Bite the hand

Chapter 8:The assassin's debt

The sound that ripped from Finn’s throat was pure animal.

He didn't just snarl; his entire body seemed to expand, his muscles cording and his claws furrowing deep grooves into the concrete floor. His wolf was right at the surface, his eyes glowing a predatory amber as he prepared to spring at the catwalk.

"Finn," I said. My voice was quiet, but it held a new, razor-edged authority.

He didn't listen. He was a second away from launching himself into the air to tear Leo Vale’s throat out.

I didn't shout. I simply reached out and placed my palm flat against the back of Finn's neck, right where the heat of his blood was the most intense. I didn't give him pleasure this time. I sent a sharp, biting sliver of the curse—a pulse of pure, freezing ice—straight into his nervous system.

Finn stiffened, a gasp catching in his throat. The aggression in his muscles died instantly, chilled by the unnatural cold of my power. He stayed on one knee, his head bowed, shivering as the "chill" forced his wolf back into a cage of my making.

"He is mine to deal with," I whispered, my fingers lingering in his hair. "Do not move unless I tell you to."

Finn let out a low, submissive whimper. He hated it, but he obeyed.

Up in the rafters, Leo let out a sharp, barking laugh. He was lounging against a rusted beam, spinning a silver-edged dagger around his finger like a toy. "Look at you, big guy. Five minutes in the room with her and you’re already wearing a collar. It’s pathetic. Darius would have a heart attack if he saw his star enforcer now."

"Darius isn't here," I said, looking up. I let the hood of my cloak fall back, exposing my face to the moonlight. "And neither is the woman he broke. You were hired to kill me, Leo. Why are you still talking?"

"Because you're a mystery, sweetheart," Leo said, his green eyes dancing with lethal mischief. He moved with a speed that was almost impossible to track, blurring from one beam to the next. "And I’ve always had a weakness for pretty things that bite back. But a contract is a contract."

He wasn't going to come down. He was a speed-wolf, a rogue assassin who lived in the shadows and high places. He wanted to toy with me until I was exhausted.

I decided to change the game.

I leaned back against the pillar and closed my eyes. I didn't fight him. Instead, I opened myself up. I let the curse bleed out of my pores, filling the warehouse with that thick, spicy scent of burnt honey and iron. I made it smell like a drug. I made it smell like need.

I stopped being the prey. I became the addiction.

The whistling stopped. The silence in the warehouse became heavy, charged with a tension that made the hair on my arms stand up. I could hear Leo’s breathing change. It became faster, shallower. He was a hedonist—a man who lived for the next high, the next kill, the next rush.

"Come and get your prize, Leo," I murmured.

A blur of silver and shadow dropped from the rafters.

Leo was fast, but I was waiting for the vibration of his feet hitting the floor. As he swung the silver blade toward my throat, I didn't flinch. I stepped into his space, moving inside his guard. My hand shot out, my fingers locking around his thin, wiry wrist.

Skin-to-skin.

Leo’s eyes went wide. "What the—"

I didn't give him a chance to finish. I felt his heart—it was racing, a frantic drumbeat against my palm. I used the curse to sync with that rhythm, and then I flooded him.

I didn't just give him pleasure; I gave him an adrenaline spike so intense it felt like his blood was turning into liquid gold. It was a sensory explosion, a high so pure and violent that his brain couldn't process it.

The silver blade clattered to the floor. Leo’s legs turned to water, and he slid down the pillar, his back hitting the concrete. His head thrashed back against the metal, a breathless, broken laugh escaping his lips. His green eyes were dilated to the point of blackness, glazed with a sudden, terrifying obsession.

"Again," he gasped, his fingers clawing at my sleeve, desperate to maintain the contact. "God... do it again."

I pulled my hand away, watching him shiver in withdrawal. The power I felt was intoxicating. I had a veteran enforcer at one side and a lethal assassin at the other.

"I am not a drug, Leo," I said, looking down at him. "And I am not a target. I am the woman who is going to own this city. If you want that feeling again, you earn it."

Finn stood up then, his face like stone, moving to stand behind me like a massive, looming shadow. He looked at Leo with pure disgust, but he didn't attack. He recognized the look in Leo’s eyes. It was the same hunger he felt.

"Finn is my shield," I said, my voice echoing in the rafters. "He is the wall between me and the world. You, Leo... you are my blade. You go where I cannot. You kill who I name."

Leo looked up at me, his chest heaving. He reached out and touched the hem of my cloak, his fingers trembling. The playful assassin was gone; in his place was a man who had just found a new god. "Your blade," he whispered, his voice thick with a sweetly dark obsession. "Just... don't make me wait too long for the next hit."

I felt a surge of triumph. My harem was forming. Two men, bound to me by the very curse that was supposed to destroy me.

The moment was broken by a soft thwack at the warehouse door.

Finn was across the room in a heartbeat, his claws out. He wrenched the heavy steel door open, but the alleyway was empty. Only the sound of a fading engine echoed in the distance.

On the floor lay a heavy, midnight-black envelope.

Finn picked it up and brought it to me. The paper was thick vellum, smelling of expensive cologne and old money. On the front, written in gold-embossed ink, were the words:

To The Queen of Shadowbite.

My breath hitched. No one should have known that name yet. I tore the envelope open. Inside was a gold card—an invitation to the "Blood and Silk" tournament, a notorious event for the city’s most dangerous and wealthy elite.

At the bottom, scrawled in elegant, arrogant script, was a note:

I’ve been looking for a woman worth my inheritance. Don't disappoint me at the tournament. I’ll be the one in the front row, waiting to see if you’re as delicious as you smell.

— M. Thorne

I looked at the card, my fingers trembling slightly. Miles Thorne. The heir to the Thorne syndicate. The man who owned half the city’s secrets.