Amanda Bonilla - Shaedes of Gray - A Shaede Assassin Novel

A still silence fell on the warehouse, as if everyone waited for his response.

“Ty,” I said, low. “I wish you’d quit being so stubborn and leave. I’m doing this to keep you safe. I can handle myself. Don’t worry. I’ll be fine.”

A faint stirring in the air seemed to brush against every nerve ending on my body. Tyler shuddered as if he’d felt it too, and his jaw clenched so tight I thought I heard it pop. “All right,” he finally said, his voice strained. “I’ll go. But if you don’t show up in a couple of hours, I’m coming back here to get you.”

“Fair enough,” I said. “I’ll see you then. Now go.”

He cast a warning glare in Xander’s direction before he turned his back and walked to the door. I gave the king a look of my own, as if to say, You’re a dead man if you touch him , and waited until I heard the door close and his car pull away.

“Is he your lover?” the king asked.

I pondered that question. More every day, I wished he was, but I couldn’t have a relationship with him, no matter what had happened outside the warehouse earlier. Too many variables stood in our way. “Who I take to bed is none of your business.”

I could almost see the flames shooting out of the top of Anya’s head, but I didn’t care. Now that Tyler was safely off the premises, I could talk to Xander however I damn well pleased. “So, what should I call you?” I wondered aloud, pushing her a little further. “Your Highness, King Alexander, or”—I dropped my voice a few decibels—“can I call you Xander ?”

That did it. She tackled me before I could even crack a grin.

I knew she’d go for the bait. Anya’s reaction didn’t disappoint as she plowed into me and knocked me backward. I dissolved, and her face met the floor, sounding a lot like a melon dropped from a two-story balcony. Without giving her time to react, I reappeared, standing over her dazed and startled form.

I hadn’t been prepared to fight, and I was really pissed that I’d dressed up, because I couldn’t kick anything while I wore the tight white skirt. I braced my legs apart and the seams ripped, giving me movement above the knee. While I still had the upper hand, I brought my high-heeled foot up in the air and stomped down on Anya with lightning speed. She was fast and rolled to the side, but despite her best effort to evade me, my heel made contact with her leather-clad back before she vanished into mist.

Fool, Darian. You should’ve at least brought a dagger . Moreover, I longed for my saber, because even though I knew it wouldn’t kill her, I would have liked to have sliced through her midsection. She would have been laid up for a couple of days, and the mere thought made me smile.

Anya appeared behind me, and before I could turn to face her, she gave a sharp kick square to the middle of my back. I flung off the damn heels and spun like a top, swinging my fist and making contact with her jaw before she could evade the punch.

I hadn’t fought anyone so fast in a long time, and though I was certainly rusty, it came back to me in surprisingly quick degrees. A good, long exchange of jabs and kicks—on her part—followed. I could only imagine what we must have looked like—two shadows shifting and blowing in a nonexistent breeze, becoming solid only long enough to strike a blow.

Anya drew her dagger and I knew she was finally tired of dicking around. I was unarmed, and though it didn’t make for a fair fight, I would have done the exact same thing if I’d been in her position.

She took a couple of wild swings, missing me by miles. Retaliating, I turned into a wisp of nothingness, reappeared behind her, and swiped the back of my fist against her head. But I wasn’t used to fighting an equal, and she vanished and moved to the side of me before I could react. She swept the dagger in a downward motion and I heard it rip through my blouse, felt the blade slice into my skin. Blood issued from the wound and drew her attention from the fight.

Liquid fire burned from the cut, oozing down my side, and my anger blossomed into full-fledged rage. I used the opportunity to unleash the force of hate-fueled strength on her pretty face. My fist made contact and her nose popped as the cartilage broke. Blood spewed from her nostrils and splattered across my face and the once-pristine white blouse.

In an action too fast to see, I pulled back again, determined to break her jaw with the blow. As I moved to throw the punch, my progress stalled as a hand squeezed mine with such strength that my own seemed like a child’s in comparison.

Screaming, I allowed the fury to scald all the way up my throat. I wanted nothing more than to beat that high-and-mighty bitch to a pulp. I fought against the hold on me, and even though I shifted into my shadow form, the figure held me still.

A strong arm wrapped around my waist, and Xander’s velvet voice spoke in my ear. “You’ve made your point.”

“What in the hell is this about?” I screeched through clenched teeth.

I twisted and fought, but he tightened his grip until he had me sandwiched against his body. Heat poured from his skin. His scent swam in my head. Intoxicated by his nearness, my anger abated.

His grip tightened despite the fact that I’d quit struggling. Anya stood, wiping blood from her face, giving me a look that should have killed me without the aid of a magic blade. Her eyes darted to her king, and she went down on a knee.

Oh, how I wanted to kick her while she bowed. But in my pencil skirt it wouldn’t have been very effective, ripped seams or not. I’d have my chance, though, and the next time it would be her turn to taste my steel.

“Anya, you are the most loyal of all my subjects.” The sound of his voice, coupled with his warm breath in my ear, caused a shiver to trace down my spine. “But now you should tend to your wounds and leave me with our guest.”

“But, my liege,” Anya said, her head snapping to attention.

I rolled my eyes. Ugh .

“No,” Xander commanded.

Anya bobbed her head, looking a little like a goose. I made sure to give her a superior glower before she vanished into shadow.

“If I let you go, will you behave?” he asked when we were alone.

I relaxed completely, and by slow degrees, his grip loosened. When at last he pulled away, he let his fingers linger against me, pulling back from my stomach, around my waist, to my back. I didn’t appreciate these games, and rather than turn to meet his eyes, I dissolved and reappeared to face him.

He’d done a little vanishing act of his own and was seated in his throne by the time I became my solid self.

“Why am I here?” I asked, my voice echoing in the empty building.

“I need your services,” he said simply, as if he were commenting on the weather.

That was laughable. He looked like he had plenty of help from his red-leather girlfriend.

“I don’t know what you have in mind,” I said, deciding that puckish was the attitude I was going for, “but some of my services aren’t for sale.”

He erupted into a round of robust laughter that only sparked my ire. “Although I’m sure it would be worth every penny,” he crooned, “that is not the service I’m after. You have been called to serve your king. In fact, you’ve been paid in advance, if I’m not mistaken,” he continued in a much more formal tone. “And you must obey.”

Obey. Another word that didn’t exist in my vocabulary. “You’re not my king,” I reminded him.

His eyes took on that thoughtful look again, as if he were contemplating the fate of the world. “You are very ignorant, Darian.”

I raised my chin a notch.

He ignored my show of indignation and continued. “Your maker failed you, left you alone and believing there were no others in this world but you. You know nothing of your people, your true nature and skills. You are lost.”