The Darkest Assassin: A Lords of the Underworld Novella Page 9

  Anytime he remembered this moment, he knew he would crave her again. And again. But the worst part? He suspected no other female would do. A ridiculous thought! Anyone else would be better suited for him. The nightstand would be better suited for him.

  “Bjorn,” she repeated with a groan. “Any answers or comments? Questions? Thoughts?”

  Arousal softened her features and flushed her skin. Those hazel eyes projected earth-shattering need, rousing his most primitive instincts. Lips swollen from his kisses remained parted as she panted.

  No longer were her features simply arresting. They were exquisite. A layer of anger had been stripped away, revealing a startling vulnerability and a hint of…adoration? For him?

  No, no. No way she adored him. “I despise Alana and the marriage she forced upon me.” But even still, he needed to resist Fox. Yes? At the moment, he couldn’t recall a single reason to combat the hot tide of desire raging through him. He couldn’t think straight. Need to think. “She is Queen of Shadows. A parasite. As soon as I can reach her without a summons, I will kill her.” Of course, he would have to find a way to sever their bond first, or he would die with her.

  “She forced the marriage? Then you are not married. You’re single, baby, and ready to mingle.” Fox nibbled on her bottom lip and traced circles over his pec. “If you’d like to make your single-hood official, I can portal you to your wife—” She pursed her lips. “I can portal you to the queen. Without a summons. Vow to set me free, and I will. I’ll even throw in a sweetener and help you kill her.”

  If not for the bond, he might have taken Fox up on her offer. Even still, the temptation proved overwhelming. “She isn’t just a Shadow; she is a queen of Shadows. She can possess your body and drain your soul before you comprehend what’s happening. And, to set you free is to risk my place in the heavens. To what end? So I can die when you kill Alana? So you can be hunted again? Another Sent One will be sent to slay you.” He stiffened, already furious with this nameless, faceless Sent One.

  “Yeah. So?”

  “So, I would never forgive myself if they harmed—if you harmed them.” Could he forgive himself for sinking so low and kissing Fox, the murderess? Not just kissing her, but liking—loving—it. Time to make the madness stop. He disengaged from her, untangling their bodies. “If you’re hungry, there’s a feast over there.” He stood and pointed to a small bistro-style table piled high with platters of food. “Please, eat.”

  “Why? Is the food poisoned?”

  She thinks I will heal and kiss her the same day I plan to kill her?

  Will I?

  The answer hit him, and hit hard. No. He wouldn’t. He would not be harming a hair on her head today. Perhaps not tomorrow, either.

  Chest clenching with relief, Bjorn stalked to the closet, his hard-on bobbing with every step, all but pointing at her. He ground his teeth, irritated beyond measure, and donned a robe. He wouldn’t be kissing her again, either.

  “My friends whipped you, and I’m sorry for all you suffered, Fox. That wasn’t supposed to happen.”

  “Oh. I see.” Frowning, she sat up and lowered her head. Dark hair fell forward, shielding her face from view. “So, the feast is a make-up gift?”

  A muscle ticked beneath his eye. He continued without addressing her question. “The kiss should not have happened, either. I choose to be celibate.”

  “What?!” She glanced up for a moment, only a moment, her eyes wide. “Did you just say you’re celibate?”

  “For roughly a year, yes.”

  “I’ve gone five…hundred years, eight months, and six days, but who’s counting?”

  Now, his eyes widened. “Fox the Executioner hasn’t had sex in over five hundred years?”

  “Well, I had trust issues long before Distrust,” she said, defensive.

  Reeling. “You chose to break your sexual fast with me, the male tasked with your murder? Why?” Are we more alike than I realized?

  And what is it I think I’m doing? Playing with temptation is never wise. Stop!

  “No, don’t tell me,” he said next. “I can’t change what happened in our pasts, but I can change what happens in our futures. We will not kiss again.”

  Her head wrenched up. Humiliation and dejection burned pretty pink circles in her cheeks.

  His chest clenched with more force. So much, he swore several ribs cracked. The rejection had cut her as much as the whipping. He nearly dropped to his knees to apologize.

