Last Kiss Goodnight (Otherworld Assassin) Read online

  PRAISE FOR NEW YORK TIMES AND USA TODAY BESTSELLING AUTHOR GENA SHOWALTER AND THE ALIEN HUNTRESS SERIES

  Dark Taste of Rapture

  “A literal taste of rapture.”

  —Fresh Fiction

  Ecstasy in Darkness

  “A glued-to-your-seat kind of book. Pick it up and you won’t want to put it down. The action is hot and fast-paced. . . . Showalter is a master of creating unique, fun, and super-sexy characters. The banter between Victor and Ava will stick with you days after you’re done reading.”

  —RT Book Reviews

  Seduce the Darkness

  “Imaginative and sexy, this story teems with nonstop action!”

  —BookPage

  “[A] compelling and entertaining story of lust, deception, intrigue. . . .”

  —RT Book Reviews

  Savor Me Slowly

  “Hot, hard-hitting science fiction romance. . . . I’m so glad she took the characters to their sensual and emotional limits—and beyond!”

  —Susan Sizemore, New York Times bestselling author

  Enslave Me Sweetly

  “A roller-coaster-like adventure. . . . Sizzling romance and nail-biting suspense.”

  —Booklist

  Awaken Me Darkly

  “A heady mixture of speculative fiction, romance, and chick lit.”

  —RT Book Reviews

  “Brilliantly written. . . . Sizzles with intrigue. . . . Similar to Laurell K. Hamilton’s Anita Blake series.”

  —Fresh Fiction

  “A fantastic read. . . . Fascinating characters.”

  —A Romance Review

  “The final spin will shock. . . . Mia Snow is a fabulous ‘bad girl.’ “

  —The Best Reviews

  MORE PRAISE FOR THE NOVELS

  OF GENA SHOWALTER

  “Gena Showalter delivers an utterly spellbinding story!”

  —Kresley Cole, #1 New York Times bestselling

  author of Shadow’s Claim

  “Combining passion, humor, pulse-pounding action and just plain fun, Gena Showalter’s books are always a refreshing escape!”

  —Lara Adrian, New York Times bestselling

  author of Deeper Than Midnight

  “Showalter at her finest.”

  —Karen Marie Moning, New York Times

  bestselling author of Shadowfever

  “Sizzles with sexual tension!!!”

  —Sharon Sala, New York Times bestselling

  author of Next of Kin

  Thank you for purchasing this Pocket Books eBook.

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  Contents

  Acknowledgments

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Chapter Twenty-three

  Chapter Twenty-four

  Chapter Twenty-six

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  Chapter Twenty-nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-one

  Chapter Thirty-two

  Chapter Thirty-three

  Chapter Thirty-four

  Chapter Thirty-five

  Chapter Thirty-six

  Author Photo

  First, to God, who picked me up out of a very dark place, ushered in the light, and inspired me on every level.

  To my darling Jill Monroe, for reading the first draft and offering invaluable advice.

  To my bold, beautiful editor, Lauren McKenna, who isn’t afraid to tell it like it is. You are gold!

  To my sister, Christy James, for pointing me in the right direction.

  To Roxanne St. Claire, for the encouragement, the phone calls, and the e-mails.

  Acknowledgments

  To my Wednesday night girls (and sometimes Saturday night girls). You know who you are, and I hope you also know you are so, so dear to me. Thank you for the prayers, the support, and the sharing of the truth.

  Prologue

  FOURTEEN-YEAR-OLD VIKTORIJA LUKAS RACED between the circus tents, her throat and lungs burning as she gasped for breath. Though it was well past two in the morning, many of the performers were outside talking, drinking, and laughing raucously around blazing fire pits, celebrating their last night in a prosperous town.

  The closer Vika drew to her destination, the more the scent of animal permeated her every inhalation. It was a scent she’d come to adore. A scent her father wanted to forever take away from her.

  He planned to sell her babies—in pieces.

  Righty, the gorilla with a penchant for stealing necklaces and bracelets. Angie, the horse too shy to look anyone but Vika in the eye. Gabbie, the prancing camel. Gus, the zebra who often hid behind objects too small to cover him. Dobi, the overly excited tiger she had caught peeing in all kinds of inappropriate places. Barney, the food-poaching llama, who was, needless to say, obese. Sammie, the obsessive-compulsive ostrich now missing several patches of feathers. Mini, the sweetly sensitive elephant who cried at the slightest raise in Vika’s voice. Zoey, the sugar-addicted bear.

  And then there was One Day, the brave lion Vika loved above all others.

  “Those mangy creatures cost too much money to keep,” her father had grumbled only this morning. To him, that was a good enough reason to kill them, but she’d cried and begged, willing to say anything to save them, and so the litany had continued. “They take up too much space. They’re too old, too feeble, and they no longer cause people to gape with awe and wonder. They fill people with pity and disgust.”

