Heart of the Assassins (Academy of Assassins #2)

“You think them feeding the thing is keeping it at bay?”

He picked up a sack at his side, sliding it on his back, and she realized he had the same idea as they had…he was leaving. “Doubtful. More like it’s learning and studying the castle and inhabitants.”

Morgan stared at the distant pole, unable to repress a shiver. “They will run out of people sooner rather than later.”

“Doubtful.” Ward raised an eyebrow at her surprise. “The castle is full.”

Her stomach knotted, bile rising in the back of her throat at the thought of seeing MacGregor or the others being dragged out like a virgin sacrifice. She took a step toward the trap door when Ward spoke again.

“Unless you plan to kill the elves, it is much too late to help them.” He seemed curious about her behavior, and she glared at him.

“You were going to leave without a word of warning.” She whirled to face him. “We could fight. With your help—”

“I wasn’t leaving yet.” He jumped up on the edge, then glanced at her over his shoulder and held out his hand. “I was waiting for you.”

Morgan blinked at him stupidly. “What?”

“Morgan, come here.” Kincade’s voice was hard, his words a direct order he expected her to obey.

For the first time, Ward glanced at the other men. “If she goes back inside, you will lose her.”

Then, without another word, he jumped over the edge of the parapet. Morgan ran toward the edge and peered over the side. Ward looked up at her and raised a brow, clearly asking if she was coming.

“Who is he?” Kincade grabbed her arm, whirling her around to face him.

“I really have no idea.” She glanced at Atlas. “You were right about the void.”

It took him seconds to put two and two together. “You pulled him from the void.”

Funny, he seemed excited at the prospect before when he mentioned the possibility, but now his voice was frosty with censure.

“Not exactly. More like he grabbed onto me and wouldn’t leave.”

“Beautiful.” Ascher pulled her from Kincade’s grip. “There are many dangerous things in the void. It has been used as a prison for only the worst criminals.”

“People have simply become lost, too,” she protested. While Ward was dangerous, she refused to believe he would try to save her from the guards only to kill her himself. He was a warden, a protector, just like them.

“Not him.” Draven stood staring over the wall at Ward, watching him walk toward the tree line, every inch of him poised and ready for battle. “He’s an ancient.”

Something about that word tugged at the back of her mind.

The guys clearly distrusted him.

They were going to let him walk away, and Morgan couldn’t allow that. He had answers about her magic and her family. He might be one of the few remaining people alive who could answer her questions. She couldn’t let him disappear.

The necklace tightened and twisted, and she lifted it to see a single shoe with wings, similar to what the Greek god Hermes wore, and her resolve firmed.

“He’s also the only one I’ve ever met who can show me how to work the magic from the void.” Morgan jumped onto the wall, and the guys leapt at her as she calmly took a step over the ledge.

As she fell forty feet to the ground, she heard the men cursing. She landed lightly in a crouch, her body bred and conditioned to withstand the strain of the drop without breaking any bones. It wasn’t long before the others joined her, Ryder first, launching over the wall seconds behind her. None of them looked happy. “Morgan—”

“No.” She turned away from Ascher’s let’s-be-reasonable tone. “He can help us.”

“Can and will are two different things.” Kincade was at her side in an instant. “There is a price for asking for help from one of his kind.”

“His kind?” She peered up at him as they jogged into the edges of the trees. “You know he’s a berserker?”

Kincade flinched as if she’d shot him. “What?”

“I saw him fight. I couldn’t figure it out until I spoke with MacGregor and remembered the books he had in the study.” Morgan saw Ward was waiting for them just inside the trees. When he spotted them following, he turned and set off at a steady pace into the shrouded forest. The mist still lurked in the shadows, but seemed content with its meal and simply observed.

For now.

Morgan froze when she found the body that had been dragged into the woods. For some reason, she hadn’t expected to find him dead. Morbid curiosity lured her closer. The body was aged, resembling nothing more than a dried-out mummy. The only reason she could identify the corpse was because the clothes remained intact. His lips were pulled back in a silent scream, his teeth clenched in a macabre smile. His skin was brown, leathery almost, but shiny…like it was still juicy.

“Why did it kill him? I thought it was only interested in harvesting magic.”

Ward gave the body a cursory glance. “It didn’t kill him.”

She gave him a dubious stare, and he almost smiled.

“The poor sap used magic to keep himself young. When the fog took his magic, he aged rapidly.” He nudged the corpse, and the body shuddered as if still alive, part of its foot crumbling to dust. “This is his natural age.”

Morgan dealt with death every day, but the way the man died made her skin crawl.

Dying of old age just wasn’t natural.

In the darkness the trees looked gnarled and twisted, the grass brown and brittle, leached of life, the forest uninviting. The absolute silence was what put her on edge the most. “Ascher and Ryder, maybe it would be best if you changed forms.”

They glanced at her in question, and she sensed they were as unnerved as her. “I stopped the elves from capturing a hellhound earlier tonight. He saw the marks on my arm, so he knows I’m mated to one of his kind. I want you to be prepared in case he comes back.”

Ascher didn’t appear thrilled at the thought of meeting one of his own, which floored her. He’d been taken from his people and enslaved. She thought he would be glad to be reunited with them. “He had a collar similar to yours.”

“You took it off.” If anything, he seemed more displeased.

“You don’t trust him.” A shot of surprise went through her. She knew he missed his family. She thought he would be happy at the news. Apparently not. “I thought he wanted help to escape, but he followed us back to the castle, then disappeared. Now I wonder if he was searching for you.” Instead of replying, he handed over his weapons to Draven, then began to strip.

Morgan knew she should turn away, but she couldn’t help but gawk at the sleek, pale muscles of his abs. Her breath became suspended when he turned and began to lower his pants, revealing his tight and totally biteable backside, her gaze sliding helplessly lower when he dropped his pants to the deliciously corded muscles of his thighs.

She about swallowed her tongue when Ryder casually pulled his shirt over his head and handed it to her. She accepted the shirt, holding it limply in her grip, unable to even blink at the view. When he reached for the closings of his pants, staring at her boldly with his heated gaze, she rapidly blinked and cleared her throat before reluctantly turning her back, fighting the instinctual urge to glance over her shoulder.

She resisted, but only because she needed a clear head. Otherwise she wouldn’t give a flying fuck for their modesty and enjoy the show.

Draven came into view a second later carrying their discarded clothing, shoving them into a pack she hadn’t noticed. When he snatched the shirt from her limp fingers, he gave her a wry grin. “You get used to it.”

Morgan stared at him blankly for a moment, then shook her head. “I don’t think so.”

A splash of magic brushed against her, and she turned, swallowing her disappointment that the guys had already changed. Ryder was a giant wolf who came up to her waist, his fur a sandy brown with white undertones, but his brown eyes were what kept her attention locked on him…human intelligence and wolf cunning stared boldly back at her.