  Fool! This is a trick, only a trick. He balled his hands into fists. She would have to care about his opinion to give a damn about his rejection. She didn’t. She couldn’t.

  But what if she did? What if her feelings for him were just as complicated as his feelings for her?

  Hope blossomed, only to wither. Rejection hurt, period. Even when someone you hated rejected you, it stung.

  “You don’t want to kiss me again? Fine,” she snapped. “Don’t kiss me again. Good call, by the way. I’d bite off your tongue. Now. I’m done playing the role of prisoner. Either you fight me, or you watch me walk away.”

  “I will do neither. I will put you in your cell, and that’s that.”

  “Why? Are you hoping I’ll forget your vile behavior and sign on to be your temporary dick handler?”

  Dick handler? Now I want to laugh.

  Get your head in the game. Bjorn extended his arm and curved his hand, a sword hilt appearing there. As he closed his fingers around it, fire spread over the blade. With his free hand, he motioned to the door. “Exit the bedroom, Fox.”

  Fox raised her chin, and it was clear the humiliation and dejection had morphed into fury. Another trait to admire. Anyone else would have sobbed or begged for mercy. This woman would fight until she took her last breath.

  She smiled slowly, coldly, and said, “Make me.”

  Chapter Nine

  Bjorn remained immobile. He watched, fascinated, as another startling change transformed the enigmatic Fox. First, she’d been soft, warm and needy, not just receptive to his kiss but an active participant, writhing against him. Then she projected hurt, dejection and embarrassment. One hundred percent his fault. Now? She looked hardened, cold and emotionless.

  What she didn’t do? Panic.

  No longer did she resemble a sleepy, just-kissed lover hungry for more. No, she appeared every inch a killer…yet he still craved her. No, he craved her even more.

  Bjorn found the different aspects of her personality intriguing, and wondered if he wielded enough sensual prowess to make her go soft again. Without going soft himself.

  His mind a minefield of desire, regret, and fury, Bjorn struggled to focus, to think straight, answers beyond his skill set at the moment. Questions were a different story entirely. Why did he heal and kiss an enemy at all? Why did he enjoy the kiss more than any other he’d ever experienced?

  When could he do it again?

  No, no. Lock her back in the dungeon, as decided. Clear your head. Finally think straight and figure out a new plan of action. Maybe he’d have a fresh memory of her?

  He tensed. He needed to tell her about the first one. How would she react?

  As graceful as a ballerina, she stood and smoothed the wrinkles from her oversized tee, treating the garment like a formal gown. “Be honest. You’re afraid your crush on me will turn Fatal Attraction-ish if you dress me in something other than a crappy T-shirt, right?”

  Her confident teasing threw kindling on the flames of his desire. “I do not have a crush—” The remainder of the sentence disintegrated, leaving a foul taste on his tongue. He pressed his lips together. Apparently, he did have a crush on Fox. As a Sent One, he could speak no lies. In the end, all he could tell her? “Someone thinks highly of herself.”

  “What, I wasn’t supposed to notice the robe-tent you’re currently sporting?” she sneered, poking at his inner bear. “Sorry, but it looks like you’re smuggling a Shake Weight under there.”

  Shake Weight? “It is a bodily reaction,” he
grated.

  “Let’s be real. You don’t want to lock me away for my crimes. You want to lock me away because you blame me for your desire. You’re lashing out, because I dared to turn you on, as if females aren’t blamed for a male’s actions and reactions all the time. Tell me, Bjorn. Which of these scenarios works best for you? I pretend not to notice your arousal…and you consider me prudish. I point out that you obviously like the look of me…but I’m conceited. How about I explain to you how you can’t possibly want me…so you can ding me for being insecure? If ever you compliment me, should I accept it and come across as needy, or reject it like a baby-back-bitch? There’s just no winning with you or anyone, so, I’ll stick with the truth. You want me because I look like a tasty snack, and we both know it.”

  She…wasn’t wrong. The wisdom of her words knocked him breathless. Sent Ones worshipped truth, and she’d just given him a healthy dose of it. “I…apologize,” he said, and he meant it. He scoured his free hand over his face—tired, so tired. So much to do. So much he didn’t want to do.