  Her father hadn’t cared that each animal was beautiful to Vika, faults and all. He hadn’t cared that One Day and the others were her only friends, the only solace she’d found since her mother’s death and the loss of her childhood playmates two years ago. Jecis Lukas owned Cirque de Monstres, and he cared only about profit.

  And profit now demanded he make room for a new menagerie—one that would showcase people. Otherworlders, to be exact, males and females from different planets, whose families had come to earth almost a hundred years ago to enjoy protected, peaceful lives.

  Sadly, there had been nothing protected or peaceful about their earthly “welcome.” Worldwide war had broken out, nearly destroying this planet. And even though a truce had been reached eventually, allowing otherworlders to live alongside humans, the innumerable races were still an oddity. Some were strange colors, some abnormally shaped. Some had powers beyond imagining. Humans would pay to view and scoff at them, especially in the dark, seedy recesses of a place like this.

  “Anything goes if the price is right,” Jecis liked to say.

  What had happened to the man he used to be? The one who had carried her on his shoulders and tickled her feet? Wait. She already knew the answer. Greed had killed him.

  Killed—like her babies would be if
she failed to free them.

  By the time Vika reached the cages, her blood flowed white-hot in her veins. A fine sheen of perspiration glossed over her skin, and tremors rocked down her spine, vibrating into her arms and legs.

  So happy to see her, each of the animals erupted into beautiful song.

  “Shhh. Be quiet, my darlings.” She reached out to unlock One Day’s door but dropped the ring of keys. Frantically she patted at the dirt. As dark as the metal was, and as little light as there was in the area, she couldn’t see—there!

  Thank the Lord! She straightened and carefully inserted the key. Click.

  “Vika!” Her father’s shout cut through the distance.

  No! No, no, no. He’d noticed her absence.

  One Day roared in protest, firing up the rest of the animals. In seconds, the tone of their cries changed from joyous to frenzied.

  “Pleeease, be quiet,” she whispered fiercely.

  Of course, the soundtrack continued to play.

  Not a single creature liked Jecis. They feared and despised him, and with good reason. He treated them poorly, was always spitting on them, yelling at them, and poking at them with electric rods.

  Vika had protested the abuse—once. It was a mistake she’d never made again.

  Hinges squeaked as she opened the cage door, and her gaze fused with the dark, feverish eyes of her best friend. His mane of golden hair was tangled, twigs and dirt clumped in several of the strands. Despite the fact that she always gave him portions of her own meals, he was so thin she could see every indention of his ribs. There was an oozing sore on his left paw, still festering despite the salve she’d applied every morning, afternoon and evening for the past few weeks.

  “Finally, the day I told you about has arrived,” she said in pristine English. As an emigrant from New Lithuania, she’d had to steadily whittle away at her accent to fit the new identity her father had bought for her, to save her from being deported. Jecis had been her tutor, and his reward-and-punishment system had ensured quick success.

  One Day mewled, peeked out, and tried to nudge her hand.

  “Go, baby. Go.”

  Another nudge from him.

  “Go on, now. Jecis wants to hurt you, but I will not let him.”

  One Day lumbered to the ground, but rather than sprinting to freedom, he rubbed against her leg, causing her to stumble forward and drop the keys a second time. He wanted to be brushed, she knew. He loved when she cleaned and groomed him, his purrs of approval so rich and deep they always settled over her like warm honey.

  Tears burned the backs of her eyes, clouding her vision. “You will run now. Please.”

  How many times had she promised her precious lion freedom? One day we will escape together. One day I will grow tall and you will grow strong, and we will protect each other. Yes, one day. She’d said the words so many times they’d finally become a name.

  He deserved a chance to run and play and do whatever else he desired.

  “Go.”

  “Vika!” Her father’s voice boomed closer . . . so close his booted footsteps echoed in the background.

  She shoved One Day toward the line of trees in the distance. She wouldn’t be able to save the others, she realized with a flood of sorrow, but she could save her precious lion. She had to save him. “I said go!”

  He resisted, again rubbing at her leg.

  A shocked gasp sounded a few feet away. “You did it,” her father said. “You actually did it. You betrayed me. Me! After everything I’ve done for you.”

  He had arrived.

  Her heart thundered in her chest as her gaze found him in the darkness. He was tall, with wide shoulders and a barrel chest. Not necessarily bad things—until a temper as hot as the inner core of the earth got the better of him. Fear she’d managed to ignore now consumed her. Suddenly her feet felt as heavy as thousand-pound boulders, and she couldn’t force herself to move.

  She rarely disobeyed this man. His punishments were too severe. “I . . . I . . .”

  Jecis stomped to her, grabbed her arms in a painful vise grip, and shook her. “I buy you the best clothes, the best food, and gift you with the greatest treasures, and yet you dare defy me?”

  One Day roared with long-suppressed rage, and slowly stalked around them. But he didn’t attack. He couldn’t. Jecis used Vika as a shield, always ensuring she blocked the way. The rest of the animals banged against the bars of their cages.

  “Atsiprašau,” Vika managed to choke out.

