The slow slide of something across the floor suggested O’Leary was once again on the move.The sharp scrape of metal reminded her to be careful.So she noted his approximate position, then raced to the center of the room where the torch lay abandoned.
The end of each length of fabric she’d cut caught fire, eating its way toward her hands.
“Samantha…” Adrian’s voice was filled with panic.
She ignored him, ignored the sting of burnt skin still healing, and the unexpected fear she now had of the flames.
Instead, she paused once more to listen, then ran away from O’Leary, strategically placing three burning ribbons around the room until one remained.She shoved her dagger through it and tossed it directly at the spot where she’d heard the wheezing last.
It struck the wall and clattered to the ground, but the ribbon lit up enough space around it for her to spot the man she hunted.
And for her to dodge the meat cleaver he hurled toward her.
It skimmed the top of her head as she rolled beneath it, every injury screaming as she continued her forward motion toward the man she now hunted.
Her right foot touched the ground, the coiled energy in her bent knee propelling her upward into a jump that sent her flying with increased speed.
O’Leary’s mouth fell open.His eyes widened as realization barreled through him.He’d lost.The evidence was in her right hand, the lethal dagger directed toward his throat.
She’d wanted him to suffer unspeakable pain, but she also had no wish to risk additional harm to Adrian or Murry.Or to herself.
So she brought her hand down as she dropped to one knee in front of O’Leary’s crouched body.Justice curved the edge of her lips when the tip of her blade touched his throat.Less than a second, yet she savored it, knowing this man would soon be gone from the world.
Right before she plunged her blade as deep as it would go.
He only stared at her, holding her gaze while blood pooled around the hilt of her blade.While the life seeped out of him and his soul returned to hell.
31
Though resting in bed, Adrian winced in response to the wound he’d sustained.The result of a stupid miscalculation.He muttered a curse.O’Leary had been a wounded opponent.Besides the sprained ankle he’d also had a crushed hand, which explained how he’d managed to free himself from his restraints.
It also meant he should have been easy to kill.
After all, he’d been outnumbered three to one.Not by novices, but by skilled combatants.
And yet, the Irish bastard had carried out an impressive assault that could have ended very differently, had Samantha been less adept.
Adrian expelled a slow breath that pulled at his wound.Despite Harlowe’s faults, Adrian was glad the man had trained Samantha as hard as he had.It was what ensured her ability to survive when faced with unfathomable danger.Even when she herself was still recovering from previous ordeals.
It was high time she got the well-deserved rest she required.
He flung an arm over his eyes.A cup of tea would be lovely.Or brandy?
Yes.Brandy would make everything better.
The sound of the bedchamber door opening caught his attention.He turned his head, prepared to tell Samantha how sorry he was for the way in which the events had played out.But it wasn’t Samantha who entered the room.
It was Edward.
His longtime friend wore a grave expression.He walked to the bed, his footfalls slow, almost pensive.“Your wife is having a plate of food in the kitchen.If you’re hungry, I can have some sent up for you.”
“An early breakfast would be welcome.”Adrian attempted a smile but Edward didn’t reciprocate.
“You snuck out of my home in the dead of night,” he said, his voice flat.“Nearly got yourself and Murry killed.”
“Edward…” Adrian tried.
“The worst part is, I suspected you would.And I did nothing to try and stop you.”Edward shook his head.“What the hell am I supposed to tell Bow Street when they come knocking?”
