Fatal Assassin (Fatal Fae Book 2) Read online

  The man moved into the room, keeping his body at the odd angle to Cian. When he reached Nikala, a hand snaked up to stroke her hair and Cian saw the faintest of flinches from her.

  “You always were a challenge, my lily.” The gravelly voice rasped, as if his face were misshapen, and Cian struggled to see past the short tufts of raven hair that hid his features.

  “Why, Hunter?” Nikala’s eyes brimmed with tears.

  “He’d outgrown his purpose.” The cold, detached words chilled Cian. The man, Hunter, cradled Nikala’s cheek in his palm and Cian sat upright, ready to spring from his seat. “Stay where you are, fiend.” Hunter’s free hand whipped toward Cian and a thread of magic pulsed into his chest.

  Cian roared with pain. The man’s magic tore through his broken body. Molten lava seared his being, wreaking havoc in his mind, engorging his heart until it might burst. Something was off about the magic. It was too focused, too powerful. Too advanced. Cian whimpered through his mangled jaw. The stranger’s magic was fae-born and enhanced with technology. How it was possible, he had no idea. The realization stunned him.

  Cian struggled against the assault, outwardly writhing in pain and inwardly sucking the man’s magic into his pores. Coaxing it through his veins until it mingled with his own magic, infusing his blood with the man’s power.

  What he did was forbidden—using dark magic to heal himself—but under the circumstances, he hoped his queen would understand.

  The man growled and snapped his power with a muttered spell. Cian countered the spell and grabbed Hunter’s power. With a grunt, he warped it to his bidding. By the twitch of Hunter’s shoulder, he wasn’t accustomed to someone knowing dark magic. Cian suppressed a chuckle as he felt his bones knit together. The man’s power was restorative instead of deadly. Never having encountered this before, Cian was dumbfounded how Hunter’s magic could heal his many wounds, but he wasn’t about to question it. The man believed he was killing Cian and he’d do all he could to perpetuate the lie. With another loud groan, Cian writhed in his seat, selling it for all he could.

  “Stop it! What are you doing to him?” Nikala’s wail assaulted Cian’s fragile hearing.

  Hunter’s laugh was anything but human. He’d called Cian a fiend, but by the hollowness of his rasping, the title was more suitable to Hunter. He might be fae, or elven, or even a demi-god from another world. Whatever he was, it wasn’t human like he wanted everyone to believe.

  “What, do you fancy yourself in love with him?” Hunter’s magic eased and Cian drew a long, ragged breath. The possessive tone enraged Cian, but not as much as the jealousy that edged Hunter’s words. “Did he call you beautiful and promise you an eternity of happiness?”

  “Don’t be ridiculous.” Nikala stared at the man, her lips pinched.

  Cian bit against his own feelings of resentfulness toward Hunter’s casual dominance of Nikala.

  Hunter grabbed a handful of her glorious golden hair and yanked her head backward.

  “Unhand her.” Cian wheezed. He staggered on his still-strengthening legs.

  One of the thugs—Jude, Cian guessed—backhanded him and he wobbled into the chair.

  “Pathetic,” Hunter spat over his shoulder. He released Nikala’s hair and stroked her as if she were a pet. “You’ve grown soft in my absence, my lily. We’ll have to begin our instructions again.”

  Nikala visibly shuddered and clenched her fists, but she said nothing.

  Cian studied the two of them, noting the rippling of muscles beneath Hunter’s turtleneck and the flexing of Nikala’s fingers. Whatever the relationship between these two, it was well-established and complicated. His heart wobbled at the sudden awareness that this man, this Hunter, was responsible for all of Nikala’s scars. He’d tortured her to twist her into a weapon. He kept himself passive, his nostrils flaring with each breath. The veins on his neck corded with his suppressed rage. Hunter had brutally murdered Malcolm. Until he knew the man’s potential strength, he’d play along. But if he laid another possessive finger on Nikala, Cian wouldn’t be responsible for his actions.

  “Take them to the warehouse,” Hunter ordered Yasheda and Jude, circling a finger to indicate Cian and Malcolm. “Dispose of them properly. If you fail me this time, I’ll no longer have need of your services.” He continued to stroke Nikala’s hair. Her eyes were bits of blue granite as she stood mute before him.

