Marked by an Assassin (12 page)

Now she was taking her best shots at him, trying to bring him down and make him pay.

He wanted to be angry with her, wanted to hate her for what she had done to him all for the sake of revenge, but part of him felt he deserved it. He hadn’t sold her out, but he had betrayed her and the rest of his kin in a way, and he knew that everyone from the village probably wanted him dead too and some would probably be happy to do the deal themselves if they ever crossed his path.

Fuck, he would probably hand them his blades and let them do it.

It was part of the reason he had kept his head down and had spent most of his time in Hell. His death wouldn’t bring back the dead. It wasn’t a big enough price to pay for the things he had done. Living was that price. He had to stay alive, live with his sins, and keep walking the path towards whatever scrap of redemption he could find.

He had to finish the job he had started twenty years ago.

He needed to end the female who had betrayed him and set in motion the events that had turned his life upside down and destroyed the ones of many of his kin.

Harbin growled and clenched his fists.

First, he had to escape Archangel’s hands and find the snow leopard female. He needed to make her believe that she had placed her trust in the wrong people, even when he knew it would only hurt her. Her striking silver-gold eyes had shown a wealth of pain and guilt when he had tried to make her listen to him, telling her the short version of the real course of events that had taken place that day at the village. He couldn’t imagine the pain she would feel when he told her everything that had happened and convinced her that Archangel had lied to her.

He was certainly going to feel more like a bastard than ever, that was for sure.

He paused mid-stride and stared at the blank white wall opposite him. How the fuck had she softened the hardest parts of him so quickly, pulling down all of his barriers and setting his emotions free? A week ago, he wouldn’t have been concerned about hurting her. Fuck, he wouldn’t have been concerned about telling her the truth.

He would have been focused on killing her as payment for her betraying him.

What was it about her that had him going against his darker nature and his training as an assassin?

She was a mark, by her own choice since she had clearly taken out the contract on herself to entrap him, but she was a mark nonetheless. A target. A mission. Nothing more than a job.

But she had done nothing wrong.

She hadn’t killed anyone, or stolen anything, or done anything worthy of him taking her life. The only sin she had committed was the sin of betraying him, born of a need for vengeance that probably burned as fiercely in her heart as the one that blazed in his.

And hadn’t he really betrayed her in the first place?

Hadn’t he betrayed all of his kin with his constant straying from the village to sleep with mortal females that must have drawn the eyes of Archangel to that town and his pride in the first place?

Hadn’t he betrayed them when he had used his position within the pride, albeit in a coded manner, to impress the huntress Archangel had sent to squeeze information out of him?

He had told her that he was in charge, a male in position of power, because his father was out of town. He had basically given her the green light to attack his pride by revealing they were vulnerable, without their alpha to protect them.

Gods. He screwed his eyes shut and dug the heels of his hands into them, his head hurting with the collision happening in it, a twisting and churning relentless stream of thoughts that tore at him.

He deserved whatever the female snow leopard had in store for him, and if it would take away some of the pain she held locked inside her, born of her years of captivity in this terrible place, he would willingly subject himself to it. Whatever pain she wanted to deal to him, he would take it. He would do all he could to atone for his sins.

But first he needed to get her away from Archangel.

He needed to tell her everything and convince her to allow him to track and put an end to the huntress who had brought them both so much pain and changed their lives for the worse forever.

He touched the three jagged marks on his right cheek.

He had to save her.

He couldn’t deny that need. It pounded in his blood, a deep visceral ache that owned him. He couldn’t leave her here, where she was in danger.

He needed to protect her.

He wouldn’t fail her again.

He turned back towards the glass front of his cell.

The lights dropped, plunging the entire floor into darkness, and a siren wailed. A moment later, red lights began to flash, giving him glimpses of his surroundings. He covered his ears and grimaced, struggling to focus as the assault continued. Guards rushed past his cell and the other prisoners grew loud enough for him to hear over the shrieking pulse of the alarm. Something was happening.

