“Stupid witch,” one muttered. “Blind her!”
Visors buckled down on their helmets. A few reached into their bags for the sun catcher weapons she knew they would pull to stun her. She wouldn’t give them the satisfaction.
Ana had four bullets left. She aimed first for the grand chandelier, then the window. Glass blew out, and the light fixture fell in slow motion. Guards threw themselves to the ground. Ana bolted to the window. One guard ran into her as she flung toward the broken panes. Ana grabbed him by the lapels of his jacket and pulled him to her lips, kissing him as her knife slammed into his neck.
“Good boy,” she teased, watching the shocked light leave his eyes. She pulled his jacket off as he crumbled to the floor.
The chandelier crashed, and Ana jumped out of the window.
Red banners from the celebration the night before still lined the outside. She flailed in the air but managed to grab one to slow her descent. It burned her hands, her bare feet, her thighs. She didn’t let go as she fell all the way into the open skylight of a horse stable.
Bales of hay cushioned her fall and stuck into her body. She cursed the prick of it in her ass.
Well, at least she hadn’t landed in the mud this time.
She grabbed a random brown piece of fabric off a pile of hay and shook the excess hay off before twisting it and pulling her hair up, covering some of it in the large bun atop her head and sliding her claw into the thick of it. A common hairstyle of the peasants who worked the markets just outside.
Something knocked over—a bucket of water—and she froze. Her eyes slid left, finding a small child watching her from behind a stall.
Ana lifted one finger to her lips, giving him a small smile, and the boy just nodded.
She grabbed a pair of overalls from the hooks on the front and slipped mud boots on her bare feet.
Sunlight greeted her as she slipped out of the barn, and no one and nothing watched her as she pushed north through the market—
The alarm on her phone went off.
Ana stirred, grumbling as she cursed the buzz.
At least the dream had only been a memory. A good memory of a day when things had actually gone right. Sometimes she still felt the warmth of kings’ blood on her skin, still felt their hearts beat their last in her palm.
She remembered how scared she’d been that first time. How timid she had been to introduce herself to the Windmoor prince and play innocent, all the way into his bed. Until his father had seen them together and began making moves on her.
Her phone buzzed again, but this time it wasn’t her alarm going off.
Morning beautiful, was the text on her screen.
Ana stretched, unable to stifle her smile at the welcome memory of the night before. The thorough fucking and bodily worship. She could still feel Sam’s tongue between her thighs, on her neck, his cock thrusting deep within her…
She resisted the urge to touch herself at the memory and instead rose from the bed to put on a pot of coffee.
Stalker, she typed once the coffee was making.Is that the most poetic you can be?
I didn’t know you liked poetry, he replied.I’ll have to get out my books and find the perfect one to recite when I see you later.
Who says I want to see you later?
I think you do, he replied.
What makes you say that?
That pretty little cunt calls to me. I can practically feel you aching for more.
Ana laughed aloud and let him sit on that a few minutes while she placed a few strips of bacon on a sheet pan, then put them in the oven.
Poetry of the people, good sir. Maybe I want my mind entertained and aching before you get another chance between my thighs.
I like a challenge.