  “What about her?” Yasheda asked, a nervous tic to her voice.

  “Make sure she sees everything. I’d hate for her to miss all the fun.” Hunter pointed to Cian, still keeping his face hidden. “Prolong his torture. She needs to understand the price of her treason.”

  “Do you really think watching you maim him will teach me anything I don’t already know?” Nikala’s chin jutted out and Cian’s heart slowed. He feared more for her life than his own.

  “Perhaps a reminder is what you need.” Hunter’s palm cupped her cheek. Tiny fissure-like scars ran across his skin. “We’ll discuss your insubordination when they’ve finished.” His fingertips dug into her face and pain etched across her eyes.

  “Let her go. Do what you will with me, but leave her out of this.” Cian teetered to a stand and took a step toward Hunter.

  A punch caught him in the gut and he doubled over. As much as the man’s magic worked to heal his broken body, it wasn’t yet complete. The force from the blow undid some of his healing.

  Rough hands grabbed him and half-dragged him from the house. They went through the dining room to a back garden, where sun streamed onto flagstones and tidy flowerbeds. Cian squinted against the bright light as the pair rushed along a side yard to a waiting lorry.

  The van hadn’t been there when he’d come to Malcolm’s home. Two things crashed into his mind at once: Malcolm wasn’t in charge of operations at SIRE; Hunter was. And, he was going to die.

  Not only was he going to die, but Nikala as well.

  He needed a plan.

  Yasheda and Jude tossed him roughly inside the van and while Yash held him down, Jude bound his ankles and wrists. A gag was shoved into his mouth and tape secured across his lips. With his mouth muted, he had to breathe through his nose. They shut the back doors and went around the front of the lorry to enter the house.

  Cian contorted his legs to shorten the length of rope attached from his hands to his feet, but he couldn’t reach the knots. He shimmied his arms beneath him and rolled to his side, hoping that angle might prove more useful. A blanket shifted and he spied a leather messenger bag hidden in the shadows. He scooted closer and pulled the blanket away with a thread of magic. There, tumbled on their sides, were several wooden caskets.

  The ephemeral magic he sensed from them could only mean one thing—they were the missing amulets. His breath bottled in his chest. He could save himself, Nikala, and the captured fae. Somehow.

  Voices came from the back garden and he used a spark of magic to tug the blanket over the bag. The doors opened and a heavy bundle wrapped in a blanket was tossed atop him. He shifted until the clump rolled toward the driver’s seat. Malcolm’s hair stuck out from one end of the blanket.

  The doors slammed shut and Cian was left alone with the dead man. He lay calm, working through his options. Each one presented a challenge, but ultimately, he realized he’d have to risk using even more magic if he wanted to survive. Hunter had unleashed a stream of magic that, as far as Cian could tell, hadn’t attracted any scyvers. Yash and Jude’s indifference could mean they were used to being near magic, or it could’ve been they didn’t see the magic and only saw Cian suffering. In any case, he had to assume they understood magic even if they didn’t have their own.

  Which made his options even more difficult.

  He eased a thread of magic to the knots in his bindings and worked to loosen them. Bit by bit, they slackened. Hope, small and unsure, took hold in his heart. If he could get them unfastened by the time they reached the warehouse, he and Nikala might have a chance of survival.

 
When the doors opened a second time, Nikala was shoved into the back. Her hands were bound same as his, with a strip of tape covering her mouth. A cut on her temple dripped blood onto her cheek and the beginnings of a black eye ringed her right eye.

  She sat rigid against the side of the lorry, her eyes staring straight ahead, her knuckles white. Cian stretched his bound leg until it brushed against hers. He needed that physical connection, to let her know he wouldn’t abandon her. He’d meant it the previous night when he said he wouldn’t hurt her, and now more than ever, he’d make sure no one else did either. The feel of her warmth against him settled in his nerves, calming his frustrations. If they worked together, they’d survive.

