“Oh yeah? You were?” Wearing a beaming grin so broad it made my cheeks ache, I looped one finger in the front pocket of his black jeans and tugged him to me. “Well, that’s too damned bad because I wouldn’t have it any other way.”
Cradling my face between his palms, he brought his lips to mine with the lingering promise of more to come. “At some point we’re going to have a conversation about what went on in there, and the epiphany that brought on the change of heart. We’re going to have a mountain of paperwork thanks to your little catch-and-release maneuver.”
Pulling away, I laced my fingers with his and gave his hand a gentle tug. “Absolutely, that will all be discussed. But not tonight. Tonight, we’re going to crash a recently abandoned penthouse and give that Budapest line another try. What was it again? Something about me taking you anyway I want you?”
“Hell yes.” Pupils dilating with desire, Sebastian bit his lower lip and openly ogled my ass as he followed me into Lannister’s building. “I do love Budapest.”
The End
Turn the page for more Monster Ball…
Assassin’s Match
By
Everly Frost
Chapter One
I fold the carefully written note and tuck it into the back pocket of my jeans. Stepping inside the ornate entrance to the Boston Public Library, I soak in the quiet after all of the traffic sounds outside. The ambience inside the library should be relaxing—it would be on any other day—but I’ve been planning this visit for months and I don’t expect it to go smoothly.
My fingertips linger at my waist. I try to ignore the urge to check the contents of my pockets once more. I carry a handwritten spell in each of them—spells I’ve spent a long time researching.
I pray I don’t need the spell in my left pocket, but I’m prepared to use it if I have to.
The library’s entrance hall takes my breath away. I climb the main staircase to the second level, passing the carved stone lions on my way up. To most people, the lions are a testament to history and learning, but to magical beings, they’re a warning. The supernaturals who guard this place will not tolerate an intrusion like the one I’m planning.
I’m about to break all the rules in the book, but I’ve run out of options. The library is my last hope.
I left my usual heels at home, opting for a pair of whisper-quiet ballet flats that allow me to creep through Bates Hall once I reach the second level. The arched ceiling curves high above me while the sunlight hitting the solid wood tables and green lamps on either side creates an ethereal glow inside the elongated room.
Taking a deep breath—my last calm breath—I stride toward the wooden table at the front of the room where the librarian sits, studying a thick book that lies open in front of her. She’s a petite woman with piles of sandy-brown curls spilling across her shoulders. She’s dressed smartly in a skirt and suit jacket, her spectacles perched on her nose. She looks like a typical librarian, but I know better.
It’s impossible to sneak up on her. Her back stiffens as she senses my approach. She swivels in her seat, her shoulders rigid and her gaze narrowed, giving me a quick assessment.
Identifying me, she fails to hide the fear in her eyes fast enough. A year ago, I was a recluse, remaining in my home on Saber Lane. I spent years dispensing harmless spells for random clients like the good little witch that I was. I believed that I had no say in my life, that I was damaged beyond repair and could do nothing more than wield the most basic magic.
But I’ve since learned that I’m much stronger than I realized. What’s more, I associate with people who make killing their business. My friends are assassins who excel at their craft.
The librarian quickly relaxes, a forced slackening of her shoulders and unclenching of her fists as she rises from her seat.
A haughty expression replaces her surprise. I know what she’s thinking: I can’t be here to challenge her. After all, nobody is stupid enough to take on a fallen angel within an angel stronghold. Let alone me—a witch whose power is damaged.
“Tanzanina Gray,” she says, keeping her voice low and unobtrusive. “This is an unexpected surprise.”
I force my teeth to unclench. Nobody calls me ‘Tanzanina’ unless they want trouble. Tanzanina was the name my mother used to call me, and it holds a sacred place in my heart. Ever since her death, everyone calls me ‘Tansy.’
“Hello, Iriel,” I say, satisfied when she jolts with surprise. The angels guard their true names in the same way that I guard my full name. “My visit was inevitable. You have something I need.”
Quickly hiding her surprise, she gives me a nonchalant stare. “What might that be?”
She knows exactly why I’m here. And I know that she knows. But it looks like we’re going to play a little game.
“I need the revival spell contained in The Blessed Grimoire,” I answer, maintaining a pleasant tone. “Give it to me and I will leave you in peace.”
The Blessed Grimoire is hidden among the books in this room. It’s concealed in plain sight, masquerading as an ordinary book—like a dictionary, or an encyclopedia, or even a memoir. It’s cloaked in protective spells that prevent it being found by anyone who doesn’t already know its location. I need her to lead me to it.
The aura of light around her silhouette brightens as she braces. Humans can’t see auras, but every magical being has one—all different. It’s how I can tell another supernatural’s species without having to ask. Among the people studying at the tables behind me, there are multiple dryads, a shifter, and a vampire. So far, I haven’t seen any other angels, but they won’t be far away.
Iriel’s voice lowers to a soft snarl. “You can’t have it.” Every syllable she speaks grates on my nerves. The back of my neck prickles, telling me she’s drawing on her angelic powers.
