible speed.

  My gaze holds his as I shake my head slowly.

  There’s an ache in my chest. Not from power this time. Simply from too much emotion.

  And I hate it.

  “If anything, I was,” he pauses as if to make sure his words are perfectly spoken, “annoyed Jameson thought of it first.”

  A smirk pulls at my lips and I can’t help but snuggle into his hard body. His poor intelligence ego was hurt.

  “It was really smart thinking on his part.” My head rests against his bicep in the sweetest way as I antagonize him on how much smarter Jameson was today.

  “Smart thinking is a little bit of an exaggeration. Especially since he was thinking entirely with his dick.”

  A smile curves my mouth and I tip my head up just slightly until my lips brush against the inking mark along his throat almost in a chaste way. He stills beneath me. It’s like he’s not used to this sweet kind of intimacy either. We’re both uncertain of our movements.

  But right now, everything feels right. Even the way Jameson’s holding me while I press my lips to Mason’s jawline.

  “Thank you for staying with me.” It does warm me inside to know that they care about me. Even if I don’t want to return that sentiment.

  He nods slowly but doesn’t reply as his hold on me tightens and I’m pulled even closer to his chest.

  My lashes close once more. I thought the beds in this house were the most comforting thing in the world.

  I was wrong.

  Sleeping between Mason and Jameson is the most comforting thing in the world.

  I’m freshly showered and incredibly rested when I walk down the steps the following morning.

  The front door opens, and from behind me, Mason and Jameson’s banter halts the moment Tylin steps inside.

  Sweat clings to the etching lines of his chest and thin shorts hang on his lean hips. He stares up at the three of us like a disappointed parent.

  Not that I’d know much of what that look looks like.

  “You slept for two days.” His tone is hard and drags across the high arching ceilings. “We’re behind schedule.”

  And like a disappointing child, I stand there with careless features while he lectures me thoroughly.

  “If you’re finished with your beauty sleep, meet me downstairs.”

  Mason and Jameson skim past me, their shoulders bumping on either side of me as they pass. The two of them saunter down the stairs.

  “You guys aren’t coming?”

  The blonde locks of Jameson’s hair shake back and forth as he smiles up at me but continues down the stairs.

  “No. You’re definitely on your own with him.”

  My lips part as my knights in shining armor abandon me, all but running from me.

  “And here I thought you two cared.” I storm down the steps just as they head into the living room.

  “Oh,
we care.” Jameson looks to Mouse with that annoying smirk of his. “We’re just not stupid enough to poke the bear when he has a stick up his ass.”

  I almost smile at his words. Until I realize I have to poke the bear.

  Alone.

  “Have fun, muffin,” Jameson calls with a laugh before disappearing into the other room.

  Muffin. Ugh.

  My steps are slow and dawdling as I make my way toward the basement. Music once again drifts up the stairs, but it isn’t angry and blaring like it was the first time I met Tylin down here. It’s gentle and swaying and makes me second guess all of this even more.

  When I get to the base of the stairs, Tylin comes into view and I hesitate there as I watch him push a towel down his face. Across his neck. Down his chest. Over his abs.

  “You have a weird habit of watching me.” His rumbling tone pulls at my mesmerized gaze.

  My eyes narrow on him. Like it’s my fault he was jerking off so adamantly when we first met.

  “I was watching you because it was my job.” There’s a very defensive tone in my voice that even I cringe at.

  I sound too defensive. Not at all believable.

  “It was my job,” I repeat in a steadier tone.

  “Thirty minutes of looking at my cock was your job?”

  My brows pull low as my lip part with outrage.

  “Who masturbates for thirty minutes?” I screech the words out just as the music stops.

  The loud and rumbling laughter of Mason and Jameson echoes upstairs and my eyes close slowly.

  A smile pulls at his lips and it’s such an odd look on him. It makes his always-serious features turn into this handsome appearance of raw sexuality.

  He almost looks approachable.

  Until he approaches me. On slow and daunting steps.

  “What if I told you I knew you were watching?” His quiet tone hums right through me, straight down into my core. He uses his menacing tone to taunt me. “What if I told you I spotted the pretty Huntress outside my door and wanted to give her a distracting show?” His head dips as his words rumble with admission. “Everything an assassin does is premeditated.”

  I tip my head up to look him in his depthless, steely eyes. We kissed once. Kind of. It was more of a power performance to throw in my face, but it was a kiss. A demanding kiss that still tingles in my lips.

  His gaze trails my features as I stare up at him. Heat flashes over my cheeks as I realize my thoughts are written all over my face.

  “So you did it to distract me?”

  He hesitates with that cruel smile tilting his sexy lips.

  “I did it to see that pretty blush in your cheeks.” The glinting look in his eyes gives me a knowing feeling.

  I take a breath and try to force the color from my face.

  “That’s a lie.” My eyes narrow on him and he actually laughs at my outrage.

  “You’re right. It is.”

  And just like that, he turns away from me. Ending our easy banter and returning to his overly serious life.

  When he turns back to me, he’s holding something red. He holds it out to me and I realize the small fabric is actually a dress.

  A very, very small dress.

  “What’s that?”

  “It’s a dress for an assassin, of course.”

  I cock a brow at him and his insinuation.

  “Well, I think Jameson will look a little ridiculous in it, but it’ll really bring out his eyes.” I internally high five myself as my features remain as stoic as his.

  His head shakes back and forth at me.

  It’s only slightly disappointing that my joke goes unappreciated.

