Her Assassin's Heart - Book 2

Chapter 40

*Just a heads up, I'm not sure how I like this chapter or certain elements of it, anyway, so I might be changing a few things in the future. It's unedited, so that probably explains some of its problems 😜. Anyway, let me know what you think!*

It must have been nearly noon when Nickolas reined up. Cassandra had discovered a few moments before that she was starving and tired.

When she took in their surroundings, she realized they were on a low hill overlooking a little village. It was tucked away in the middle of nowhere—she couldn't see any other signs of life in any other direction—on the edge of a great loch. Nondescript and shabby as if was, she thought it was the most beautiful thing she'd seen.

Nickolas dismounted stiffly, and she wondered what sort of injuries he'd sustained during the past days. He reached up to help her down, and she felt suddenly quite exposed. It was one thing for him to see her dressed like this in the dim light of Fulsmith's dining room but quite another in the full light of day.

Seeing no other alternative—she could hardly scorn his offer—she slid into his arms, averting her gaze shyly from his. His hands were cold on her waist—almost like they were touching her bare skin. She gasped and felt a trail of goose bumps travel up her legs.

Nickolas's arms lingered around her for a moment, and she finally looked up at him. A burning blush crawled up her cheeks for no apparent reason, and she wondered if he noticed. He gave no sign, only too her hand and led her toward a little house that was slightly isolated from the rest of the village.

"Do you own it?" She found herself saying, more as a way of filling the silence than actual curiosity.

"If it makes you more comfortable." And he shot her an almost mischievous grin.

He unlocked the door and threw it open. Looking at her, he gave a mock bow with far too many flourishes. She noticed him wince as he bent but didn't know how to mention it without making him feel uncomfortable, so she simply stepped across the threshold.

It was a small bungalow that no one had taken the time to decorate, evidently. It smelled musty and old as if no one had been there in some time. To her left, there was a small kitchen with a table and a couple chairs. There was a bookshelf and a dresser directly in front of her, and to her right, light airy curtains danced slightly in the breeze from the open door.

"I know it's not much, but it'll be dry and safe for now." Nickolas said behind her. He moved past her and pushed the curtain back to reveal a bed. "There's a bathtub on the other side."

His voice was slightly hoarse, and she thought he sounded tired. His shoulders weren't as straight as usual, and there was a slight hitch to his walk. Still, he was obviously trying his best to make sure she was comfortable and happy.

"I'm going to go get some firewood. It gets pretty cold out here at night. Make yourself comfortable." He smiled at her.

She nodded, and he walked out the door, shutting it gently behind him. Alone in the house, she inspected it a second time. There was a small mirror on the wall beside the bed, and she looked into it.

There was a smear of blood on her cheek, and she looked at her hands. Dried blood was encrusted around her fingernails, and in a flash, she felt the warm blood trickling over her fingers. Gasping, she turned her hands over.

She'd killed someone. Now that she was alone, she let it sink in. Someone was dead because of her. She had to clean her hands, had to get rid of the blood that was a brand of her guilt.

She moved toward the kitchen, tripping over her own feet in her haste. Crawling the rest of the way, she jerked open one of the drawers, hysteric sobs rising in her throat. She had to get clean!