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.
It’s mere seconds that my attention is off of the second man, but when I look back, his eyes are closed, his head tilted to the sky. He holds his hands up and out to his sides and they’re starting to glow. I can see the muscles in his arms and in his neck flex as he channels his power. I barely even have time to recognize the shaggy blonde hair that frames the square jaw and the sharp planes of his handsome face. Jameson Ryne. Target Three.
I’m not sure if he’s here for me, but I’m not about to take any chances. Just as lightning bolts of pure electric energy pass from his hands, I slow time, watching them sail toward the man I’ve got in my grasp.
Growling my anger into the alleyway, I shove the man into the electricity, leaving his neck intact. His body moves in slow motion.