  She blinked, shook her head, rubbed her ears. “Am I in the middle of a delusion?” Rolling her hips provocatively, she crossed the room, closing in on him, daring him to strike at her. “It sounded like you—a stubborn, self-righteous tosser—just apologized to your number one target.”

  The fact that she stood within striking distance, unafraid, all challenge and sensuality while he held a fiery sword… Did she hope to disarm him? Or did she hope to pick up where they’d left off?

  His shaft throbbed harder than ever.

  If ever he received an opportunity to select a woman from a catalogue, he’d pick someone like Fox, right here, right now. Dark hair mussed. Strong but vulnerable. Lithe body draped in his T-shirt, and only his T-shirt. Lips that were red and puffy from his kisses. How had he never noticed the little freckles that dotted her nose? Adorable.

  His chest clenched. Adorable? No! She is lethal seduction, and I must remain on guard. Always. “You are not deluded. You are a beautiful woman, and your confidence is commendable. I never should have implied otherwise.”

  More blinking. Head canted to the side, she said, “Why didn’t you kill me in my sleep? I would think you would think it’d be kinder than healing me, locking me up, keeping me stressed about D day—death day—until you finally got the balls to do your duty. Or maybe you were too busy snuggling with me?”

  “My reasons are my own,” he said, shoving the words past his gritted teeth. The hardness of his tone should have told her more than his words: Ask another question at your peril. “Do you not think dying in your sleep would be better?”

  “Hell, no. When I go, it will be in battle. I will face death straight-on.”

  Such bravery. Such courage. Such strength. His admiration for her multiplied.

  “How am I healed?” she asked, forging ahead. “Your buddies whipped me with infirmədē. I should have suffered until my death. Did you do something to aid me?”

  Maddening female. “I will not reveal the reason.” While the Water of Life wasn’t a secret, exactly, Sent Ones rarely confirmed or denied its existence. Already, immortals attempted to storm the heavens on a daily basis to hunt and find the river where the Water flowed.

  “In other words,” she said, smug now, “yes, you did do something to aid me. I’m gonna guess…Water of Life? Yeah, I know about it. I do my homework. Anyway. I’m confused about your reasons. Why save me from pain rather than completing your mission?”

  Maddening, perceptive female. His actions confused him, too. “Kissing you must have addled my brain,” he grumbled. If only he’d resisted the all-consuming urge. He wouldn’t know the sweetness of her taste, the softness of her body when it pressed against the hardness of his, the intoxicating scent of her arousal—a heady perfume—or the drugging warmth of her silken skin.

  Now I must give her up?

  In her arms, he’d forgotten his troubles. For a few minutes, the stress he’d carried for so long had ebbed. But, as soon as the kiss ended, those troubles and stresses rushed back.

  “I didn’t ask you about the kiss,” she snipped at him. “But. Since you brought it up, let’s do it. Let’s go there. I’ll break this down for you, and you’ll listen like a good boy, m’kay?”

  Though he knew he should protest, he nodded, eager to hear what her keen mind observed. “Go on. I’m listening.”

  Go on she did. “You want me, you just don’t want to want me. You can’t resist this”—she waved to indicate the length of her body— “and that is why you want to keep me around a little longer.”

  He clenched his jaw, the muscles taut. Maddening, perceptive, smart female. “You are cold, calculating and conniving, and I cannot be sure of your motivations. You care for nothing—”

  “Wrong! If you’re going to malign my character, at least do so accurately. I care for Galen and Legion, control, money, success, gold, jewels, money, victory, weapons, money, and killing the deserving.” Her shoulders sagged the slightest bit, and he didn’t have to wonder why. She’d remembered the ten. They had not been deserving.

  A second later, she squared those shoulders. Had he not been observing her every move, he would have missed the entire byplay.

  Realization: She isn’t cold. She does feel. She just fights her emotions.

  He reeled, his chest clenching again. This time, the clenching didn’t let up. As long as he’d lived, he’d observed many people who’d fought their emotions. They’d all had one thing in common—they felt too much. Usually, due to some sort of trauma in their past.