  “Is it for the event?” I ask, finding it in me to take this a little more seriously.

  “Sure.” His bare shoulders shrug as he continues to hold it out for me. “Put it on.”

  I simply blink at his demand, still not reaching out for the dress that seems to be growing smaller by the minute.

  “Where the hell did you even get that? There’s no way that’s going to fit.”

  “Rory found it in the old woman’s closet. She must have been a kinky little thing.” There’s a gleaming sort of amusement in his eyes and I realize once again he’s not being honest.

  “That’s disgusting. And a lie.”

  “You’re deflecting.”

  Only a little.

  My fingers grip the red dress and I rip it from his hand. Before he can even say another word, I begin unbuttoning my top. His gaze flares with a heated look before he slowly turns away from me.

  Huh, these chivalrous assassins. I’ll never get used to it.

  When I’ve successfully fought my way into the little, traitorously tight material, I give a huff of accomplishment. He turns to me at my sound of defeated victory.

  The dress isn’t much of a dress at all; bare shoulders, bare thighs. The fabric hugs so tightly to my chest I can barely breathe. The hem stops abruptly at the curve of my ass and my breasts are pushed so high up I can practically rest my head there if I wanted.

  I look fucking ridiculous.

  “You look fucking hot.” His compliment sends a burst of energy all through me but it’s short lived as he tosses a pair of black heels at my feet.

  “Those too.”

  My jaw clenches as I shove my feet into them. My ankles wobble against the thin heel that’s attempting to keep me in place.

  “What’s the point of this?” I ask with my hands held high on my hips.

  “How many times has my little Huntress worn a dress?”

  Never.

  “A few.” The lie slips over my lips and it seems to make him smile.

  “Yeah, it shows.” He nods as my ankle gives out and the side of my foot hits the floor with an ungraceful thud.

  “It’s going to be an event of assassins. I’m not going to be the only one there in a fancy dress and dirty boots, I’m sure of it.”

  He stalks toward me, his gaze lingering on my breasts that are pushed up high like they’re starved for attention. They have been a little repressed for far too long, if I’m being honest.

  “It’s an event held to impress a higher power. The League will ensure their assassins are well trained in formal appearances.”

  He holds his arms out in a tense but curt way.

  What does he want?

  I stare suspiciously at the space between his arms.

  He… wants me to do something… with his arms.

  “Have you seriously never danced?” He drops his arms to his sides.

  “No. I grew up as a fighter not a dancer.”

  How does he know how to dance? I study the curve of his biceps, the wide set of his shoulders. He looks like he’s very much built for destruction. Not ballroom dancing.

  His palms are held up into that expecting placement once again. I hesitate before awkwardly putting my bandaged hand into his and letting my other hand settle high on his shoulder. His skin is damp beneath my touch and a petty part of my mind wants to know why I’m dressed like Malibu Barbie and he’s still hanging out in gym shorts.

  The scrawling ink that swirls down his left arm is close enough for my attention to finally read it. ‘Camilla’ is written in pretty letters and my lips curl just slightly from the sight of another woman’s name inked into his skin. Black birds like ravens rip from the cursive C, inking up his arm in slashing lines of details.

  He pulls my arm until my hand is a little lower on his shoulder, drawing my attention back to my current task. He takes a moment to lock my elbow into a more proper position. I wait for him to manhandle me just how he likes as I roll my eyes at every little correction he makes. A warm palm pushes against my stomach as his other hand pushes down low on my spine, making my thighs shift beneath his demanding touch. My posture is stiff but perfect now. His fingers linger just above my ass and he holds me like that for a second longer before bringing his hands back into place.

  When he starts leading me around the room in swift a
nd—I’ll admit it—impressive moves I start to try to memorize the steps we’re taking.

  “My mother was a performance artist.”

  His honest words catch me off guard and I stumble, stepping lightly on the toes of his shoes.

  “Oh.” I don’t know what to say to that. What is with people oversharing with me lately? First Nala, and now this. If I wanted things to be awkward between us, I would have brought up his extended jerk off session again.

  “She was in theater for years when I was a kid.”

  I don’t like this. How do I make it stop? Can I turn him off and try turning him back on?

  Maybe it’s because I don’t have any fond memories of my youth. The quiet elderly woman who raised me was nice, but she wasn’t family. After that, there was a lot of sleeping in abandoned buildings and eating from trash bins that make up my sweet childhood. Armond is as close to family as I have, and he wasn’t exactly enrolling me in dance recitals when we met.

  Tylin turns me abruptly and the way he controls my movements makes my stomach flutter but I ignore it. I ignore his attempt at small talk and I focus entirely on the steps of the dance.

  “What’s the event for?” My question is very much something I need to know, but it’s also the only thing I can think of to distract his rambling.

  His pace quickens even though the mellow music remains the same. I stumble once again but right my footing immediately.

  For a moment I don’t think he’ll answer. Maybe he’ll tell me another useless fact about his adolescence.

  And I almost stumble again when he actually does answer.

  “Armond wants a higher power. Someone to take his assassins and turn them into something more deadly.”

  Holy shit that was real information.

  I blink up at him as his gaze holds mine. There is a searching look is in his eyes as if this entire moment is a test.

  “Someone with more power aiding Armond is incredibly dangerous.”

  He nods slowly but keeps his silence.

  “You want me to go to the event to see if the higher power agrees to join him?”

  The music continues to sway around us, but he halts, his arms lowering as he stares hard at me. What he says next knocks the air from my lungs.