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“Don’t worry, I’m never the one to stab a beautiful woman in the back.” I could hear the amusement in his voice as he let go of my hand, least bothered that my blade was still pointing at him. A blade that could end his life at any moment.

“I’ll ask you one more time. What are you hiding?” I asked Alan. My right hand, still steady around the hilt, was held to his chest, while my left remained twisted back to the enigma behind me.

“I’m not hiding anything,” Alan shouted. “I really couldn’t see anything that night. But I noticed one thing, just on…one thin…thing.”

“Which is?” I dug the knife a centimeter deeper, and the chains rattled as he howled in pain.

“The man who met with me had both his index fing…fingers cut. They were missing,” he said through a high-pitched wheeze.

Anyone could have missing fingers. But five men dressed in black, with one having four fingers, wasn’t a coincidence. There was no such thing as a coincidence. I didn’t believe it.

From the panic in Alan Dumfred’s eyes, it was clear he had nothing more to say. I had no idea why spitting out the last truth made him so terrified, but he had played with enough of my time to extend his expiration date, and I’ve had enough.

“Can I finish him now?” I asked. My voice came out in a breathy softness as I looked over my shoulder to meet a pair of stunning eyes that were an inch away from mine. Eyes that made blood rush to my cheeks.

The world around me silenced, and the prisoner’s cries of protest buzzed low in the background.

This close, I could smell the woody spice of his cologne, and I found it addicting and oddly comforting amid the stench of death. A slow smile curved Arkane’s lip. “You can.” The slight amusement in his tone and the glint in his eyes told me he was enjoying this.

Still, I couldn’t help but softly smile, and his eyes dropped straight to my lips. For a moment, it felt like nothing else mattered except him and me. Us.

I lingered seconds more, lost in his gaze before I willed my eyes away and swiped my tanto blade in a single upward stroke.

Alan Dumfred’s eyes gaped open, and his jaw parted in a gasp as blood gurgled out of his lips. The quiet that ensued told me that he was dead, but my job was far from over after the new revelations. I slowly put my blade away, careful not to let the drizzle of blood touch my skin.

“Again, impressive,” Arkane whispered just for me to hear, and this time, my shiver wasn’t invisible. I could feel his deep voice everywhere.

I unclothed the disposable cloth, steeped in herbs that I always kept in my scabbard. The faint smell of sage and myrrh laced the air, masking the stench of death as I wiped Alan Dumfred’s blood off my blade.

“I hate others’ blood on me,” I mumbled as Arkane watched me intently. I took my time because I needed to gather myself. Being alone in the lair of a man who almost accused me of attempting to take out his family wasn’t what I expected when I came here today.

I detached my blade from the hilt and wrapped it in the cloth before sheathing it again.

“I’ve never seen an assassin so invested in cleaning their blade,” he said, casually tilting his head. “But then nothing about you is usual, is it?”

I ignored him and met his eyes. “We need to talk, Stormhold.”

He smiled. “I was thinking you would say the same, Esteal.”

CHAPTER 5

BELLE

No word was spoken as Arkane led me out of the basement and back the same way we arrived. Conveniently, all the men surrounding him vanished. It was just him and me as we walked past the long corridor and through the entry foyer, and this time, we took the right to the east wing. As I’d assumed, this was the main part of the house. After all, his little man cave was just a level under this wing.

We passed a similar corridor, decorated in marble, with wide windows overlooking the ocean and a frescoed ceiling—only this time, it ended in heavy double doors that he held open for me.

The room was encased in a dark glow. Only the dull light spilling from the stained arched Victorian windows behind his desk lit up the space.

I watched as Arkane coolly slid off his long coat before lowering himself into a leather chair behind the thick wooden desk. From the high bookshelf walls to the carved wooden ceiling with low-hanging crystal chandeliers and the dark Chesterfield couches, his office was a true Gothic dream.

Well, his entire house was a true marvel. I could tell he really invested much more than money in building his home. If I were a true guest, I would take my sweet time to absorb every single detail, but I’d be a fool to think I ever would be.

“So you wanted to talk to me,” Arkane said in a calm and composed tone as he leaned back into his chair, asserting power.

I came to a slow stop right in front of him and folded my arms across my chest. “You very well know why I wanted to talk.” My tone insinuated the underlying guise of his invitation.

He sighed. “If I wanted to kill you, I wouldn’t have brought you into my house.”