  Jecis glared down at her through eyes the color of violetiniai, the same as hers. She only prayed her own were not laced with such cold, hard cruelty. “I have told you only to speak English. Or do you speak the mother tongue hoping someone will realize you are foreign and try to take you away from me?”

  “I—I am sorry,” she translated with a tremor.

  “Not yet, but you will be.” He released her—only to backhand her.

  She tumbled to the ground. Blood filled her mouth, a copper tang coating her tongue, and pain exploded through her head.

  One Day jumped toward her father, but, sick as the lion was, he was sluggish, and Jecis easily dodged the creature, grabbing Vika and jerking her upright.

  The lion crouched, ready to initiate another attack, clearly desperate to rip his enemy in half.

  “I love you more than life itself, Vika, but that love will not save you from my wrath.”

  When has it ever? she wanted to scream. Wisely, she remained quiet.

  Another roar tore through the air.

  “You think to threaten me, eh, lion? To hurt me?” Jecis withdrew a gun from the waist of his pants and stretched out his arm. “The man who paid for your care, all these many years?”

  “No!” Vika shrieked, trying to tug that arm down but making no progress. “Please, no. Do not do this. Please,” she repeated, nearing hysteria.

  “Before, I would have been merciful, would have done this without causing any pain. Now . . .”

  “No!”

  One Day couldn’t contain his aggression any longer and leapt. Jecis squeezed the trigger.

  Boom!

  Despite the sudden ringing in Vika’s ears and the bright white stars winking through her vision, she heard One Day’s agonized mewl and watched as he collapsed on the ground. Big dark eyes, now filled with anguish and regret, found her. His body twitched, and he yelped with agony.

  A cry of denial burst from her.

  “I will deal with you in a moment,” her father snapped, shoving her away now that the threat was gone. “First . . .”

  She scrambled to One Day to stroke his trembling body. Oh, my darling. Oh, no. Her shock and horror ate up her strength as she looked up and watched Jecis turn, aim. Boom.

  Turn. Boom.

  Turn. Boom.

  One after another, her beautiful animals were gunned down, their cries ending abruptly. Her chin quivered, finally dislodging the tears welled in her eyes. Droplets spilled onto her cheeks, raining down, burning and stinging the cut her father’s ring had left behind.

  She wanted to look away from her friends. She couldn’t bear to witness their suffering, but she refused to allow herself the luxury of retreating mentally. These precious beings had lived terrible lives here at the circus, and she could not let them die alone.

  When the last of them stilled and quieted, only One Day hanging on—oh, One Day, I’m so sorry—her father yanked her to her feet and slapped the gun in her hand.

  “One bullet left,” he said, grabbing her wrist to ensure she never pointed the weapon at him. “You will finish him.”

  Bile burned a path up her throat. “No. Please, no.”

  “Do it,” Jecis growled, getting in her face, putting them nose to nose. “Do it, or things will be much worse for you.”

  “I—I don’t care. I won’t. I can’t.”

  His eyes narrowed. “Do it, or I’ll skin him while he’s still alive.” Spittle rained upon her face.

  Your lion is in pai
n. This is for the best. Was that true, she wondered, or was she simply trying to comfort herself? Either way . . .

  Shaking, she stretched out her arm, the gun heavy in her palm. Though Jecis still held her, he offered no support.

  Crimson leaked from One Day’s mouth.

  Her finger wound around the trigger, and her vision hazed.

  Her beloved released a long breath, as if he knew what she planned. As if he waited for the inevitable end.

  “I’m so sorry,” she croaked. “Forgive me.”

  Boom.

  The lion stilled and quieted like all the others. Sobs racked her body, and her arm fell to her side.

  “Good girl.” Jecis claimed the gun and stuffed it back in his pants. He rolled up his shirtsleeves, cracked his knuckles. “Now, my heart, it’s your turn. Clearly, you have not learned the proper respect for me. But you will, I promise you, and we’ll never again have a problem like this.”

  One

  The Song of Songs, which is Solomon’s.

  —SONG OF SOLOMON 1:1

  SIX YEARS LATER

  MICHAEL BLACK LEANED BACK in his chair, his hands forming a steeple over his mouth. He studied the three agents he’d recruited for Operation Dumpster Dive. Each was an otherworlder who had been raised here on earth. Each had lost his biological family soon after birth, and because of Michael, each had been quickly adopted by a human family under the condition Michael have complete access any time he so desired.

  He’d begun their training at the age of five, though he’d only taught them little things at first. Target practice had eventually morphed into hunting living, breathing game. Camping had morphed into surviving a week in the jungle, alone, without any kind of weapon. Creating strategies for winning video games had developed into creating strategies to save one another from whatever disastrous situation Michael had staged.

  Now the boys were adults, the best of the best—and about to face the biggest threat of their careers.

  “Are we just gonna sit here in silence?” said John No Last Name. He’d refused to accept the surname of his adoptive parents, and by the time Michael had realized why and gotten him out, the boy had wanted nothing to do with the Black name either.