Kyler's Justice (Assassins of Gravas Book 3) - N.J. Walters Page 0,41

way at the time. He’d been as torn between duty and need as she had.

“I am what they made me.”

Heart breaking, she stood. “Goodbye.” Fear raced through her as she headed back to the bar. Loralie was glaring at her as she went back to work. She’d told Kyler she wouldn’t run, but that was only if he’d protect the girls. As far as she was concerned, all bets were off.

Gods, it hurt to even think about never seeing him again. Or worse, becoming prey to his hunter. As soon as they closed, she’d grab the girls, run, and try to find a way off this godforsaken place.

She could never stop running. Balthazar and Helldrick would come after her. Or more likely, hire someone to kill her. That was if Kyler and the Gravasians didn’t get her first.

****

He’d never hated himself more.

Allowing her to walk away was the hardest thing he’d ever done, even if it was in her best interest. The last thing he wanted was for the people watching them to think she was helping him. Balthazar likely had more than the Barskan here tonight. He’d already targeted three more that could be potential problems. Then there was the fact he needed something to bring to the king when he laid Etta’s case in front of him. Being able to honestly say that she’d helped him without a promise or aid or pardon would go a long way.

Because there was no changing the fact that she’d drugged the king’s son.

The vial cracked in his hand. Liquid spilled over his fingers. He dropped it to the floor under the table and crushed it with his boot before wiping the drug onto his cloak. He’d meant to keep it as evidence, but his word and the audio recording of their exchange would have to serve.

Lifting the glass of ale, he put it to his lips but didn’t drink. Etta might not have drugged it, but he wouldn’t put it past the waitress.

It hurt to watch Etta work. Her face was drawn and pinched. Her actions were jerky, lacking their usual fluid grace. Her fear permeated the air until he swore he could smell it.

She’d never forgive him. Not when he could have put her mind at ease, assured her he’d do everything in his power to help.

Duty had sustained him his entire life. Now it left a vile taste in his mouth. He wanted to flip the table and roar his anger and frustration. None of the internal battle raging inside him was visible to anyone watching. All they’d see was a cloaked man drinking ale.

Keeping up the façade was killing him. Every muscle in his body was taut. He was hot, like he was running a fever. His skin itched, the inactivity weighing on him.

When the metal cup began to bend beneath his fingers, he set it down on the table. More customers left as the last call was sent out from the bar. It wouldn’t be long now, but each moment was interminable.

Knowing it was time for the charade to begin, he surreptitiously spilled some ale every time he picked up the cup until it was half gone. Deeming it enough, he allowed his body to sway before shaking himself, as if trying to ward off tiredness.

He didn’t look toward the bar. He couldn’t and concentrate on what he had to do. But she was still there. Would she leave when the bar closed? He hoped her anger with him would carry her out of here.

Otherwise, she’d see him as he truly was—a merciless killer.

Like a light going off in the darkness, he understood why he’d done everything in his power to push her away. It wasn’t just so she could be safe and he could make her case to the king. It was so she wouldn’t see the real him.

What would she think, how would she feel, when she realized what he truly was? Yes, she knew he was an assassin. But it was one thing to know it, quite another to see the results.

Lowering his head to the table, he turned his head toward the Barskan. He would likely be the one to approach him first. Breathing deeply, he centered himself, pulling on all his years of training.

Finally, only a few customers remained.

It was time.

****

The night had dragged endlessly. Time to get gone. Only she couldn’t. Not with Kyler lying across his table, seemingly helpless. It was all an act. Or she hoped it was. It