  The lorry lurched as it began to move. Cian squirmed to his side and looked out the windscreen. His mind froze and bowels turned to water. There, in the top window of the elegant house, stood a man. Raven hair and dark eyes, similar in shade and shape to Cian’s, the man wore a beard over his misshapen chin. The man’s steely gaze locked to his. He didn’t blink as he stared at the figure. Even when the van sped off, he didn’t look away. Couldn’t look away from his past.

  The memory of that day long ago on the battlements of Edinburgh Castle strangled Cian as he was tossed unceremoniously against Malcolm’s corpse. His ribs rebelled at hitting the metal and his wrist seared with fresh pain. He struggled to look out the back window, but the man was gone.

  As they bumped and jostled over the road, Cian replayed the memory of his father’s death again and again. He knew with absolute clarity that the shadow man who had killed his dad was the same man he saw in the window.

  26

  Nikala breathed out a long, chilling breath.

  Don’t lose it. Don’t lose your shit now, St. James.

  Cian looked bad. His right wrist was broken, and possibly his jaw. The way he favored his left leg meant a possible fracture in his tibia. Yasheda and Jude worked him over hard. She shuddered at the memory of their fight the day before, when she’d defeated both of them, but that was one-on-one. If they’d both taken her on, she might’ve looked like Cian, or worse.

  She’d be dead, like Malcolm, a voice in the back of her mind taunted.

  She bit her cheek to keep the tears at bay. Who shot him? Hunter hadn’t actually admitted to shooting Malcolm. Cian was holding the gun when she’d entered the room, but in his left hand and from what she’d observed over the course of their day together, he was right-handed. Was it Yash or Jude? Or Hunter? He’d said Malcolm had lost his usefulness. What did he mean by that? Or had he meant Cian? How would Cian be useful to Hunter? Had Cian been lying to her this whole time?

  He pressed his leg against hers and warmth infused her soul. He’d been gentle the night before, even promising to never hurt her. She blinked to focus. Hunter seemed agitated with Cian’s presence. More possessive, even. As if he were jealous of the man. She’d have to consider the possibility that everything Cian had told her was the truth, and he wasn’t working with Malcolm or Hunter. For now, he was an ally.

  The lorry creaked as they made a sharp turn and she listened to Hunter’s thugs with renewed interest. They spoke low, of how they should proceed, who would go first. Their emotionless voices were a shock to Nikala. When had they become these automatons? She’d always given them a grudging respect because they were dutiful employees, but the pair in the front seats were strangers to her.

  And when had they begun obeying Hunter over Malcolm?

  She was missing something and it irritated her that she didn’t know what. She clasped and unclasped her hands. Where Malcolm’s dried blood had been, motes of glitter stuck to her skin. She stared at the tiny sparkles.

  Her heart stilled and her breathing deepened.

  It couldn’t be true. She rubbed her fingers, but it wouldn’t come off. She looked at Cian, who was lying on his side next to Malcolm, his face a study in concentration. A similar luster covered his jaw where he’d been bleeding only minutes ago.

  What was happening?

  Tears bit against her closed eyelids, but she refused to let them flow. She wouldn’t let Yash or Jude or Cian see her as weak.

  I’m so sorry, Malcolm. I know I failed you, but I will avenge your death. It’s the least I can do. She stopped short of saying, “Blessed be.” Something she’d heard somewhere and it had stuck with her.

  The van slowed and she shifted to look out the front windscreen. A wide door opened and Jude eased the van into a dark warehouse. She needed a plan. Yash and Jude weren’t expecting her to fight. Or maybe they were. Maybe they hoped she’d fight and they could “accidentally” kill her. They were fools to think she’d sit idly by while they murdered Cian. Maybe that’s exactly what she needed to do. Be docile, show that he meant nothing to her. Let them tire themselves out before she acted.

  She glanced at Cian, at the grimace of pain he wore, and doubted he had much left in him.

  For the first time she could remember, she was afraid. Truly, in her marrow, terrified. This was a stupid plan. It wasn’t even a plan—it was a wild escape into madness.

  They were going to die. She was a fool. She’d let Malcolm down, and now she’d sent Cian to certain death. She wasn’t strong enough to fight Yasheda and Jude, not with them being enhanced and her on her own. God knew Cian couldn’t help, injured as he was. Well, she told herself as she gazed at the dark space of SIRE’s newest warehouse facility, if she was going to die, it might as well be with the man she loved. She just wished she’d had a chance to tell him.

