The man that had appeared was small, crouched over, clutching his stomach.
“Your majesty. You have to help me.” His voice was strained. “They will be following me.”
“What are you talking about?” The man in the long coat straightened up from the desk quickly, pulling two daggers out, one in each hand. “You mean, you failed the mission, and you have led them here?”
Rhone held up his hand, and the man backed away, but his daggers sparkled in the light of the office lamp.
“Fyland, you have failed me.”
As I watched, heart pounding, my breath coming in rapid gasps I tried to quell, mouth still open, Rhone slid the sword from his scabbard. The metal of the sword was dark, but glowed green. It seemed to hiss as it left the sheath. The jewels along its hilt sparkled down the blade a few inches. I hadn’t seen many swords in my life, but there was clearly something unique about this one. Its blade curved up, slightly scimitar-like, but seemed much longer than the scabbard had shown it would be.
Rhone held the blade out in the air in front of him, twisting it around, seeming to admire the sheen and green glow.
“Do you have anything to say for yourself?” Rhone asked.
“I beg you for forgiveness, m’Lord. I will take any demotion you state. I will do any job you deem necessary as I gain back your trust.” The man doubled over, clutching his stomach. I couldn’t see well enough, but it seemed like he was dripping something onto the floor. Is that blood? Did someone just teleport into my boss’s office and is now dripping blood onto the floor?
I rubbed my eyes and leaned forward a little more. This couldn’t be happening.
“Who is following you?”
“Please, m’Lord.” Fyland dropped to one knee. His head sank to his chest, and I thought he might have passed out, but then he moaned. “I will tell you everything. Just, please, heal me first.”
“I’ll take away all your pain.” Rhone held the sword with both hands. His eyes were sunken black in the lamp’s dim glow. He brought the sword down swiftly, slicing through Fyland’s neck, severing his head from his body. Fyland collapsed to the ground, blood gurgling from his severed throat artery and gushing onto Rhone’s office carpet.
I gripped the file cabinet as hard as I could. The world blurred in front of me. I dropped to my hands and knees. I vaguely heard Rhone giving the other man commands, and I saw them moving about, but I slid closer to the ground, crawled under the office’s desk, kept my hand clasped to my mouth to prevent myself from crying out and choked back the tears of panic that were pricking my throat.
What the Hell just happened? What do I do? What do I do?
Get out. Get out and run.
I looked over at the other office and took a deep breath. I steadied myself as I stood. I pulled open the door with shaking fingers, then crept, low to the floor, toward the elevators. I would need to walk by Rhone’s office…My head was faint, my stomach roiling. I was careful to stick to the shadowed side of the hallway.
I tiptoed past them, hardly daring to look at them, hardly daring to look away. Then I dashed for the elevator and pressed the button.
It dinged immediately.
Idiot!
I spun around. Rhone and the other man were staring at me. I hid my face, pressed the elevator button for 30 floors above them, then flung open the door to the stairs and raced down.
Yelling rang out behind me as the stair door closed, but I was fleeing down the eight flights, three steps at a time, gripping hard to the railing when I needed it, then racing out of the stairwell through the lobby.
They heard me. They saw me. I was dressed in pajamas and my hair was in a messy bun. There was no way Rhone would recognize me…But…there was no way I could keep this job, now.
I breathed in deeply, fighting away tears: I could never work for a murderer.
I turned the corner beside the check-in desk, looking back behind me toward the stairs as yelling grew closer. Still running, I slammed into another person and swung my head around to look at who had stopped my escape and was now holding tight to my arms. My head was boiling over with panic and my heart was beating furiously. I struggled to get loose from him.
“Let me go!”
I tried to jerk away from his grip, but he didn’t even move with my struggle. His strength was astounding. Was he a friend of Rhone’s? Or was he someone who would help me?
“Calm yourself, woman,” he growled.
I swooned at the sound of his voice, deep, guttural, resounding with power, as though he was accustomed to being obeyed.
Part of me wanted to rebel and I pushed off his firm chest and tried to slip away. Another part of me wanted to obey and I paused in my frantic beating against his body…
Who was he?
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