The man swallowed a cry, face gone parchment-pale as I studied him. He wasn’t a familiar presence in Midnight Jester. Most of the men and women who stumbled through the tavern were scarred, reeking of bad choices and worse fates, but this man? From his immaculately trimmed hair to the smooth glow of his clean skin, everything about him screamed privileged.
I resisted the urge to glance back toward Wilheim. “Who are you?” Taking a few steps forward, I studied his black garb. Long-sleeved, button-up tunic. Satin, no less. Slim-cut trousers hemmed just about his shoes. Not nearly ethereal enough to be a Charmer. Certainly not brilliant enough to be a Sentinel. Their armor threatened to outshine even the brightest diamond.
He glowered. “I don’t see the need to repeat myself.” In my peripheral vision, onyx tendrils slithered across the forest floor and edged toward me. A heartbeat pulsed from their swirling depths. Whatever monster watched us from the forest, we were clearly running out of time.
“You’re too scrawny to be a Sentinel, though you certainly have the arrogance of one.” I inched away from the cursed wood. “You don’t have the emblem of a Charmer, so you’re not one of my kind.” Thank the gods for that.
“Are you done fishing?”
“No.” I flicked my wrist, and Iky broke another finger. The man’s scream rattled pinesco pods, sending misshapen dead leaves to the ground. Shadows devoured them whole. “You were trying to kill me, which means you’re likely a murderer for hire.”
A slow smile dared to grace his lips. “You won’t make it out of this alive.”
Oh, but I would. And a new idea was brewing in the back of my brain. One that had to do with favors and blood and the golden opportunity standing right in front of me.
I started to circle him, assessing his potential. The problem was, offering freedom in exchange for his blood didn’t exactly mean the blood was “freely given.” Semantics, but in the game of taming beasts, semantics were everything. “And why is that?”
“Because I’m a member of Cruor.”
The world slipped out from beneath my feet. Heavy ringing filled my ears, and the treetops spun together. I’d assumed assassin from the get-go, but Cruor? Who would go to such lengths as to hire the undead?
Realization struck hard and fast, and my gaze jerked to the pooling mass of darkness near his feet. He leached shadows from the corners and hidden crevices of the forest. Even the once-solid blade had dispersed, joining the curling tendrils around my captive. They licked his skin and gathered in his aura, waiting to do his bidding. That wasn’t some Kitska monster gathering the darkness—it was him.
He’d been toying with me all this time, and I had seconds to react.
“Iky, serrated. Now.” Iky shifted, coating his arms with thousands of miniscule barbs that punctured the man’s clothing and skin, and locked him in place. Blood trickled from a multitude of pinprick holes. Gleaming red droplets that wormed their way out and oozed down his ink-black coat like veining through marble. Blood I couldn’t use. The first wasted rivulets dripped from his fingers and splattered against the gravel path. He watched them with fierce eyes, and the dark wisps receded. Good. At least he had enough sense to realize when he was beaten. “If you try to dissipate on me, you’ll end up as mincemeat. Why am I on Cruor’s shit list?”
Irritation tightened his face as my beast and I so deftly turned the tables. “I’m not going to dignify that with a response. As if I’d tell a job the details of my work.”
Egotism, even in the face of death. The Charmers Council had to be behind this. If they’d somehow caught on to my underhanded dealings, they’d sooner hire someone to kill me than leave the sanctity of Hireath. But Cruor? I chewed on the inside of my cheek. Charmers valued all life. Execution was rare. Hiring someone who walked with the shadows all but guaranteed my death. With me already sentenced to a lifelong exile for a crime I most certainly did not commit, they must have felt a more extreme response was appropriate. No chance to plea my case. No chance to return to my people.
Gripping my hands into fists, I glared at the assassin. “Gods be damned. Killing was not on my agenda today.”
A brittle laugh devoid of humor scraped through the air. “If you kill me, another will be sent.”