  Hunter’s taunts had hit close to home, but not for anything Cian might’ve said to her. It was the undertone of dominance that had cut into her heart. She was used to his being possessive, but this was deeper, darker. Perhaps it was jealousy of Cian, but it felt like something else. As if Hunter were jealous of her. What a concept.

  Perhaps, her mind coaxed, ever hopeful, he was also a tiny bit afraid of her.

  She pulled her legs into a tight fold as Yash and Jude exited the van. Her fingertips could barely reach the rope securing her ankles. She fumbled, trying to grasp it, before she gave up. A warm tingling came over her skin and she looked at Cian. His grin lifted the tape over his mouth and it was like an arrow to her heart.

  What a silly old fool she was being. But right then, with Cian encouraging her, she believed she was capable of anything.

  The prickles continued and she realized he was using his magic—the very magic she didn’t quite believe existed—to untie her knots. The first one loosened and she was able to kick her feet out of the ropes. The binding on his hands fell away and he scooched close enough to finish untying her wrists.

  She glanced out the window at the two figures who were setting up chairs a few feet away. They didn’t even look to see what Nikala and Cian were doing. Idiots. Confidence only worked when your plan was foolproof. It was Nikala’s experience no plan was ever fully guaranteed. Always have backups of your backups.

  Cian’s magic and nimble fingers had her knots undone in a matter of moments and she shook out her wrists before removing the tape from her mouth. She spat out the disgusting cloth they’d shoved against her tongue and swiped her sleeve against her lips.

  “Don’t worry,” she whispered close to Cian. “I won’t let them hurt you.”

  He tugged at the tape and removed the gag from his mouth. “Funny, I was about to say the same to you.”

  She leaned forward and kissed him. “Don’t die.”

  “I’ll do my best.” He jerked his chin toward the hidden messenger bag. “In case I do, the amulets are under there in a leather satchel.”

  “I know.” She nuzzled his nose with her own. “I put them there.”

  His smile lit up his entire face. “You devious little beauty.”

  The sound of footsteps silenced the words on her lips. Cian curled into himself to hide the fact he was no longer bound. Nikala wasn’t as stealthy.

  When the door opened, she kicked it hard and sent Yasheda sprawling backward. Jude grunted
and reached for her jacket, but she was too quick. She grabbed his hand and jerked hard, slamming his head against the frame of the lorry.

  Cian sprang from his crouched position toward Yasheda. Nikala kicked Jude in the gut and launched herself out of the van. Cian and Yash were locked in combat to her left. He moved like a man in good form. He favored his right hand a little, but that was all she could see of his injuries. Twenty minutes ago, she’d thought he was a foot from the grave, but now he was somehow—miraculously or magically—restored. Sweet niblets, she was not prepared for this. Fairy tales and superheroes, or were they supervillains? She didn’t know anymore.

  Jude regained his balance and lumbered toward her, a knife in his hand. He swiveled and twirled it, flashing the blade again and again in front of his face.

  One of the things Nikala couldn’t tolerate was a braggart and show-off.

  She crouched and circled him like a tiger its prey. The knife flashed once, twice, at the third rotation, she leapt. With her right hand, she grabbed his wrist and twisted it until the blade cut into his flesh. Jude cried out and she plunged the knife deeper.

  Her legs wrapped around his waist and the impact of her weight sent them sprawling backward. Nikala was prepared for the landing. Jude was not.

  She rolled off him and hopped up while he remained on the floor, winded. Maybe he wasn’t as enhanced as she’d thought. She whipped around to slam the knife into his heart. His hands came up in a half-hearted attempt to strangle her. She broke his left arm at the elbow and grabbed his head with both hands. Giving a vicious jerk, she broke his neck and pushed off him.

  Jude’s eyes stared up at her, bewildered.

  Perhaps he thought she wouldn’t kill him. Or perhaps he thought he could best her. Whatever his thoughts were, he was wrong.

  She reached inside his jacket to the leather holster he always wore and calmly took the gun. A low groan came from his frothing lips and she tucked the gun into her waistband. He no longer had need of the weapon.