Shaedes of Gray: A Shaede Assassin Novel

had killed him and how never crossed my mind. He’d told me to lie low, and I did. I had no intention of sharing his fate, and by his own words, I knew that I’d be forgotten soon.

He’d stayed with me for twenty-five years before he disappeared. Eternity, my ass. What an eternal fool I was.

Industrious, I wasn’t, but I learned fast. Employment opportunities weren’t great for women in the 1930s, and I wasn’t about to become anyone’s maid. Azriel had connections; he’d been hiring himself out, taking money to kill. I’d been his apprentice of sorts, and thank God I’d paid attention. When the first letter arrived, I’d known what it was. Azriel used to receive a letter from a courier each time he took a job to kill. It outlined the mark’s—or intended target’s—name, address, and pertinent information. Sometimes the letters even came with a down payment.

I crumpled the paper, and as its sharp edges dug into my palm, I knew what I had to do. As soon as I made up my mind, it was easy. My first hit was successful. Clean. And I’d found my first contact. I bounced around after that, a freelance assassin, hired by word of mouth. For many years, I attributed my success to gender. My benefactors seemed to get a kick out of hiring a “lady” to do their dirty work. But I kept my standards high, refusing to take any job that involved an innocent. The men who paid me eventually met their ends. Once or twice at my hand. I’d worked for a Russian mob boss for years, and just like the others, his luck had run out. That’s when I met Tyler.

I’d heard about him. His name had been whispered in certain circles with a mixture of respect and fear. And, boy, when I met him, had I been surprised. He didn’t look the part—that was for sure. Cute—beyond cute—with a quick smile and a charm that blew the competition out of the water. I knew that I wanted to work with him the moment I laid eyes on him. I felt safe with Tyler, and I hadn’t felt safe in a good many years. Not since Azriel had taken me from Henry’s home . . .

And now eighty or so years since Azriel had left me alone, I was brought out of the dark by my own kind, hired for the skills I’d honed over decades, and dropped headfirst into the deep end of the supernatural pool. Sink or swim, baby. Isn’t it funny how life can give you a good kick to the gut every once in a while?

But hired I was, and paid a mint for my services. I never backed down from a challenge, never left a job unfinished. And I wasn’t about to start now.

Chapter 7

Not for a very long time, not since my human life, had I felt so lost. It pissed me off to no end.

I took a detour to the warehouse by way of Pike Place Market. I marveled at the people crowding the booths and breezeways, inquiring after the freshness of the fish or inspecting bouquets of dried and arranged flowers, all the while oblivious to one another in a way that comforted me. In a city the size of Seattle, people are packed together, inches from contact, all day. They pay as much attention to the human beside them as they do the speck of dust floating by on the breeze.

I am that speck of dust.

No one paid enough attention to see that quality in me that was other.

Except Tyler.

He knew me the moment he laid eyes on me. With a shrewdness that belied his usually casual nature, he studied me. And as if he could see every molecule that constructed me, he spotted the otherness and did not cower from it. His recognition of me never caused disquiet. Instead, I gleaned a certain comfort from the fact that I did not have to hide my eyes when they glowed against the backdrop of darkness, or pretend I was not fast and cunning and deadly. Ty was much more perceptive than I gave him credit for. It was only his human nature that prompted me to suggest he didn’t always catch on.

I stood at the warehouse entrance, a moment of indecision making me pause. Should I knock? Walk right in? Shout Anybody home? I took a deep breath and held the air in my lungs. I hadn’t been unsure for a very long time; it was a sharp thorn in my side.

Azriel had taught me to be arrogant, and, whether he ever realized it or not, to survive. “We are deadly creatures by our very nature,” he’d say. “Why not put those skills to good use?” I couldn’t disagree with him, not really. What else was there for creatures like us? An eight-hour shift at the local Wal-Mart? I don’t think so. I am a killer and I answer to no one. I am my own woman, my own kingdom, and I am afraid of nothing. Letting the air out of my lungs in a rush of breath, I pushed open the door and strode in, a warrior.

Xander’s throne had been removed. One row of lights illuminated a single trail in the dark, open space. My boots echoed eerily on the concrete floor as I passed through the threshold. The hairs on my neck prickled as I recognized another’s presence somewhere nearby. Could it be Anya, or even Xander himself, who lurked in the darkness, watching me with invisible eyes?

I threw off my long coat and it drifted to the floor, allowing access to the saber I’d hidden beneath it. My steps were guarded. One foot crossing the other, I let my heightened senses guide me toward the disturbance I sensed in the air. Reaching behind me, I wrapped my right hand around the hilt of my saber, ready to rip it from the scabbard at a moment’s notice. Tension thickened the atmosphere as it became fragrant with the sweet scent of my own kind. I should have noticed the smell long before I’d come in. Hell, I should have learned my lesson the first time I’d been brought here. Arrogance, again, superseded good sense. But it had been so long since I’d had to rely on such things that I was definitely out of practice. The air behind me became dense, and in a movement as fluid as a passing stream, I turned. I slid the blade free and faced my assailant, but froze before cutting down on the body that materialized before me.

The Shaede met my height almost exactly and had a lean and wiry build rippled with muscles. He looked lethal, and that was a huge thing for me to admit. His clear blue eyes glowed in the faint light. Hair the color of spun gold was pulled back at the nape of his neck and tied with a length of leather cord. Dressed in an antiquated getup, he looked like a cross between Legolas and Robin Hood—and was just young enough to pull it off.

A cold smile that would have surely frozen flames midflicker danced across his hardened face, showing a glimpse of the killer in him. Absent was any spark of humor, and in its place, only cruel calculation and intelligence. He was a frightening creature, and I instantly liked him.

“You’re fast,” he remarked. “But your stealth isn’t much to brag about.”

“I was asked to be here,” I said, minding my p’s and q’s. “I didn’t expect to be walking into a trap.”

I relaxed my stance, slid the saber into the scabbard. A huge mistake. Before I could say Screw me sideways, I was flat on my back, staring at the laces of the Shaede’s boot. They were brown, by the way.

“You should assume that every room you enter, whether invited or not, could be a potential trap.” He pressed his boot tighter on my throat. “And never let yourself be seen.”

“Point . . . taken,” I said through rasps of breath.

With a reluctance that made me rethink coming here at all, he lifted his foot from my neck. He held his hand out. The smile faded, and from the look on his face, he’d just as soon eat a dog-shit sandwich than help me up. So, in an effort to rack up some brownie points, I declined the offer, and pushed myself up off the floor.

One corner of his lip twitched. A good sign.

“I’m Raif,” he said.

“Darian.” I used a tone to match his in its coolness. I decided he would respect aloofness more than he would a chummy greeting. I was right.

“So, you’re what all the fuss is about?” The question didn’t ring with Anya’s condescension. Rather, humor, or at the very least, amusement. I really wanted to know what he meant by his comment, but I wasn’t so stupid as to actually ask. “I’m told you are an assassin and your targets have only been humans. Is that right?”

Hmm. That got my attention. Apparently, my skills weren’t going to be used to take out Joe Schmoe down the street. A challenge. Exciting.

“That’s right,” I said, wanting to finish with So what? But since I wasn’t interested in tasting the sole of Raif’s boot, I swallowed those two tiny words.

The cold smile crept back onto his lips. “This’ll be fun.” His blue eyes glowed bright for a fleeting moment.