Shaedes of Gray: A Shaede Assassin Novel

need? Be careful tomorrow. I’d hate for you to trip on your boulder-sized pride before you get the job done.”

The elevator whined its way to the ground floor, leaving me alone.

Way to go, I thought. You wanted things to cool down. Looks like you got your wish. He’d forget about his fascination soon enough. It wasn’t really me he wanted. More likely it was the idea of me. The exotic, preternatural creature. Tyler would find someone worthy of his adoration. The thought of his arms around another woman made me want to scream. I sat for a moment, absorbing the quiet and the hollow ache in my chest that only his absence caused. Fuck if I knew why, but the torture of having him near was almost better than the anguish of watching him leave.

Rather than continue to stew in my misery and obsess over emotions best left unrealized, I locked the envelopes—both the seventy-five percent and the remainder of my fee—in a safe tucked behind a false wall. Tyler wouldn’t dare cheat me. I trusted him with my life; the money was a no-brainer.

I unfolded the paper once again and reread the name and address scrawled on it.

Xander Peck, 1573 East Highland Drive

His name rolled off my tongue a couple of times. Not exactly a Tom or Josh or Steve. But I guess Darian wasn’t exactly a Becky, Suzie, or Jennifer either.

Poor bastard. I wondered who Xander Peck had pissed off to deserve a visit from me. Whatever he’d done, it must’ve been pretty bad. People paid through the nose for my services, and I wasn’t exactly listed in the yellow pages. You’d have to have connections, and not the normal kind, to hire a Shaede to mete out your punishments.

Chapter 2

The next night, a light rain misted the air and the snow from the previous day melted away in the gutters. The city teemed with activity, restless and anxious, just like me. I carried, tucked inconspicuously beneath my coat, a dagger and a short saber slung across my back. I never use guns—too impersonal.

I could have traveled unseen, but that night, I wanted the attention. It kind of revved up my engine, got me ready for the job. I wore my signature black—tight pants, low on my waist; long-sleeved black nylon turtleneck that clung to every curve of my body; black boots (of course); and, to top it off, a long black duster. I admit, the coat was a little over the top, but I love dramatics. Especially when I’m on a job.

I went without an umbrella, and my hair coiled in soppy curls that dripped over my shoulders. I walked with my chin high, shoulders back, and my stride long. And I made sure to direct my glowing gaze at anyone who dared to look.

A group of guys passed me. One of them ran right into a streetlamp, he was so busy staring. The man to his right seemed much more confident. “Hey, baby. Lookin’ for a little company?” he shouted, turning to watch me pass.

I stopped dead and turned to face him. He must have thought himself a real ladies’ man, because he went so far as to urge his friends on their way.

I flashed a wicked smile. A dumbstruck look crept onto his face. Weak. Easy. Not even a challenge.

“You must be this tall,” I said, leveling my hand well above his stocky height, “to ride this ride.” I blew him a kiss and kept walking.

The light drizzle became a downpour as I made my way toward East Highland Drive. I could no longer remember what things sounded or looked like through my human ears and eyes, but with my heightened senses, a simple rainstorm became a symphony of sensory overload. I heard every drop as it made contact with the ground, exploding from one into several, dissipating into the collective body of water that ran in a sheet along the concrete sidewalk. I felt sorry for humans sometimes. They missed out on a lot.

As I neared lucky Mr. Peck’s address, the city melted away and the neighborhood became more residential. Apartment buildings morphed into town houses, and retail spaces disappeared into grassy parks. The neighborhood looked richer than I’d expected. Usually the kind of people who ended up on the sharp end of my knife took up in a decidedly seedier atmosphere.

I found the place with little effort and took a seat, watching, on a bench across the street. Tyler’s visit the previous evening still had my head spinning. The set of his jaw, the way he’d thrown his shoulders back as he walked toward the lift . . . Maybe I’d put the final nail in the coffin of our almost relationship. A pang of regret shot through my chest at the thought, even though I knew it was for the best. Sure, it would have been fine in the beginning—all groping, greedy hands and hours of sex followed by sweet affirmations and professions of love. But that would only last so long. The moony-eyed-lover crap would turn to resentment, power struggles, and manipulation. He’d grow to hate me, and not just because of my less than gracious personality. Then something would happen. He’d want me to quit this line of work, or move away, or he’d expect me to go June Cleaver and marry him or some shit. And when none of that happened, he’d resent me. Or he’d use my affection against me like Azriel had. He’d use love to control me, keep me nice and subservient. And wouldn’t that just be the fairy-tale ending. No, I had to be strong. I couldn’t let Tyler worm his way into my heart. He was human and he’d age and eventually die. He needed to forget about me and find himself a pretty human woman to grow old and die with. And then I’d be truly alone. Wouldn’t I?

Rain pattered against the round toes of my thick-soled boots, and I watched the drops splatter like the tears I refused to shed. The town house loomed before me like a voyeur, its windows curious eyes that drew my attention away from the empty ache in my soul. The place looked pretty much like every other generic town house on the street, except for the fact that the curtains were open wide and every light in the place was on. Maybe he’s afraid of the dark, I thought as I felt for my dagger.

“Xander Peck,” I said, popping the “P” as I tried out his name again.

As if he’d heard me, the man in question strolled in front of the largest window on the second story. He was a tall one—muscular, late twenties, maybe, with flowing blond hair that brushed his shoulders.

From the looks of him, he wasn’t expecting company. Wearing nothing more than loose cotton pajama bottoms, he stretched for an inappropriately long time. Give me a break. I’m sure the show supplied more than a few suburban housewives with enough fantasy fodder to get them through a tedious night or two.

Damn it. Discretion might be a bit of a problem if telescopes all over the neighborhood were dialed in to that window. I’d been paid a pretty chunk of change for this job, and I wanted it neat and tidy.

Standing from my perch, I fluffed out the duster. Raindrops scattered from its black surface, sounding like wind chimes and steel drums. I wrung the water from my hair as well. Didn’t want to add insult to injury by dripping all over the poor guy’s floor.

I reached to my right thigh. The sheathed dagger waited to be put to good use. Stretching my neck from one side to the other, I looked up at the balcony to the side of Xander Peck’s picture window, and with as much concentration as it took to bat an eyelash, my body became one with the dark night air.

In the next second, I stood on the balcony. I didn’t need to break in; I simply glided through the glass. Shadows don’t worry about things like doors, windows, bars, gravity. I appeared in the next room—the bathroom, to be exact. I could hear Blondie moving around his bedroom, probably flexing and posing for his audience.

A faint smell lingered in the air, and at first I thought I’d imagined it. The aroma of warm spring flowers, stream water, grass, and pitch. That fragrance hadn’t touched my nostrils in at least a century. It threw me off my game a little, but I brushed it away like a buzzing mosquito and focused on the job.

His presence was harder to pinpoint than a human’s should be. Usually I can feel where they’re standing, as if I have a built-in thermal imager. But my senses felt askew and I couldn’t quite get a bead on him.

Oh, well, I told myself. You’ll just have to be quick.

I passed through the wall, feeling no hindrance from the solid structure, to where I thought he’d be standing. He’d moved beyond the large window, just as I’d predicted. Dagger poised and ready to strike, I took a steadying breath and prepared myself for the kill. Muscles rippled beneath flawless, creamy skin. His spine straightened. I couldn’t get my arm around him; he was too broad for my shorter reach. So I decided to sever his spine at the nape of his neck. It wasn’t my usual MO, but beggars can’t be choosers.

The smell that I’d tried to ignore hit me hard, choking me with its sweetness. I stabbed and then cut with the