| |
––––––––
SORCHA DIDN’T HAVE to wait as long as she’d expected to take her target down. Shortly after the courier entered the house, she sensed her quarry coming closer. The fairy appeared next to a window on the second floor. The moment she saw her target, the insistent prodding in the sorceress’ head became a demanding fist. It pounded on the inside of her skull, urging her to kill.
The sorceress lifted her hand and pointed at the target. With a burst of magic, she sent a thin spear of fire upwards. The enchantment burned through the window and hit the fairy directly in the forehead. She dropped to the floor like she’d been shot with a gun. While the assassin couldn’t enter the houses of her targets, her spells could. Lord Dallinar had given all the assassins the ability for their magic to infiltrate their targets’ houses.
Now that her target was dead, the pounding in Sorcha’s head ceased. A scream rang out inside the house when someone spotted the body. Some strange instinct kept the assassin’s feet planted on the spot instead of fleeing from the scene of the crime. Her spell camouflaged her against the hedge, so she didn’t need to worry about being seen.
Sorcha stared up at the window and waited with mounting expectation, but she didn’t know what she was waiting for. That question was answered when the courier wearing the dark red cloak appeared in the window. She let out a small gasp when she saw his face as he peered down at her. He was easily the most gorgeous man she’d ever seen. His face was masculine rather than delicate as most fae men tended to be.
His eyes locked onto hers and she was instantly mesmerized. She’d never seen anyone with purple eyes before. A tiny smile curved his lips upwards. She almost felt as if he saw through her illusions and could see her real face.
A carriage rumbled between them and Sorcha snapped out of her daze. She teleported to an empty building in the Shifter District, then jumped to a few other locations before heading to the City Square. She appeared in an overgrown park that no one ever came to anymore. She didn’t know why she’d been so unnerved by the handsome courier. It wasn’t like he could actually follow her. Few beings had the energy to teleport these days. It took too much magic and hardly anyone had enough reserves to spare when they could just catch a carriage instead.
“He didn’t see my real face,” Sorcha said to try to convince herself as she slogged through the deep snow. “He’s just a lackey. He doesn’t have enough power to see through my glamor.” The fact that he’d seen through her camouflage spell had been alarming. Either he was stronger than he seemed, or he had an innate talent for spotting hard to see spells.
It was a good thing she’d crafted the emotion numbing potion earlier. Otherwise, panic would have been hammering at her. One of the rules that had been drummed into the assassins during their training was that they were to avoid letting anyone see them during their missions. Eden and Malachi could use their talents to bewilder members of the opposite sex. Sorcha had to use other means. Using illusions was the best way for her to remain anonymous, but she was supposed to remain invisible. Unlike Eden, she couldn’t easily dispose of the bodies she left behind. Neither could Malachi for that matter. He tended to leave them in out of the way places where they wouldn’t be found.
Her fear that her evil overlords would know she’d broken one of their rules hounded Sorcha as she headed home. Eden had recently discovered that their link to the Immortal Triumvirate wasn’t as all-encompassing as they’d been led to believe. Wort had lied to them when he’d said their rulers would know it if they disobeyed their orders. It seemed the only thing their link did was advise the Triumvirate when their enemies had been eliminated.
Sorcha’s panic began to recede when she reached her home. No one had followed her, so she entered through the back door as usual. The mansion was silent as she climbed up to the third floor. Either Malachi was on a mission, or he was grieving in his apartment.
The sorceress took her filthy, wet snow boots off and left them on the mat in front of her door. She stripped off the rest of her clothes when she was in her bedroom. She pulled on jeans, a t-shirt and a sweater and left her dirty clothes on the floor. By the time she reached her kitchen, the boots were back in her closet where they belonged. Her magically cleaned clothes would also be back in their normal places.
Sorcha made herself some tea, then strode over to the bay window in her living room. She looked around the room and took comfort that nothing had changed. Her wallpaper was light gold and her furniture was in shades of gold and cream. She hadn’t chosen the décor. Nox had chosen it for her, just like the clothes that routinely appeared and vanished from her closet.
Her favorite piece of furniture was her gold divan. She sank down onto it and curled her legs up beneath her. The assassin stared out the window at the solitary streetlamp. It cast feeble, yet welcoming light on the otherwise dark street.
Ice had formed around the edges of the window. Sorcha reached out to touch the glass and harnessed her magic. Lord Dallinar had locked most of her undine magic away inside her mind when she’d been a baby, along with half of her sorceress power. She dug deep and sent her undine power into the glass. Her father had supposedly been a water spirit and she’d inherited his ability to manipulate water. Or she would have if she’d had access to her full power.
Sorcha’s mind had wandered as she’d attempted to use her forbidden magic. She took her hand away from the glass to look at what she’d created. The image of the handsome courier was etched into the window in ice. Her heart thudded strangely as she studied his likeness. At twenty-four years old, she’d never even kissed a man. Frankly, she’d never been tempted to after the trauma she’d almost endured at the hands of the men who had engineered her creation. Something about this stranger called to her on a subconscious level, but nothing could ever come of it.
Her hands shook slightly as memories flooded into her mind. The sorceress put her teacup on the windowsill before she could spill it. She’d been twelve when she’d reached puberty. Lord Dallinar had been informed and the lilac-haired fairy had summoned her to his private tower. Wort had told Sorcha what to expect, but she’d dreaded the thought of having her virginity stolen from her by the man she secretly despised.
She drew her legs up to her chest as she remembered the fairy touching her face. She’d jerked away and he’d slapped her hard. The fairy lord had thrown her onto his scarlet and gold bed. Then he’d stripped off his clothing while describing all the disgusting things he was going to do to her.
Even now, twelve years later, she wasn’t sure how her magic had escaped from her that night. When Lord Dallinar had climbed onto the bed and had crawled towards her, electricity had erupted from her body. He’d leaped to the floor and had cowered away as she’d accidentally blown his bed to smithereens. She’d heard the bed had been repaired by the magic of Nox, but she’d never been back to his tower to see it in person.
Both Lord Kreaton and Lord Graham had attempted to have their disgusting way with her as well. Her magic had gotten out of control again both times she’d been called to their homes. It seemed no man could touch her with the intention of using her body against her will. The trio had quickly given up on trying to bed her, even though their shields protected them from harm. They’d instead focused their sick lust on poor Eden when the succubus had become old enough for them to bed a few months later.
Tears pooled and overflowed as the potion wore off and Sorcha’s emotions were no longer muted. She put her hands over her face and sobbed in grief. Her friend had suffered far too much torment at the hands of the men who should have protected her from harm.
