Page 125 of Hellbound

She bent closer, as if considering. “I can’t say I recognize this design.”

“Mmm,” he hummed, before his attention slid back to the bodies. “The victims didn’t put up much of a fight. No defensive wounds. Only fatal strikes.”

“Three-to-one with no defensive wounds.” She gave a contemplative nod. “Not your run-of-the-mill assassin.”

The derision in his glance made her clear her throat.

He gestured to the first corpse and tilted up what remained of the neck. “This one didn’t die from decapitation—none of them did. A single thrust through the soft palate.” He traced the puncture wound beneath the victim’s chin. “Drove it straight through the mouth into the brain.” On to the next body. “And this one…well—” He waved his hand in its general direction. “A stab wound straight to the face, crushing the bone between his eyes upon entry.”

Ksenia bit the inside of her cheek, unsure whether she should offer her own observations.

He continued before she had the chance, raking a hand through his hair. “Our killer is showing off. Most fighters go for center mass, a big target with plenty of vital organs to get the job done.” His eyes locked back on her. “The killer takes pleasure in it.”

Ksenia’s brow furrowed.

Half right.

She killed for necessity, out of rage—these men had killed for the pleasure of it. Didn’t the difference matter, even if the bodies looked the same afterward?

His eyes were sharp. “The fatal wounds say the killer wants to communicate their superiority. The beheadings say ‘I want everyone to know it.’”

Correct.

The temperature in the room seemed to drop a few degrees as they locked their unwavering gazes upon one another.

He suspected something. Not specifically her, perhaps. But he was getting closer. And she was nowhere near done on her warpath.

Ah, to be known is to be loved, is it not? Vornaya softly chuckled in her ear.

She trapped her bottom lip between her teeth. The worst part was the thrill that shot through her.

Would he be able to stop her?

She was dying to find out.

32

Bohdan’s routine ran like clockwork. Around this time of day, he would be out in the training fields with his men, practicing archery, horsemanship, and hand-to-hand combat for several hours.

All she needed was a few minutes.

Petra led Ksenia through the servant’s corridors, quick and sure-footed, toward the east wing.

Bohdan’s quarters were directly below them, and Ksenia moved toward the nearest stairwell, but Petra caught her wrist, pulling her back.

Seconds later, the heavy thud of boots echoed from the landing below.

Petra dragged them down a longer corridor, feet silent on the stone. They wound through a narrow passageway, down a second stairwell before letting out into the hallway near Bohdan’s door.

The little girl pressed herself against the corner and listened.

The rolling, heavy footfall of a second patrol came and went.

She lowered the tiny hand that she’d held flat against Ksenia’s chest.

In the blink of an eye, the girl was gone. Causing chaos among the guards, tearing down the hall, a ring of keys swinging from her fist before they’d noticed it was missing.

A breath of laughter escaped Ksenia before she could stop it. Six years old and pickpocketing castle guards.