Shadow Phantoms - H.P. Mallory Page 0,2

was still young.

It was possible that I was just too caught up in what I was doing to hear the sound of the closet door behind me. Or perhaps the noise of my hips slapping against Freya’s ass, her rising squeals and my rhythmic grunting was enough to mask the noise.

Whatever the case, I had no idea of the assassin’s presence until he was right behind me. Even then, I got very lucky indeed; the brief moving shadow across Freya’s undulating back made me turn just as he was raising his blade.

As the knife fell, I threw myself to one side, pulling unceremoniously out of Freya and rolling across the bed. The knife stabbed into my silk sheets and the mattress below. Freya shrieked—which in other circumstances might have alerted my personal guards, but they did not respond to such noises when I was entertaining female guests. Rather, they quite expected them.

I opened my mouth to yell for the guard, but the assassin recovered quickly and was on me in an instant, clapping a gloved hand over my mouth and knocking the wind out of me with a knee pressed to my gut. Thusly unable to speak, I could not invoke any of the spells of protection I always had at the ready.

Desperately, I struck back at my attacker with my hands, but he lashed out with his knife, cutting me across the palm. As I recoiled from the pain, the assassin took advantage, twisting me onto my front with his knee in the small of my back, yanking both my hands behind me and kneeling on them as well. I struggled as hard as I could, but the man was strong and a skilled fighter, while I was naked and had been taken completely by surprise.

But, alas, it couldn’t end like this.

This could not be the last chapter for Duine, the meaning of which was: the Dark One. It was an apt title and had been given to me by my followers. I cannot quite remember when. It seemed quite a part of me now.

Regardless, after all I had done, I could not die like this. Naked and unarmed.

The assassin grabbed a handful of my hair and dragged my head back, baring my throat to his blade. I tried to yell for help, but with my neck at this painful angle, only a strangled cry emerged.

The blade descended and I felt the cold metal at my jugular. I grit my teeth, determined to die with as much dignity as a naked man caught in the act can muster.

But before the blade bit, there was a crash and a cry from behind me. The knife fell, the grip on my hair loosened and the weight on my back shifted enough that I could struggle free, gasping and scrabbling off the bed. Turning about, I saw my attacker sprawled on the bed, struggling to get back up, moaning in pain. Behind him stood the woman whose name might have been (but probably wasn’t) Freya, still holding the broken remnants of the chair she had smashed across the assassin’s back.

“Guards!” I yelled.

The assassin struggled to get back up, but this time I had my voice which meant I had the advantage. Speaking words of power, I sent him flying back against the wall, above the bed where he remained pinned by my magic. The man had gone about things right by attacking me at my most vulnerable time, when he knew no one outside would question sounds of a struggle; by covering my mouth and slashing my hands to prevent me from using my magic. That is how you attack a powerful mage and it had damn near worked. He could hardly have predicted how Freya would react—I doubted she could have predicted it, herself.

My personal guards charged in and were understandably taken aback by the scene they found. An assassin dead, Freya and I as naked as the day we were born, and me bleeding.

“Take him.” I indicated the assassin who was now writhing on the wall. I released him from the bonds of my magic so he fell to the bed. “Find out who he is working for and how the hell he got into my closet.”

Two of the guards grabbed the assassin and dragged him out, while the third addressed me.

“You are hurt, my lord High Mage.”

It was then I remembered my bleeding hand.

“It’s nothing.”

“Can I get you a doctor? Bandages?” He swallowed uncomfortably. “Perhaps a robe?”

“Nothing. You may