Page 2 of You Only Love Twice
Then she was gone, and Langley scurried to the edge of the alley, as if to make his move.
Obsidian stepped off the edge of the roof, gravity catching hold of him. He landed in the alley lightly, his knees bending to absorb the blow and the long edges of his great cloak flaring out around him like wings.
Langley spun around, relief flooding his expression when he saw whom it was. "Bloody hell, Obsidian. You nearly scared three years off my life."
"Apologies."
Obsidian straightened and strode toward him as Langley visibly relaxed. He barely knew the disciple. They were all merely cannon fodder, created for the Master's purposes from the ranks of Lord Balfour's former Falcons. Spies and assassins once, they served the same role now they were a little harder to kill, and far more bloodthirsty with the transition.
"Are you here to observe whether I pass my test or not?" Langley sneered a little. "The bitch might have eluded the other assassins sent to kill her, but I assure you I shall not fail."
That's right. This one thought highly of himself.
"No." Obsidian lunged forward, burying his blade right in the center of the otherdhampir'schest. Langley never even saw it coming. Clamping a hand over the otherdhampir'smouth to silence any sounds of the skirmish, he swung behind him, wrenching Langley's head up to reveal his vulnerable throat.
Langley struggled, his dark red-black blood gushing over Obsidian's gloves as he yanked his knife up until it met Langley's sternum. There were many things adhampircould survive. You needed to cut out their heart to be absolutely certain the evolved craving virus wouldn't re-animate them.
A choking sound vibrated in Langley's throat as his flailing hand landed on Obsidian's arm. Struck him again. Finally clutched at his sleeve, as if to beg for mercy.
"Sshh," Obsidian whispered, drawing the other man back into his embrace. "It will all be over soon."
He made certain of it.
Langley's hand fell from his sleeve, his weight suddenly slumping against Obsidian as his knife macerated the otherdhampir'sheart. The breath wheezed out of Langley's lungs.
"My apologies," he whispered in the youngerdhampir'sear as he lowered the body to the ground. "But Gemma Townsend is mine."
If anyone was going to kill her, it was going to be him.
* * *
The womanwho called herself Gemma Townsend had the feeling she was being followed.
A curious incident, for she herself was following someone.
And yet, the familiar prickle of being watched itched the back of her neck, and all her senses were on high alert.
A spy being spied upon. That was the sort of jest that would have made her dearest friend, Baroness Schröder, laugh.
Yet now she was out in the field, she couldn't afford to.
"Where are you?" she whispered to herself, slipping through the thinning crowd of people as she glanced over her shoulder.
The dreary afternoon fog settled over the buildings like a mantle, people tucking up their collars as they hurried home. Horses’ hooves clopped on the cobblestones, and a steam carriage veered past, hissing a lungful of smoke in her face as she stepped up onto the curb.
Dozens of people strode the streets, but as she surveyed them with a practiced eye she knew none of them had the vaguest interest in her. In her field of work, she could always spot a person's tells. It had become second nature over the years. Someone loitering—the way she was—or turning to survey a nearby window in sudden curiosity when their mark turned around. Usually a single person hovering just out of the line of sight, and weaving through the crowd, using them as cover.
Three men jostled past her on the sidewalk. Gemma tucked her basket of posies close to her skirts. She'd blackened a tooth, and her cheeks were stained with soot, her eyebrows thickened with the judicious use of powders. She'd hovered over a bowl of boiling water that morning so her sleek black hair dried into frizzy strands, and pinned it up haphazardly. Nobody glancing at her would take a second look; girls selling flowers were all through this section of Covent Garden.
The best way to be invisible was to play a common part in plain sight.
And yet, she was fairly certain someone had made her.
She scuttled on, trying to keep the Earl of Kylemore in view. At the corner of her eye, she thought she saw something, and glanced up as a flicker of movement vanished into the shadows on the nearest roof. Odd. Could have been a pigeon, she supposed, but—
There.
Right behind her.
