Page 100 of Pretty Little Assassin

The Wraith and the Pretty Little Assassin, mated, armed, and equally fucking lethal.

God help whoever lands on our list next.

VIKTOR

One year later

Valentine’s Day.

The single stupidest holiday on the calendar. I have a favourite holiday now. Nobody is more surprised than me.

“What do you think? Do you like it?”

I glance up from the screen.

Fuck.

We went to the cemetery this morning, the way I expect we will every Valentine’s Day for as long as I am breathing. She doesn’t cry there. She hums to Elena, the same song her father used to hum whenever she was afraid. It is the only piece of either parent she has left. Then she takes my hand, and we go home.

Red has always been my favourite colour. Red lingerie on my red-haired mate has now crossed over from favourite to a compulsive obsession.

“Tell me you’re going to sit on my lap wearing that, and I can’t promise it won’t be torn to shreds.”

“Oh, you don’t get to tear into this yet,” she teases as she reaches for her clothes to put on. “I’m wearing this under my outfit today. You have to wait until later. We have work to do.”

“I think you enjoy tormenting me, little assassin.”

“You know I do.”

With the Primacy leaderless and eating itself over who gets the chair next—which will hold them for a year, maybe two, and not one day longer—and VEIL operating openly enough to be inconvenient to governments, our work has gotten no less dangerous and no less important. If anything, the fact that Madam has a face now and a name that Valentina regularly uses has made the machine even more powerful and influential than it already was.

What has changed is that we take them together. The first contract after the bond, in March, we ran separately. Neither of us was willing to concede that a bite might have a say in our scheduling. Three days apart, and we both came back feeling like something had been left behind in another building. Donnie has written joint operation on every directive since, and neither of us has corrected him.

A knock sounds at the door. Valentina zips her dress, steps into the stilettos beside the couch, and goes to answer it.

“Relax,” she taunts, seeing me reach for a weapon just in case. “It’s Donnie and the others.”

“Since when does he leave his tech hovel?”

“Oh, you’d better not let him hear you say the word hovel, or he’ll be super upset.” She laughs and tosses her hair over her shoulder before opening the door.

I disregard her statement entirely.

“Your tech hovel finally became uninhabitable?” I say, raising an eyebrow as both Donnie and Alley Cat come inside. “Pizza crusts finally starting to attract rats?”

Donnie opens his mouth, then closes it. I think he’s still got a healthy fear of the Wraith.

“You guys will not believe the work I just got you. Two million on the table, split down the middle, and this time it won’t require you to kill each other. I figured you’d appreciate that part.”

“Impressive.” I want to see the contracts first. Not that I don’t trust him, but that’s a lot of money, and I want to make sure it’s worth my effort.

“Do you have any idea how much cool shit we could buy with that much money?” Alley Cat reaches down to the floor, lifts up Mr. Pickles’ front paws, and tries to spin him around with her as if they're dancing together.

The cat is not in favour of the idea. The orange nuisance hisses in protest. I think it’s funny as hell.

“We should use most of the money for VEIL,” Valentina clarifies. “VEIL could use some upgraded gadgetry.”

“New computer equipment,” Donnie adds quickly.