Harbin cursed.

Had the dragon escaped his captors? If he had, the bastard had better be on his way to him to take him up on his offer. His cursing turned into a long growl. There was no way he would be able to convince the dragon to take a detour to search for the snow leopard female. He doubted she would return to the cell where she had been held if she was working with Archangel, and he wasn’t sure how big the building was or where to begin looking for her.

The need to protect her warred with a need to escape.

He had her scent now. He could track her and find her.

But the building was swarming with Archangel hunters, and all of them had probably armed themselves the moment the alarm had sounded.

He slammed his fist into the glass front of his cell as a sense of futility swept through him. As much as he wanted to save her, he couldn’t. The number of hunters he had seen during his captivity was only a small percentage of the total number that occupied this building. Any attempt to find the female would end in him being captured again.

It was no use.

He had to take the opportunity to escape when it came.

He would return for her. He swore that under his breath. He wouldn’t allow Archangel to poison her mind any longer. He would set her free.

Noise in the corridor drew his attention there. He caught a glimpse of a mortal male dressed in black fatigues and a flash of blue-leather-clad legs. The dragon. They were dragging him back to his cell. Dammit.

If he had been the cause of the alarm, they would have shut it off the moment he had been rendered unconscious and placed back in containment, which meant someone else was responsible.

He tried to focus through the noise, honing his senses, seeking out anything fae or immortal in origin. The sense of power emitted by the dragon interfered with his search, making it hard for him to tell whether someone equally or more powerful had launched an attack on Archangel. He focused harder, determined to understand what was happening.

He had a brief sensation of power, strength the magnitude of which he had only felt in Hell when fallen angels were near him, and then it was gone.

What the hell was going on?

He strode to the wall that separated him from the dragon and banged on it.

“What’s happening?” he hollered and waited, willing Loke to respond. He wasn’t sure whether the male was merely drugged or actually unconscious, but he hoped it was the former because between the irritating siren and the growing hunger to escape, he wasn’t sure how long he had before he completely lost his shit.

His animal form prowled beneath the surface of his skin, making him itch with a need for freedom and cool night air, a desperate hunger that made the cell seem to shrink around him, until it felt too confined, closing in on him and stealing the air from his lungs.

He had to get the fuck out of this Hell. He couldn’t wait for Hartt to come. He couldn’t. He had to get away, whether it was with the female in tow or left behind for him to rescue later. Right now, he just needed air and space.

Freedom.

He pressed his palms to the wall, focusing on the male in the cell beyond, and whispered, “Come on, Loke.”

The dragon was his shot at escaping during the insanity happening around him. Even dazed by drugs, the shifter male would be strong enough to beat his way out of the cell if he put his mind to it. He had to be.

He felt Loke move at last and sensed him coming closer.

“I do not know.” Loke’s deep voice rumbled through the wall and the alarms fell silent. Sweet fucking mercy, Harbin could hear himself think again. The dragon huffed. “I sensed a strong presence near me and then the infernal lights began flashing and that noise began.”

“It’s called an alarm. They raise it when something bad happens.” How little did dragons know about the mortal world? Harbin knew they couldn’t be in it, but surely they could keep up to date somehow. He didn’t have time to explain everything to Loke, not when the crushing need to escape was growing stronger by the second, and not when each of those seconds that ticked by stole more of the dragon’s power.

“Then something bad has happened.” Loke moved closer still.

Now that Loke was nearer to him, Harbin could feel that he was already drastically weaker than when he had first arrived in his cell. Too weak to break the glass and aid Harbin in his escape?

That thought had his throat closing, his stomach twisting, and his snow leopard side pushing for freedom, wild with a need to run free.

Harbin shoved away from the wall and started pacing again, breathing hard and fast, struggling against his animal form as it rippled over his skin. No good would come from changing. It wouldn’t give him the added strength he needed in order to escape the cell, but he couldn’t stop the urge that ran rampant through him, stronger than he had ever felt it.

