Her Assassin's Heart - Book 2

Chapter 47

    The streets were cold and bare. Every passer by was a blur. Pain thrummed through him. He'd almost turned back the moment the door to his room had clicked shut. Every step he took tore him apart, but he forced himself to move, convincing himself it was for her sake.

    Her appearance had been the one thing he'd hoped for and dreaded at the same time. He'd wanted to see her one last time, but he couldn't face those empty eyes, red and swollen from crying. It was all his fault. She'd been right.

    Opening the door to see her standing there had been like a dream. Beneath the ragged layers of his disguise, his heart had quickened, and it had taken all his self-control not to close the distance between them and take her in his arms. Of course she'd recognized him. What had he expected? She could always see the real him, no matter what mask he wore.

    Talking to her had been torture. Nickolas slid into an alleyway and shut his eyes, leaning his forehead against the wall. He was a bastard, a low-born, no good bastard to hurt her like that. He should never have told her he loved her. He should have kept his distance, but he'd been drawn to her from the start.

    For the first time in his life, he'd seen a future for himself beyond all the killing and fighting. He hadn't cared what happened to him as long as she was beside him. Somehow, she'd made him feel strong and weak all at once. He'd seen the appeal of a quiet life for the first time, and in her wild spirit, he'd recognized the desire to run, to see everything, that mirrored his own.

    It had been his mistake to bring it back to her door, though. Now, her father was dead because of him. She'd shut him out completely that day—and with good reason. For some bizarre reason, he'd thought that would make it easier. How mistaken he'd been!

    Drawing a deep breath, he shoved down his feelings. They left a bitter, metallic taste in his mouth. He'd gotten so lazy lately. Once, pushing away his own desires had been so easy, but then again, he'd never wanted something so much.

    Turning back to face the street, he caught sight of a well-dressed businessman strolling leisurely into the alley across from him. Something in his hardened instincts rebelled at the sight, and he frowned, pressing into the shadows. The village was far too small to draw attention from such men. Unless. . .

    His mouth went dry, and stark fear snaked through him. Dropping his bag, he tore out of the alleyway. Ignoring the people in the street looking his way, he raced back to the pub, each footstep matching the pounding drum that was his heartbeat.

    He didn't care where the rest of them were. The only thing on his mind was the fact that they'd obviously been watching him which could only mean they knew what room he'd been in, and they would go there. They would find Cassandra. She was alone.

    He took the stairs four at a time, hoping he wasn't too late. Shoving caution to the wind, he threw himself into the room. Searing pain scorched the side of his skull, and he realized too late the trap he'd run into as the bullet thwacked into the wood of the doorframe, almost ending his existence.

    Cassandra screamed his name, surprise and terror dancing across her features as another bullet caught him in the meaty flesh right below his collarbone. Before he could move, a second bullet struck him in the stomach, and he fell to his knees.

    Like puzzle, he put all the pieces together. Cassandra hadn't been fighting them. She'd been letting them take her, he realized. She'd given up.

    Roaring, Nickolas tried get up, to get to her. He had to fight for her. He had to—a third bullet buried itself into his chest, and he pitched backwards, gasping in pain. Cassandra screamed again, thrashing wildly in her captor's hands.