I take a step toward her despite the threat. “I need it—”
“To repair your power.” She gives me a haughty stare. “Your pride will be your undoing, Tanzanina.”
I press my lips together. Nobody has ever called me ‘proud’ before. Stubborn, prickly, defensive—but not proud.
The librarian’s condescending tone intensifies. “When your mother died in that unfortunate incident, you were left half a witch. It’s common knowledge among the angels that you can’t remember spells—despite the power burning inside you. You are no match for me.”
Normally, I would take a deep breath at this point and force myself to calm down, but I deliberately allow her patronizing tone to rankle me. It’s true that I can’t remember spells. I have to read them aloud—which is why I carry handwritten notes in my pockets. But if I become emotional enough, I can access my instinctive power and react without thought. It doesn’t happen often, and it’s only triggered by pain, but I’m counting on my magic to show itself today.
I clench my teeth. “You will give me The Blessed Grimoire, Iriel.”
She squares her shoulders and tips her chin. “You can’t have it. The revival spell is too dangerous to be let out into the world.”
“I’m aware of its danger, but it’s my last hope.”
Her jaw clenches before the smallest measure of pity passes across her expression, her eyes taking on a lustrous glow. “You know I can’t give it to you, no matter how compelling your reasons. That spell can revive the dead, bring back lost memories, mend broken objects, rekindle an old romance… Whatever you need revived, it can do it. But the result will be chaos. Everything happens for a reason, Tanzanina. Part of your power is gone and it is meant to remain gone. You will not get the book from me.”
I sigh inwardly. Sure, the revival spell could bring back my ability to remember spells, but what she doesn’t know is that I don’t want the spell for myself.
I casually hook my thumb into the top of my right pocket, pressing against the handwritten spell inside it.
She takes my moment of silence as acceptance of her decision. “I bid you well, Tanzanina.”
I shake my head. Al
l that destiny crap. I accepted it once. Not anymore. Now I believe in making my own future.
With a calm movement, I lay my hand on her arm, keeping my tone pleasant. “I’m not leaving without it.”
She leans back, edging away from my hand, glancing at my face. “Do you intend to do this the hard way?”
Her angelic power tingles beneath my fingertips. Currents flow through her body. If she releases her wings, she’ll be able to access her full power. She’s physically stronger than me, faster than me, maybe more powerful than me, but that’s a risk I’m willing to take.
I smile. “I enjoy the hard way.”
Chapter Two
Up until this moment, Iriel’s expression has remained dismissive. Now her face falls. She whispers through gritted teeth. “You wouldn’t dare attack me.”
Without letting her go, I carefully slide the spell from my right pocket, flip it open between my thumb and forefinger, and whisper, “Perfect power protect this place with my presence.”
She frowns at me, her forehead creased, confident enough in her abilities that she doesn’t even try to stop me. “That spell won’t help you.”
“It’s not for me.”
Her confusion deepens before her expression clears. “Protect this place… Oh…”
Movement around us stops. The room falls completely silent. The humans and magical beings slow and freeze. I’ve just placed a protection spell on them that has not only suspended them in time so they will remain unaware of what’s about to happen, but also created a shield around them against any damage that might come their way. What’s more, anyone heading toward this room will suddenly have a strong urge to walk away.
Iriel considers me for a moment. “Well, I guess you’re not as reckless as they say.”
“Collateral damage is always unacceptable.” I learned that from the assassins who are trained to kill with such speed and efficiency that collateral damage is not only unacceptable, it’s damn sloppy.
I grin at the angel as I allow the note to flutter to the ground. Her gaze follows it, providing the distraction I wanted.
My fist darts out, aimed squarely at her pretty little nose, but my aim is light and halfhearted, intended only to provoke her.
She dodges it easily and retaliates with a flat-handed shove against my chest, propelling me backward. “How dare you?!”
I jolt back into the wooden table behind me, my hip hitting it hard. I allow the pain to shoot through me, allow my anger to rise with my adrenaline.
Anger is what I need—heightened emotion is the only way I can access my instinctive magic—and her shove delivered it to me.
My inner power floods to the surface, electrical currents sparking in the air.
The lamps dotting the wooden tables dim and flicker, the room around us grows dark, and the sunlight retreats with my rage. A crimson glow grows at the corner of my vision—the color of my anger. I shouldn’t be able to affect the room because of the protection spell that I cast, but the power inside me is so strong that I’m in danger of breaking through it. No spoken magic is powerful enough to defeat my inner power.
I advance on Iriel, threads of light like blood curling around my arms and hands. “Tell me where The Blessed Grimoire is located.”
Her eyes grow wide, but she also reacts instinctively. Her gorgeous white wings burst from her shoulders, glistening, pearly feathers spreading across the space above the desks. Her wings are not as wide as some I’ve seen, but no less impressive.
With a single sweep, she lifts from the ground, preparing to fly away from me, no doubt to seek reinforcements.
Rise.
