The Darkest Assassin (Lords of the Underworld 14.6)

Should have known better.

His insides shredded, his future a misery-soaked quagmire, he stumbled back, away from Fox. Again and again, his heart punched his ribs, each beat more painful than the last.

Arms outstretched, she stepped in his direction. With a grunt, he batted her hands away.

Abject hurt contorted her features, tears welling in her eyes. Fox, crying… He noticed a gradual softening deep inside and fought harder to turn his heart against her, lest she set him up for another betrayal.

Another. Betrayal. The words echoed in his head. Roaring, he twisted and punched the wall, once, twice. A plank cracked, splinters of wood flying in every direction. His knuckles split, blood trickling. A sting of pain never registered, his adrenaline too jacked. “I risked everything for you,” he snarled. “Everything!”

She opened and closed her mouth. The only sound to be heard? The force of their panting breaths.

“Won’t defend yourself?” he sneered. “Won’t try to convince me—again—that I misunderstood what I saw with my own eyes? Or are you too afraid I’ll taste your lies?”

“Don’t do this,” she whispered. “Please, don’t do this. Give me the benefit of the doubt.”

“Begging now?” he all but purred. “How delicious.” A foul taste coated his tongue. I castigate her for lies, then tell my own? He balled his hands into fists.

She flinched, then lapsed into silence. He almost punched a new hole in the wall. He wanted—needed—her to yell at him. Or insult him. Something! Anything to push him over the edge and make him hate her.

Why don’t I hate her?

He needed to kill her. Needed to want to kill her. As long as she lived, he might be stupid enough to give her a third…fourth…twentieth chance. But even still, he didn’t want this. The thought of her headless body pouring its lifeblood into the soot-covered ground nearly destroyed him. When it came to Fox, he’d never been rational. “Not going to say anything else? Very well. I’ll speak for us both. You and I? We’re done.”

Another flinch. Hurt glittered in her eyes, but only for a moment. Like all other emotions, it too got wiped away. Color drained from her cheeks. “I’m such a fool. I thought I’d made progress with you, but you never trusted me, did you? Not once. Not even a little. You were never going to trust me. Not fully.”

One emotion she hadn’t wiped away—bitterness. It honed her words into weapons.

Bjorn swallowed a curse. He wanted his warm, teasing Fox back. The woman who was his undoing. No, no. Do not soften! He opened his mouth to snarl, “You’re right,” but the words died on his tongue. Because they were a lie with no truthful inference? Maybe, maybe not. Because, despite her awfulness, he still didn’t want her dead.

But he couldn’t stand to look at her a second longer. The demon she’d invited inside her heart and mind would never allow them to find peace together, and now the sight of her ripped up his soul, reminding him of what could have been. “I’m going to do what I should have done the day we met. I’m going to kill—” Again, the words died on his tongue. “I will kill—” Damn her! “I will punish you, and the Sent Ones will cheer.”

He would. He would swing his sword and remove her head. Would burn her body, watching as it ashed. Would never again see her, speak to her, touch or kiss her. Would never again sink inside her, hold her throughout the night, or awaken to find her sheltered in the circle of his embrace.

Bjorn yanked at hanks of his hair, punched the wall, re-breaking his knuckles, and slammed a booted foot into the window, shattering glass. Whether he did his duty or not, misery awaited him. Only misery. She betrayed me. This is deserved.

Can I truly kill the woman who introduced me to contentment?

“Y-you’re going to kill me,” she stated.

Do. Not. Soften. “I will.” Will I?

Hate myself already. Will hate myself for the rest of time. Sometimes, though, sacrifices must be made.

His eyes stung and watered. Not because of tears. No! He refused to cry. Betrayed. Deserved.

No reaction from Fox. She peered up at him, growing colder by the second. No doubt she’d stripped herself of emotion so she wouldn’t have to deal with her own wretchedness, her personal defense mechanism. He only wished he had the ability to do the same. Or breathe. He desperately needed to breathe. Why couldn’t he inhale? Exhale? Breathe, damn it! Chest on fire.

“One day, one day soon, you will look back on this moment with regret,” she told him, seemingly calm and steady. “You’ll perform an autopsy on our relationship, and find out you are the one who poisoned us. You’ll replay this day over and over again and come to realize I held the dagger in a way that allowed me to knock him out with the hilt, not kill him with the blade. You’ll ask around and discover I walked away from this man, whoever he is, and he followed me into the cabin without my permission. He believed you’d fallen under my spell, and hoped my death would set you free. You’ll apologize to me, because yes, I’ll still be alive, but it’ll be too late. As of this moment, I’ve already moved on.”

