Page 68 of An Assassin's Death
Derek Stallis, the higher power, the man responsible for this all, takes one last flickering look at me. It’s a longing look, as if he’ll never see me again. In one swift movement, he’s on his feet, brushing off his expensive clothing. Fear of him escaping trickles through me and on a last ditch effort I pull the blade from my thigh. In the next moment, I’m on my feet, and my fingers bite into the hilt before bringing it back and throwing it hard at the center of Derek’s chest. End over end the blade twirls through the air, aimed perfectly at its target. The protective wall around Derek slips over his skin, sinking into him before it vanishes him entirely. The blade falls to the grass without a drop of blood on it.
Just like that, he’s gone.
Mason quietly stalks toward us but I’m spinning and storming across the graveyard. The amount of energy within me starts to consume my breaths until I’m gasping, but still I run to Rory. My ankles give out with every step until I kick off the heels and run harder. When I’m just a few feet away, I leap, my chest colliding with Armond’s. We hit the ground hard and the powers pour out of me without thought or intent.
His gray eyes shine up at me while my fingers sink into his throat, but choking the life out of him isn’t enough. My palms heat as I steal back all of Rory’s precious life force. The sheer destruction of Rory’s power gives me a new respect for the man. While the energy isn’t dark like Armond’s, it’s not light either. It feels like a brewing storm, oversaturated and always ready to be unleashed. Next, my powers pull at Armond’s, tearing away every last drop of dark energy with every second that ticks by.
I hate it. I hate the feel of it, but this power is the only thing keeping him alive. He isn’t immortal, but he isn’t mortal either. A simple mortal death will not do for him.
My hands glow blue and the color creeps up my arms with every ounce of energy that pours into me. I’m full, but I keep pulling.
Those seconds turn to minutes and the minutes go on for what feels like an eternity as I wait for his breath to halt. The energy within my veins is roaring and drilling through my body. It hurts. It hurts to breathe, it hurts with every movement of my muscles, it hurts deep down in my soul.
I push past the agonizing pain of it and I force myself to finish what I started.
This can’t be for nothing.
It just can’t.
I pull harder at the last little shreds that’s holding my mentor’s life together and I feel it the moment it snaps. I feel it the moment his heart gives in and power fades out of him.
Because it’s consuming me.
The drilling feel of my heart is a stabbing pain, like the organ itself is trying to tear right from my chest to be free of the overwhelming power that’s ripping me apart.
My muscles give out and I slump to the ground. Water fills my vision and it starts to slip down my cheeks as I stare up at the shining white stars that dot the heavens.
I haven’t put much thought into those stars. Not since I was a lost little girl who slept outside more often than she ever had a roof over her head.
The fleeting pounding of my heart suddenly starts to dwindle down into a quiet, almost eerily silent sound.
My lashes flutter just as four blurred figures hover above me. A warm palm pushes against mine, squeezing tightly but I can’t squeeze it back. I don’t have the strength to.
The pain in my lungs settles into nothingness. It doesn’t hurt any more. Because I’ve stopped forcing the breaths to come.
My heavy lids finally close.
We came here for a final assassination. One final life would be lost.
I just didn’t realize it would be my own.
Thirty
Her Demands
Tylin
Watchingher destroy herself from the inside out wasn’t part of the fucking plan. That’s not how her story is supposed to end.
And I’m not about to let it.
When she’s gone, when her heartbeat against my fingertips is barely a caress within her veins, I slip inside that taunting mind of hers.
Rory’s gaze lingers on the way my hand’s wrapped around hers. The man’s pale and weak but upright. Mouse is kneeling at my side, his chest rising and falling rapidly as he waits in suffocating silence. Jameson leans over her other side, and I feel his current of power as he shoots jolts of electricity right through her heart. He’s so concentrated. He’s the most serious I’ve ever seen him in his entire life.
But he and I are working toward the same goal.
Only a percentage of living is the physical beating of our hearts. To live, you have to mentallywantto live.