  What did he know about Fox’s past? Only what he’d seen in his dream. How long had she wandered the streets of Ancient Greece, starving, dirty and vulnerable? Had other soldiers harmed her? What other horrors had she endured?

  Bjorn squeezed the sword hilt tighter. He knew Galen the Treacherous had found and protected the girl at some point. I am to be the villain, the one who locks her away, while a male known as the Treacherous is the hero?

  Bjorn opened his sword hand and lowered his arm, the fiery weapon vanishing. Annoyed by the situation, by Fox, by himself, he sighed, weary, and said, “I do not wish to fight you, Fox.”

  “So? If you try to lock me up, a fight is going to happen. You have the Fox gold-star guarantee on that.”

  “What if I pay you to walk yourself to the dungeon?”

  Intrigue glittered in her lovely hazel eyes. “I hear the disapproval in your tone, baby boy. You consider me materialistic.”

  “I do.” No reason to deny it.

  “Maybe I like material gain because it allows me to save the people I love. Ever think of that? With an overflow of cash, I can buy weapons, mystical artifacts, homes, food, computers and vehicles—all necessities for surviving an immortal war. Wait. I can already hear your response.” Mimicking and mocking him, she wagged her finger in his direction and said, “Now, Foxy, my sweet. You should have a lady boner for helping everyone, not just your loved ones.”

  Lady boner? The things this beauty said had a way of stabbing his high horse to death, leaving him reeling, without a solid foundation to stand upon. Worth it. Fox made life more exciting. She even made arguments fun.

  Tension ebbed from his muscles. He canted his head to the side and told her, “You make a valid point. But I think you have forgotten a basic rule of humanity. Everyone you hate and consider worthy of elimination is someone else’s loved one.”

  Her breath hitched. She opened and closed her mouth without making a sound. Finally, she settled on, “You make a valid point, too. Damn you!”

  He took a step closer. Why are you doing this? Stop!

  Can’t stop. Can’t stay away.

  Drawn to her, he took another step closer, and another, until only a whisper of air separated their bodies. She stilled and stiffened, as if uncertain about his intentions. But, as he did nothing more than inhale her innate fragrance, awareness crackled in the air between them, little lightning strikes against his skin. They
both began to pant.

  “Back off, Bjorn,” she croaked.

  “Why?” he asked, mimicking her. “Because you lack the strength to back away from me?” Is she as weak for me as I am for her? Even the notion thrilled him.

  “Because you plan to kill me one day, and I can’t trust you.”

  “You can trust me today, for I vow I will not harm you. Unless you attack me, and I must defend myself.” Always best to add a qualifier. “But back off? No. I’m a little too busy mentally stripping you out of that shirt.” Only minutes ago, he’d held her breasts in his hands. Those plump beauties were more than a handful, firm yet soft, and absolutely, utterly perfect.

  She snorted. “Please. You aren’t just stripping me. You’re also imagining parking your boner in my garage.”

  He fought a smile. Damn her!

  As much as he disliked this woman—no, that wasn’t true. He didn’t dislike her. He disliked what she’d done. The real problem? He liked her more than he should.

  I’m not going to kill her—ever. He would have to find another path.

  There has to be another way. He wanted to help this woman, not harm her.

  The truth drifted through his mind, found a spot to camp, and erected a tent. He’d had a hard-on for her ever since he’d spied her flying out of that shower stall, wet and naked. Every interaction since had only increased his desire for her.

  She was just so different from Alana, who lied to anyone and everyone to get what she wanted, no matter who she hurt in the process. Fox told the truth, no matter how upsetting, and dealt with the consequences, hurting only herself. Alana expected to dominate her lovers. Despite her own strength, Fox had willingly surrendered to Bjorn, allowing him to set the pace. Alana often played victim, blaming others for her problems, all so unfair this and so unfair that. When she messed up, Fox admitted it, even to her own detriment, and he admired her for it. Bjorn would rather save a loyal villain than a disloyal hero. He would rather work with a truthful enemy than a deceptive ally.