Heart of the Assassins (Academy of Assassins #2)

She reached up and cut the cord holding him to the ceiling. She kicked away from him as he dropped, grabbing hold of Ascher, which sent them swinging. She heard Kincade land with a solid thump and winced. Ascher’s mouth twitched in amusement, but his eyes remained dark, clearly perturbed at being bound and held immobile.

She reached above him, grabbed the surprisingly thin web and cut. He plummeted to the ground, where Draven and Ryder easily caught and lowered him to the ground, tearing him free of the netting around him.

Kincade sat slowly, struggling to contain Loki as the little mutt jumped all over him, inspecting him for injury and licking any surface he could find, the big gargoyle unable to fend him off. Despite the situation, she couldn’t help but be amused the way Kincade picked the mutt up by the scruff of his neck, stared him down with a stern face despite the way the hound’s little butt wiggled like mad, then cracked and placed the beast back on his perch, scratching him under the chin.

Her nerves settled at their display.

They would be all right.

She released her knife, still amazed as she watched the liquid metal slither up her arm to form a solid cuff again. She remained dangling by the web-like rope, her vantage point giving her an unrestricted aerial view of the whole room.

No wonder the spider could pick them off so easily, they were like mice at the mercy of a hawk.

Ward was working and hacking his way through the maze of webbing, but no closer to finding an exit. From her vantage point, she saw the wall clearly, making a mental note of its position, then turned back to her search.

When she found no sign of Chander, dread sank its claws along her spine.

Could the spider have killed him already?

When she was about to loosen her hold, she heard the faintest of sounds…a heartbeat. She twisted, sending herself swinging, her eyes landing on a corner cloudy with so much webbing she didn’t see the outline of a body. Morgan swung her legs back and forth, until she gained enough momentum to launch herself through the air.

She wasn’t sure if she caught the webbing or if she just kind of stuck to it. Not allowing her mind to think too long about the ginormous spider in all its furry glory, Morgan quickly pulled herself up hand over fist, struggling to keep as much of her body as possible away from the sticky substance. Her arm began to throb painfully with each flex of her muscle, though the burning sensation never returned.

She called upon her knife once more, sawing away at the stubborn webbing, thankful for the black blade and its ability to cut through anything, suspecting any other weapon would’ve immediately dulled or snapped in half on the first cut.

After she trimmed away a third of the netting, she spotted Chander’s still form.

“Cut him down.” Atlas spoke from below her, the rest of the guys staring up at her with varying degrees of concern. “We’ll catch him.”

With a nod, she sliced the last cord connecting him, watching him drop like a dead weight. True to their word, the guys easily caught him and tore him free. He coughed so hard his back bowed as he gulped air.

Morgan released her hold on the web, then pushed herself away from the wall. She expected to land on her feet, but strong arms plucked her out of the air.

“Kincade.”

He pulled her close to his chest, looking like he had no intention of letting her go, and she wasn’t in any mood to complain. Loki peered down at her, unmoving as he inspected her. Her arm still hurt like a bitch, and they still needed to escape, but they had survived. “The door is that way.”

She pointed behind them, and the rest of the guys followed as she guided them through the maze of webbed walls. They quickly caught up with Ward, who had managed to work off most of his aggression. In a few more twists, they came upon a large door.

Morgan put her hand on Kincade’s shoulder, and he gently lowered her to the floor.

Then she gave a nod to Ward. “Let’s get the hell out of here.”

When the door opened, instead of an empty hallway, there were greeted by a team of soldiers.

“Well done.” The man in charge spoke, his face giving away none of his emotions. “Most of you managed to elude capture and even escape.” He peered over their shoulder into the room. “Not many can say the same.”

He stepped aside, then beckoned to the guards. “Take those who were bound down to the gallery. The rest of you will follow me.”

“No!” But even as she protested, the guards drew the dart guns holstered at their side and fired.

Morgan flung herself out of the way, but she knew it was already much too late. A hail of darts peppered the room, striking each of them multiple times. They tried to elude being hit, but there literally was nowhere to hide. An inch-long metal dart sank into her thigh. She reached down, yanking out the barb, wincing when she saw a drop of blood mingled with a white substance hanging off the tip. The familiar burn of spider venom spread through her like lava. All the strength went out of her, and she couldn’t even bring up her hands to cushion her fall as she thudded to the stone floor.

She watched with narrowed eyes as they separated her team, dragging Kincade, Draven, Ryder, Ascher and Chander’s limp forms down the hall. Loki crouched low against the ground, and she waved him after Kincade with a twitch of her fingers. It was all she could manage. The last image she had before her world went dark was Loki loping down the passageway after the others.





Chapter Eighteen





The sound of labored breathing woke Morgan, and she pried opened her eyes.

She jerked back, then squinted in the dim light when she saw what appeared to be a wrinkled old sorcerer hunched over her. His gray hair was long and unkempt, his eyebrows like furry caterpillars, the lower half of his face hidden by a wickedly unkempt mustache, and a beard that reached down to his chest. His blue eyes were faded but sharp, his pointed ears visible through his hair. He fiddled with his robes, his fingers almost skeletal, every inch of him gnarled.

“Mmmmm, you’re awake.” He straightened, his forehead wrinkled, his musty, faded robes swirling around him with his agitated fussing. “You don’t look like a sorceress.”

“I’m not. I’m a hunter.” Morgan struggled against the effects of the venom, her body and mind still sluggish as she tried to figure out what happened. She pushed herself upright, then yanked the ponytail band out of her hair, trying to untangle the chunks of sticky gunk left over from the spider’s web.

He pursed his lips, as if pouting at having a toy taken away, his interest in her waning. “Why did they bring me a hunter? How is a hunter going to help me with the fog?”

Plans for escape vanished at his comment. If he had answers to the fog, she needed to stay.

He turned away from her, continuing to mutter to himself, and she got a clear look beyond him into a laboratory…pulled right out of the sixteenth century. Bottle and vials of every shape and size lined the room, books lying open on every surface. Rats scampered around the room and across counters as if they were his assistants.

An assortment of creatures were in cages under every surface and hanging from the ceiling. Decades of smoke stained the room. Mortar and pestles were crusted over with ingredients long past their expiration dates. Maggots wiggled on plates of forgotten food. Old-fashioned glass syringes lay about the lab, murky ingredients in many of them, a few even churning with tiny bugs or worms swimming in the cloudy depths, and she unconsciously rubbed her arms to make sure she hadn’t been injected with anything.

She looked her injured arm, pulling off the webbed bandage, noting that while the skin was raw and angry, she was relatively healed.

The eccentric old wizard pinched a bit of powder out of his pocket and threw it at the fire, causing it to roar and dance two feet high, all the while humming and muttering under his breath. Ignoring him, Morgan rose and grabbed the doorknob at her back and found herself in an ancient library.