Heart of the Assassins (Academy of Assassins #2)
Stacey Brutger
Chapter One
Two months later…
Morgan raced through the trees, her heart thumping wildly against her ribs as she pushed herself into a breakneck pace. She ignored the painful stitch in her side, the way her mouth tasted of blood—she couldn’t afford any weaknesses. The hunters were only a few yards behind her and gaining.
She tightened her grip on the gun, the metal bitingly cold against her fingers. Snow crunched under her boots, the crisp, frigid air burning her lungs with every breath. She had only seconds to escape before they located her.
The silence made the forest feel abandoned, like nothing else in the world existed.
But it was a lie.
They were out there.
Hunting her.
And she was running on empty after eluding them for hours.
A twig snapped to her right, and Morgan whirled to see a large shadow lunge out of the trees.
Wolf.
She flung herself backwards, brought up her gun and fired three shots in rapid succession.
Then she registered who she’d just shot.
Ryder!
Three splashes of bright pink paint dotted his chest, no doubt Draven’s idea of a joke, since he was the one who loaded the paint gun that morning.
The majestic wolf melted down, the sandy brown fur with white undertones faded, the body stretched. There was a bright flash of light, the intense heat radiating from him, threatening to singe her skin, then there was only Ryder facing her.
The change happened in a matter of seconds.
If she blinked, she would’ve missed it.
He reached for her as she fell backwards, wrapped her up in his arms, twisting midair, so when they landed, he was on the bottom. They smacked the ground hard, the snow doing little to protect them, and she groaned at the painful collision. Even with the breath knocked out of her, she didn’t hesitate, immediately lurching backwards, bringing up her gun and firing point blank at his chest.
Ryder grunted, a grimace twisting his face at being shot in such close quarters.
It had to smart.
His wild, fresh green scent tasted of freedom and temptation, inviting her to forget their training session.
Then she became aware of his chest—as in a bare chest packed with mouth-watering muscles, oh so temptingly close.
She blinked, suddenly uncomfortably warm when she realized he was stark naked…and she was straddling him, her lower body the only thing protecting his dignity and her sudden curiosity.
The training mission was forgotten, scrubbed from her mind as she studied the shiny, obsidian metal webbing on Ryder’s chest. A striking contrast to the snow beneath him, the tattoo ran up his chest and along his shoulder, where an inch-long spider sat etched just beneath his skin, an exact replica of the dainty markings on the inside of her left hand. The only difference was hers included the tiny pawprint as well.
Their mating marks.
This close, Ryder’s pleasure at her attention vibrated through their connection, making her whole body tingle in reaction. Though usually painfully shy, he remained absolutely still under her perusal, as if fascinated by her reaction to him.
His craving for something as simple as a brush of her fingers made her heart ache. Goosebumps spread across his shoulders and down his arms, not from the cold, but in anticipation of her touch.
Being this close to him, feeling his emotions while struggling with her own, short-circuited her brain, and her resistance melted, making her forget the last few weeks of frustration in dealing with the men. She hadn’t wanted to use her mating marks to get close to the guys—she wanted them to be friends because they liked her, not because the markings made them crave being near each other.
Now, straddling Ryder, she couldn’t remember why resisting the pull was so important, not when being this close to him felt so right. Even sprawled out beneath her, every inch of him packed with muscles, he was huge, making her five feet, seven inches seem dainty. Heat radiated from him, luring her closer, offering protection from the bitterly cold winter air.
She felt safe with him, and not only because of his strength. She knew, no matter what, he would never let her down, the point driven home when he almost died for her.
Even now a pale, paper-thin line remained where he’d been gutted, drawing her attention back to the body below hers, reminding her how easily he could be taken from her, and she wrestled against the need to lay her hands on him, confirm that he was all right, that his heart still beat, that his skin was still warm.
The reassuring rise and fall of his chest was mesmerizing, the blob of bright pink inviting her to use her fingers to trace the paint along each dip and shallow.
The splash of girly color didn’t detract from his beauty—it only made him appear more rugged and comfortable in his skin.
And sexy as fuck.
A light dusting of hair covered his chest and down his packed abs, but she resisted touching him when she noticed the blush darkening his cheeks. He looked gorgeous backdropped against the snow, his sandy brown hair shaggy, reaching well past his shoulders, and her fingers twitched to run through the strands the way she would when he was in wolf form. He seemed bigger, stronger than she remembered.
Yummy.
To her surprise, he didn’t pull away from her and cover up the way he did when they first met. In fact, ever since she claimed him, he’d changed, no longer shying away from her when she came too close, no longer ducking his head to avoid her gaze. He always paid attention to her, but since the mating mark, he behaved as though she was his whole world.
While his interest was flattering, it was also unnerving. She wanted to be liked for herself, not because of an arbitrary bonding—she didn’t trust it. In the past few weeks, the men had changed, and the camaraderie between her and the team had become strained.
She wanted her men back, the ones who fought beside her during battle, her friends—not the men who now ruthlessly kept their distance and only thought about her stupid training schedule.
It hurt.
It hurt more than she could say to finally have found friends and a family, only to have them pull away from her.
All because of her stupid bloodlines.
Anger roared through her, the gun in her grip groaned, and she forced herself to relax her hold before she accidently crushed it into a ball of useless metal.
She should never have told them her secrets.
Her lustful thoughts cooled, and she raised a brow, ignoring the way the snow melted under them and soaked her pants legs, leaving her skin as clammy and cold as she felt inside. “Did I pass?”
“Yes.” The smile he gave her caused her to hesitate, encouraged her to believe her men were still there, waiting for her, and she simply needed to find a way to cut through their bullshit to reach them.
Morgan leaned forward, brushing her lips across his cheek, then sprang to her feet, fighting against the urge to linger.
“Go.” His whisky brown eyes glowed as he studied her, a combination of wolf and human. For a moment, she thought he would pull her back down to him—hoped for a sign that he wanted more than a simple kiss—but he waved her off. “You didn’t tag all of us yet. If you don’t hurry, they’ll catch you, and you’ll be assigned more training.”
Stupid training.
Morgan barely resisted the urge to kick him while he was down. Instead, she whirled, taking off into the woods. It would be dark soon. She had maybe twenty more minutes to elude capture and tag the rest of them before they called a stop to the hunt.
No way in hell was she going to waste any more of her free time training.
Kincade’s regimen was as rigid and unbending as the man himself. The only time she had any peace from them was on these hunts. It had been close to two months since they discovered the truth of her past. Ever since, the guys had refrained from being alone with her.