Page 12 of Slayer

“I’m good,” she says softly. “I’m happy to be home.” She looks around the docks, eyes full of wonder. She is only fourteen, but tonight she looks younger, more vulnerable.

“Good,” I say, brushing a loose curl from her face. “Can you do me a favor?” Her emerald eyes catch the stars and reflect them back at me, so bright they make me forget the shadows for a moment.

“What is it?” she asks.

“I need you to stay on the ship tonight, alright? No wandering off. Just for tonight.” I keep my voice calm and steady, careful not to raise alarm. Mira has a tendency to go on little side quests. She can handle her own, but there could be slayers lurking all around the island waiting for just one slipup. They are especially deadly at night, when no one can see. She’s young, but she’s no fool and no stranger to danger—certainly not when her father actually lets her fight.

Between Bleu, Smith, the crew, and me, she’s been trained well. Sirena taught her so much, too; she wasn’t going to let her only daughter in this world be weak. She’s becoming a weapon in her own right. Even in a nightgown, I spot the faint outline of a blade strapped to her thigh, discreet but ready if she needs it.

“That’s fine, but why?” I watch her eyes look over my shoulder at the shore.

“Oh, dear girl…” a voice calls from the shadows. “Because Neressa knows who’s coming for her.”

The blood drains from my face. I spin around, immediately placing my body between Mira and the shadow. I lock my stance, shielding her.

“Back to the ship. Now,” I say through gritted teeth. She doesn’t argue or hesitate. I track the sound of her footsteps as they cross the dock, retreating to the safety of the magic-bound vessel.

Then he steps out of the shadows. Onto the narrow dock, right above the small stretch of land before the sea. It’s low tide and right now I’m thankful for that. He knows that he could best me and knock me over the edge, that once the ocean swallows me up, I will never be seen again. My biggest fear.

But my body, my stance, and my voice remain calm. “Silas,” I say. “I received your message. Sloppy”—I shrug—“but effective.” The insult hits its mark. Our work is meant to be clean, surgical, never leaving a trace of who made the mess.

“But if you ever come near him again, either of them, I’ll burn your precious academy to the fucking ground with you inside. Is that understood?” My tone is glacial. He steps closer, still keeping a few feet between us. The air thickens. The wide-open night suddenly feels too small.

“Darling,” he drawls. “You’ve failed at the most important rule. You care. To love is to be weak. Haven’t you learned that by now?”

That fucking word. Darling. It makes my fingers twitch with the urge to sink my nails into his throat and rip it out. His words sting, but I expected them to.

“It seems,” I say coolly, “you didn’t fully break me.”

“There’s still time for that,” he bites back. His eyes gleam cold and cruel under the moonlight, like shards of stained blue glass.

“A threat?” I tilt my head, knowing damn well he’d never get me back under that cursed roof.

I look around, trying to spot any slayers that may have followed him. I know how things work. There are slayers specifically trained to follow their leader when he leaves. They know when to intervene. I see no movement in the trees or on the beach. I see nothing and hear only the waves crash against the shore. However, I know I wouldn’t be able to detect them even if they were there.

“Take it however you’d like…” He pauses, brushing an invisible speck of lint from his shirt with theatrical care. “But your work has been… What’s the word?” He looks up, his smirk sharp as glass. “Sloppy.” He throws it right back in my face. “Have you opened your blood mark, darling?” Each word laced with venom.

“No.”

“Interesting,” he muses. “You used to claw those parchments open with those talon nails of yours the moment they touched your palm. What’s changed? Afraid of what you’ll find?” He smiles, but it doesn’t seem to reach his eyes.

My gaze narrows. “I still take jobs. Just ones I choose. And this, love”—I let the word rot between us—“isn’t one I asked for.”

“Oh, but I think you’ll want this one.” His voice is low. “It came from the king himself. For you. Only you—those were his exact words.” I don’t blink or breathe. I just hold his stare.

“And did he tell you that face to face?” I ask, my voice dangerously calm. “On Magda? Without me knowing the king set foot on my island?”

A small smile creeps across his face. He savors this banter, the push and pull. “That isn’t for you to worry your pretty little head over,” he purrs. “The job is yours. Personally, I’d take it.” His hand touches his chest in a small gesture.

“Do you know who it is?” My voice is steel.

“I do.” He dares to step closer, his wicked grin stretching across his evil face. “But if you’re too afraid, hand it to me. I’ll handle it myself.” The threat isn’t even veiled; it is clear in every word, every sick note of anticipation in his tone.

Whoever it is will suffer. That much I know. But the fact that this blood mark found its way to me—through Silas, from the king—means they know how to reach me. What else do they know? A chill slides down my spine.

“Go on then, darling,” he says. “You’re not fooling anyone. I can see it in your fingers and those stormy eyes… You’re itching to open it.” He’s right. Gods, he’s right. I love a job, especially ones that aren’t easy, I love the thrill. The bloodlust. However, if it’s someone I care about inked on the blood mark, and I’m bound by dark magic to complete the job, then it will cost me all of my humanity to complete it. Which I fear there isn’t too much left in me.

The rush is there. The need to know. I love the chase. I live for the hunt. But I don’t kill blindly anymore. I don’t kill for coin or for power, I kill for purpose and purpose alone. If I’m going to take this job, I need a reason.