Prologue
TITUS
Breathe.Except every breath was excruciating.
Titus had never felt pain like it, as if fire was burning through every vein, slowly burrowing deeper with every agonising beat of his heart. Except it wasn’t truly flames, but a thick, blackened tar that he could feel corrupting, changing.
Conversations filtered around him, dissonance that was nothing compared to the roar inside his head, at his beast’s rage as it fought against the black magic polluting his body.
Hours. Days. He’d lost count in the eternal agony, and not once had he screamed. Of that he was sure, instead memorising the faces of the Daemons who watched with such fascination, such delight as they forced him through the Rite.
Forced his body, and chi to hold more power than he thought possible, stretching him beyond what he was capable. And yet they continued to push, and he continued to survive.
Breathe.
What felt like lightning had stripped his strength, his arms shaking when he finally managed to settle his weight. Head low, shoulders aching as he gritted his teeth, determined to stand, to answer his brother’s call from somewhere in the distance. He couldn’t hear, but his beast thundered in response, knowing they weren’t fighting alone.
He had to get up. There was no other choice. Get up or die.
A sharp scent, blood that was a hot splatter across his bare flesh. He would’ve flinched at the sudden touch, except he was no longer in control of his own body. He sensed the Daemon, lifting his head up to meet eyes of crimson. The smile was cruel, a twist of the Daemon’s lips as his words flowed over Titus in a wave.
Not once had he screamed.
Until then, the sound forced from his throat.
Breathe.
Except he couldn’t.
Chapter1
Rae
Rae broke into the office building as if she’d done it thousands of times before, the security none the wiser. Probably because they were fucking idiots, and didn’t know their arses from their elbows. But what could the company – ‘Scott Lee Financing,’ according to the sign – really expect?
The entire building, which housed around fifteen different business, all sounding as boring as Scott Lee Financing, earned hundreds of millions annually. Yet they only hired a third-rate security firm, whose reviews included such one liners as,‘A ferret would have done a better job,’and‘Mike’s a useless twat.’Them being incompetent only benefitted her, and in the two days she’d watched the place, she could probably put money down on which security guard was the notorious ‘Mike.’
Rae pursed her lips, waiting until she was sure the security guard, who was currently doing the rounds on the thirteenth floor, was gone before she set herself up by the window that faced the Royal Park. Thirteenth floor because it was her lucky number.
She was born on Friday thirteenth. Her father died on October thirteenth. Thirteen was how many assignments she’d fulfilled, meaning that after tonight she’d only have another eighty-six before she was free. Eighty-six more lives she had to take, before she was given back her own.
Fucking fabulous.
Light swept beneath the doors, a constant movement that didn’t linger long enough to be a concern. Rae already knew the building wouldn’t open again until 7:30am, where hundreds of men and women in restrictive business wear would start their miserable day. It gave her over seven hours to complete her assignment, and clean up before anyone was the wiser.
Footsteps faded, and Rae finally moved towards the window she’d already picked days before. The glass wouldn’t open, not unsurprising on a building that had forty floors, but after a quick tool that cut through like it was paper, she was almost ready, and with time to spare.
I’m getting pretty good at this, she mused to herself.
Planning to murder a stranger wasn’t something she wanted to gloat about, but until her one hundredth kill, she had no choice.
The sniper was cool in her hands, familiar as she carefully set it up. The click, click, click therapeutic as she slotted everything into place, the bullets the length of her palm.
Guns weren’t her thing, the assassination less personal than she would’ve liked, even if she was a great shot. There was always a reason for why she was hired, and Rae usually enjoyed piecing together evidence to figure it out if she had the time. Because then, when she finally cornered her target, she got to watch the guilt as she explained exactly why she was the one that straddled their laps. Why she was the one who took their life, preferably with her favourite dagger.
Except her current target was a mystery.
Gently playing with the pendant around her throat, Rae glanced down at the piece of paper, and studied the image of her next hit. His dark blonde hair was pulled away from his angular face, lips parted as he huffed out a puff. Tattoos dominated the skin at his throat, and silver glinted on his lip, and nose. The image was slightly blurry, but it caught the anger in his dark eyes. The frustration.