He had to shift.

He snarled, his canines lengthening and his claws emerging. He couldn’t take it anymore. He had thought he was strong enough to survive a few days in Archangel’s hands but he wasn’t. Being here, being near the female and discovering what he had done to her and what Archangel had done to her and others because of him, was too much to bear. His heart couldn’t take it. Not when the female had softened it, leaving it vulnerable once more.

He clawed at his chest, punching holes in his black t-shirt.

Fur rippled over his skin, a flash of silver marked with darker spots.

The alarm started again, the red flashing lights stinging his sensitive eyes and making him growl through his fangs.

A shriek pierced the wailing noise, not mechanical but made by a living creature. The scent of blood crept into his cell. Was Archangel under attack?

His claws grew longer as more grunts sounded and the metallic clash of weapons reached his ears. A battle. He itched for freedom for a different reason as the noises grew louder, coming closer to his cell. He wanted to fight too. He wanted to make Archangel pay for everything they had done.

He prowled closer to the glass, his breathing turning heavier and harder, his chest heaving as he struggled for control and fought for patience. His time would come. Archangel would pay in blood for the things they had done to him and his kin.

They would pay for the things they had done to the female.

The need to avenge her burned hot in his blood and he couldn’t contain the feral roar as it rose up his throat, his primal instincts forcing it from his lips as every inch of him coiled tight, ready for the coming battle, itching for it. He would avenge her.

“Can you see anything?” He managed to push the words out, more growl than syllables when his animal side was at the helm and he was barely suppressing the shift, holding himself in mortal form by sheer will alone.

“Nothing.” Frustration laced that word, speaking of Loke’s deep desire to escape.

A desire that matched his.

The sounds grew closer, the fight near enough that a splash of blood landed on the pristine white tiles outside his cell. Whoever had invaded Archangel this time meant business.

He pressed his palms and his cheek to the cool glass front of his cell, desperate to catch a glimpse of the fight and the ones responsible for shedding so much Archangel blood so swiftly.

The alarms ceased and the lights stopped flashing, the brighter white ones coming back so suddenly that Harbin flinched.

When he opened his eyes again, they widened.

Clad in skin-tight obsidian armour, his blue-black hair dishevelled by the violent clash and crimson splattered across his pale skin, and his violet eyes filled with displeasure and irritation, his boss was a formidable sight, but Harbin’s heart leaped in his chest all the same.

“Hartt!” he barked and the elf slid him a thoroughly unimpressed look as he strode towards him.

“What the Devil made you toss yourself into this predicament?” Hartt stopped outside of Harbin’s cell and he was about to answer when he felt the familiar and unsettling sensation that only one person caused in him.

He looked off to his left, to the other elf standing there, glaring into Loke’s cell, his jet black eyes no doubt narrowed on the shifter.

Fuery curled his lip at Loke, flashing a hint of fang, and then waved his hand in the air, producing a cloth. He methodically wiped his long black blade on it, cleaning the blood from the metal, the look in his eyes relaying the dark thoughts in his mind. He wanted to kill Loke too, and probably every other poor fae, immortal or vampire in the cellblock. Fuery didn’t distinguish between friend and foe, because he saw only foes.

Tainted bastard.

Harbin felt sure that Hartt was the only one capable of keeping Fuery in line, and that without his boss holding the mad bastard’s leash, the elf would have killed Harbin and every assassin at the guild a long time ago.

“Fuery, get your backside in gear and deal with those guards.” Hartt pointed towards the end of the corridor they had come from.

Fuery grinned, sick excitement flashing in his black eyes as he turned to face his new enemies and crooked his armoured clawed finger, beckoning them to their doom. His pointed ears flared back against overlong blue-black hair that he had drawn back to reveal them, securing the top half into a ponytail with an elegant silver clasp but leaving the rest down to curl around the neck of his obsidian armour.