Her words hit him like bombs, and he huffed his breaths. Having learned a trick or two from Distrust, she seeks to manipulate me. But he would not be swayed—I won’t!—his rage only spreading. She thought the more facts she shared with him, the more readily he would believe her lies. Wrong! The only thing he knew beyond a doubt? Believe her now, suffer later.

“This. Is. Deserved.” Eyes narrowed to slits, Bjorn swiped out his arm. He shackled her wrist with his fingers, then dragged her out of the cabin. A cool temp gave way to molten heat. In seconds, sweat glossed his skin.

The constant bang, bang, bang as workers built their cabins assaulted his ears. Fresh lumber scented the air, chasing away the awful scent of brimstone and sulfur.

He maneuvered through a cluster of cabins, piles of supplies, and groups of Sent Ones, surprised Fox kept up, not trying to drag her feet or wrench free. No, she kept her gaze straight ahead, those icy hazels free of tears. She even smirked.

Growls rumbled deep inside him, his rage reaching a new plateau. How dare she smirk. And damn it, why wasn’t she fighting this? From the moment they’d met, she’d been in survivor-mode. Here, now, she acted as though he’d broken her heart.

Key word: acted.

Deserved! He stomped his feet with more force and tightened his grip on Fox. Anyone who caught sight of her recognized her instantly. She received glares, jeers, and curses. No way she could miss her reception; they were loud and proud. New pangs cut through Bjorn’s chest. Still, he struggled to breathe.

Someone tossed a small stone at Fox, leaving a gash in her shoulder. Crimson wet her already stained shirt as select Sent Ones laughed. Others cheered.

Bjorn came to an abrupt stop, released Fox to pick up the stone, then hurled it at the person responsible, nailing him between the eyes. The male toppled, already unconscious.

The laughter died down. “Anyone else?” Bjorn bellowed. “You do not harm my prisoner. Understand?”

A commotion across the sea of Sent Ones. Whispers reached his ears, and he detected “the Ever Randy,” “furious,” and “someone’s going to die.”

A pathway cleared, and yes, William the Ever Randy marched into view. He was tall and muscled with black hair and blue eyes, and almost too beautiful to gaze upon. Runes etched both of his arms—s

lightly raised, swirling designs tattooed into his flesh to absorb magic.

During the past year, Bjorn had dealt with William a handful of times. He’d found the male annoyingly irreverent, conceited, and untrusting of anyone outside of his alliance. No one was more self-serving, and here, now, William looked like a man on a mission. Anyone foolish enough to step into his path got tossed to the side.

Had he come to take Fox?

Never! The growls started up again, rumbling deep in Bjorn’s chest. He will have to pry her from my cold, dead fingers. There’s no other way I’ll allow her to return to her old life, to enjoy a happily ever after, laughing about my gullibility.

William stopped mere inches away from Bjorn and Fox. Bjorn frowned. The male projected a different energy than usual. It was darker. Much darker. And pure evil. Those electric blues gleamed with hatred and fury, emotions he’d never before directed at Bjorn. Why now?

“If you wish to remain in my territory, you will give me the girl,” William snarled. “I’ve already spoken with Lysander and Zacharel, and they agreed I may oversee her care for the remainder of her days. Give her to me. Now.”

No. No! William was a playboy who slept with anyone willing. If he seduced Fox…

She would live that happy life. “No,” he snapped. Bjorn did not want Fox happy. Ignore the foul taste in your mouth. Means nothing. “I respect you, William. I—” He went quiet as a sharp pain registered in his gut. Confused, he glanced down.

Blood. So much blood. It soaked his white robe.

Plop. His intestines splattered over the ground.

William grinned. The bastard held a dagger—a dagger he’d slicked across Bjorn’s abdomen. Speaking for Bjorn’s ears alone, he said, “I wasn’t asking for permission, Sent One. I’m taking her, no matter how many must die in the process.”

The audience didn’t react in any way, shape or form. Did they not understand what had just happened? Had they somehow missed the stabbing?

Fox didn’t seem to notice, either, not until she placed a hand on Bjorn’s shoulder to gain his attention. At the second of contact, a switch must have flipped in her mind. She noticed the injury, and she screamed and threw herself at William.