Three years ago …
“I don’t want to hurt you,” the sorcerer said, energy dancing between his fingertips.
Quell didn’t respond. The sickle in his left hand dripped blood. The sickle in his right hand grew thirsty.
Blood dripped from the cut on the sorcerer’s leg. It was a deep cut. He’d need medical attention if he survived the next few minutes. Quell doubted he would.
“I just want him,” the sorcerer said, his gaze flicking to the mortal cowering on the floor behind Quell. “I just need him to return what he stole. I’m not here to kill anyone.”
“I didn’t steal anything!” the mortal whined. “I acquired it, fair and square!”
“You paid three mages to steal it.”
“I acquired it once it had left your possession! That’s called free enterprise!”
Quell didn’t care about who was right and who was wrong. He was being paid to protect a wealthy mortal and protect him he would, because the job, the work, the mission was all that mattered. It had been this way when he’d been a Cleaver, and it was this way now that he was a Ripper. It was simple and it was clean .
Things had become less simple with Valkyrie. He’d lost his way while training her. He’d let himself become entangled. He’d lost focus. Lost sight of what truly mattered, and didn’t notice the ways in which she was changing him. He’d liked being around her. He’d liked the times when they talked and the times when they’d been silent. He’d enjoyed the warmth that came with their relationship.
He wasn’t used to relationships. He wasn’t used to warmth. It was an odd sensation, the way it filled parts of him he didn’t know were there, let alone that they needed filling. When he’d left to take that job in Spain, he’d missed it.
On that job in Russia, closing in on his targets – he’d missed it then, too.
The job in Scotland. The job in Australia. The job in Bulgaria. He’d missed it. He’d missed her.
No matter how many jobs he took or how hard he worked or how many targets he killed or clients he protected, he missed her.
Even now, back in the United States after over a year, he found himself missing her, and the thought struck him as the sorcerer lunged that maybe this was what Valkyrie had been talking about.
He ducked the energy stream and took the sorcerer’s hand off at the wrist.
He loved her. The realisation hit him harder than he hit the sorcerer. There was a gap in his life, a gap in who he was, a gap that used to be filled by Valkyrie Cain. He loved her and he’d walked away because he hadn’t understood that. But he understood now.
“Please,” the sorcerer whimpered. “Please don’t kill me.”
“I won’t kill you,” Quell lied.
He lied so that there would be one more moment of hope in the world, and then the sickle blade passed into the meat of the sorcerer’s neck at a downward angle, the tip lodging in the clavicle. Quell pulled the sickle free and the sorcerer crumpled .
Quell turned to the wealthy mortal. “I won’t be working for you any more.”
“But there are others coming for me,” the mortal said, hurrying forward on his knees. “This isn’t over! I’ll double your pay! Triple it!”
But Quell was already walking away.
“Please! Without you, they’ll kill me! Without you, I’m a dead man!”
But Quell kept walking.