“There’s another!” Amryn gasped. “Carver—!”
Someone rammed into his side. They bounced off the side of the bed and slammed to the floor. Carver kept hold of his knife through sheer training. The relentless practice—honed over years—also helped him absorb the fall and made it instinctual for him to pull his attacker closer, right into his angled blade.
The knife entered the man’s throat.
Gurgling filled his ears. His pulse thundered, his eyes fixed on the assassin’s wide-eyed gaze. It was stunned and quickly dimming of life. They’d surprised each other. Carver had been so focused on the man’s friend, he hadn’t seen this assassin until it was too late. And the assassin had vastly underestimated Carver. Not only his skills, but his fierce need to protect his wife. He wasn’t going to let anyone hurt her.
The assassin slumped lifelessly, and Carver shoved free of his heavy body.
He looked to Amryn and saw her doubled over on the bed. Panic flared, until he recognized her quiet retching.
The life he’d just taken. She’d felt it. Saints, any blow he delivered was going to hurt her. How was he supposed to protect her when—
The other assassin charged forward, dagger swinging.
Carver sprang to his feet, striking out first. He wasn’t aiming to kill. He just needed to disarm him. Subdue him, so Amryn wouldn’t have to feel his death. It would also give Carver someone to interrogate.
As he wrestled with the attacker, he was aware of Amryn sliding off the bed. The way her eyes darted to the door, he knew she was hoping to reach it. To get help, probably from the guards in the hall. Frankly, Carver was surprised they hadn’t rushed in already.
“Help!” Amryn shouted as she darted for the door, her voice sounding too breathless and pained.
Carver tackled the last assassin standing, not giving him a chance to run after her.
The assassin punched Carver in the ribs. The blow momentarily stunned him, but the bite of pain cleared some of the last vestiges of sleep.
He finally realized why the guards hadn’t rushed inside.
His gut dropped, even as his head snapped up. “Amryn,stop!”
But she’d already opened the door. Opened it easily, because it hadn’t been locked. And the guard who stepped into view looked livid as he shoved Amryn back into the room.
“You said it’d be quiet!” the palace guardsman hissed.
All the pieces slammed into place. The guard was a traitor. He’d let the assassins in. The open balcony door had been a ruse. Something to make it look like that’s how the assassins had entered and escaped, so the guard’s treachery wouldn’t be discovered. Carver had no idea where the second guard was. Dead, drugged, or part of the conspiracy as well?
Another blow—this one to his temple—made Carver grunt. His vision blurred and his fingers clenched desperately around his knife as he fell to the side. The assassin landed on top of him, driving the air from his lungs. The man raised his knife, aiming it for Carver’s heart.
Amryn screamed his name.
He gritted his teeth, slashing out with his own weapon. It sliced deep into the assassin’s vulnerable stomach.
The man howled, nearly drowning out Amryn’s cry of agony.
Carver’s breaths were uneven. Sweat streaked his face as he kicked the dying assassin off him, scrambling to get Amryn back in his sight. Had she been in pain because of the blow he’d dealt, or had the guard gotten his hands on her?
If he had, he would lose them.
But when his frantic eyes landed on his wife, she was paces away from the guard. She’d kept distance between them, just like she should have. She was doubled over once more, panting, her face pale as she grappled with the pain of the assassin’s stomach wound.
The guard was peering at Amryn in shocked confusion. “What’s the matter with you?”
Carver refused to let the man figure it out. There was no way he could keep him alive for questioning, now. Not if there was the slightest chance he’d realize Amryn might be an empath.
Carver lurched to his feet, his temple still throbbing, his knife drenched in blood.
The guard seemed to realize that his friends were dead or dying, and he alone faced the wrath of the Butcher. His eyes rounded as he stumbled back. “I didn’t hurt her! I didn’t eventouchher!”
Carver dove forward.