The thought becomes a command inside my mind, my body reacting immediately. The air gathers beneath me, a force that propels me upward, effortlessly following her arc and intercepting her. I give her the same treatment she gave me. My palms connect with her chest with a thump, propelling her back in the air.
The air whooshes out of her lungs, my power zaps through her wings, and she shudders, attempting to regain her balance. I chase after her, focusing on her hand, my gaze following its trajectory.
I snatch her hand into mine, drawing her forward, holding tightly.
Lock.
She shrieks, trying to tug away from me, wildly flapping her wings and pulling with all her might. “Let me go!”
Our hands are locked together now, my magic binding us until I release her.
Up.
This time my command is for the spell in my left pocket. I can’t use my instinctive magic for this one. It’s too dangerous and my magic has a way of resulting in extreme repercussions.
The carefully handwritten note floats from my pocket, unfolding at eye level. Iriel continues to tug and shriek, her gaze shooting to the note. “What are you doing?”
She will never willingly tell me where the Grimoire is. I read the compulsion spell carefully even though the words already burn inside my mind now that my instinctive magic is free. “Terrible truth tear from trembling lips.”
She jerks backward. “A truth spell!”
It’s dangerous magic. The truth spell not only forces her to speak the truth, but combined with her angelic power to discern my inner nature, it allows her to see the truth in my thoughts. There are many truths that her angelic power will allow her to see—many truths I don’t want her to speak aloud, let alone know about.
Unable to stop herself, she gasps. “You aren’t doing this for yourself!”
“Stop.” My instinctive magic flows through my hand into hers, forcing her lips closed. I can’t bear to be reminded of the man who broke my heart, the one for whom I’m doing all of this.
“Tell me one thing, and one thing only,” I say. “Where is The Blessed Grimoire?”
She sags when I release her lips so she can speak again. “I can’t tell you.”
I frown. “What do you mean?”
“I don’t know where it is.”
Is she lying? Does she know a way around the truth spell? “Tell me the truth!”
“I am! It was stolen!”
I loosen my hold on her. “Stolen? Then… it’s not here.”
She shakes her head, her wings drooping.
My heart sinks, and my magic lowers us both to the floor. If the Grimoire isn’t here, then I’ve done all of this for nothing. “Why didn’t you say so at the start?”
“That would mean admitting I allowed the most dangerous book of sorcery out into the world,” she whispers. “The other angels don’t know it’s gone. I would lose my head.”
I consider her with some pity. Angels might have a reputation as pure and just beings, but they’re ruthless in the face of failure.
“Who took it?” I ask, relying on the truth spell to force her to tell me.
“Mother Kadris.”
I frown. Mother Kadris is a myth, nothing more. My mother told me bedtime stories about her. Well, not so much bedtime stories as cautionary tales. Mother Kadris was a witch who offered favors in exchange for people’s souls. The way the story goes, she wanted to achieve eternal life, but her actions backfired when a favor she granted led to the loss of the one she loved.
I shake my head with disbelief. “She doesn’t exist.”
“She’s real. She was here.”
I search Iriel’s eyes for the truth. She truly believes that Mother Kadris is real. “Then I need to find her.”
Iriel’s pupils constrict with a strange mix of fear and excitement. “I heard a whisper that she can only be found once each year in a place where the monsters gather. You can only go if invited…” She leans forward, no longer pulling away from me. “To a ball that I would gladly kill to attend.”
I inch away from her, the sudden dark desire in her eyes making me shiver. I want to break the contact as soon as possible now. “You mean The Monster Ball?”
She nods.
I narrow my eyes at her. The Monster Ball is another myth. Or at least… I think it is. Even if it’s real, Iriel is right—I need
an invitation and I’m not likely—
“You will get one,” she says, shocking me with her declaration. “The brokenhearted always do.”
“That is enough.” I release her from the spell and quickly mutter, “Perfect power pardon this place from my presence.”
Iriel is in such a hurry to put away her wings before the humans see them that I make it five steps away before she attempts to follow after me. I break into a quick stride, and she abandons her chase as soon as I draw attention from the students studying at the nearby desk. She won’t want to make a scene that could lead to explanations about the lost Grimoire.
I race down the staircase past the lion statues, cringing as their frozen eyes fling silent accusations at me for invading this place of learning. I can only hope Iriel’s prediction is correct.
If the stories are true, The Monster Ball takes place on All Hallows’ Eve—only two nights from now.
A shiver of excitement flows through me. The Monster Ball is a place where guests leave their inhibitions at the door—something I’ve never done. I’ve always thought ahead, planned, assessed each situation before I act, protective of the people I love, knowing that my actions and choices can endanger them.
But at The Monster Ball… freedom beckons. A night without consequences. There are many stories about The Proprietor of the Ball. Nobody knows for sure what’s true and what isn’t. Some say she’s an all-seeing being with immense magical power. I suspect she has spies everywhere—just like the assassins do.
No matter, all I can hope is that Iriel somehow saw the truth—I will get a ticket and find Mother Kadris at the Ball.
The Monster Ball Year 2 Page 58