He disappeared into a wall of white.
Raven stared after him for several long moments. Their physical safety was more important right now than a pointless argument, although no matter what he said, she would propose training to Creed. She, too, had abilities the assassins could use. The conversation was not over, at least not from her perspective, but if the heavy sky was any indication, there would be plenty of time to finish it later.
Parting the flaps, she ducked inside the shelter and began to assemble a small fire to warm Blade when he returned.
…
Blade did not dare venture too far from their shelter for fear of losing his way in the storm. It would be far too easy to walk off a cliff.
He had not anticipated Raven would wish to train with assassins and felt stupid for the oversight. Of course, she would want that. But she had no concept of what it would mean for her. She might have demon in her, but she was not a cold-blooded killer and he would not have her become one.
He still did not like the idea of taking her to Creed. It meant exposing her to assassins and Godseekers, and therefore, certain danger. Whether she agreed with him or not, she would be better off with Roam and others like her. They offered her a type of protection she had not fully considered and one he could not provide. Besides, half demons could not hide from the world forever. Sooner or later, regardless of whether or not she was with them, they would face exposure.
Crooking an elbow over his face, he rounded a bluff and was buffeted by the rising wind. The flakes of gentle snow had turned to stinging sleet, hitting his body like splinters of glass.
The snow stopped and the sky lightened briefly as he pushed forward, the sun a dull white orb in the bleak sky. The break would be no more than a temporary lull. He did a quick search for fresh tracks in the slippery white skiff already coating the ground, worried wolven might be on the hunt before the weather worsened. When he found no signs of them, he circled back toward shelter.
A few hundred feet from their camp, he spotted smoke curling into the air and quickened his pace. Raven likely thought the snow was falling thick enough that a fire would not be noticed. While the assumption was reasonable, experience warned him to be more cautious.
He did not take the most direct route, which would give him away if anyone was watching. Instead, he worked his way slowly through sparse brush and around the remnants of an old rockslide. As the wind shifted, the snow again began to fall, and with more determination this time.
Blade only saw the dark form hiding in a shallow rock cleft because he knew where to look. The man’s attention remained intent on the shelter where Raven waited. Had his focus wavered, he would have spotted Blade, too.
If the man were simply being cautious, he would not be observing from hiding for so long. Neither would an ordinary hunter be out in this weather. The storm’s approach had been obvious since very early that morning.
Blade thought about confronting him. He could be harmless, but he could also be spawn. Or he could be an assassin, sent by her stepfather. Blade was not taking chances. He would kill him and throw his body over the cliff’s edge so that Raven need never know of it. There was enough death in her life already—he did not want her to become hardened to it.
Carefully easing the crossbow from his back, Blade brought the weapon up and sighted his target. As his finger tightened on the trigger, one foot slipped on an icy rock. The bolt he released sailed wide of its mark.
His target did not run away, however. Instead, he came at Blade with a pistol in one hand.
But that did not mean the weapon was loaded. Ammunition was expensive. He could be bluffing.
Then Blade felt the soft brush of air as the bullet flew past his face to shatter into fragments against the cliff. Several sharp pieces grazed his cheek and embedded into the thick shoulder padding of his wool-lined coat.
If the man had bullets, he had to be an assassin. Here in the mountains, this close to their temple, he could be nothing else. Blade wondered again if Raven’s stepfather had sent him after her, and if so, what they could be walking into by searching for Creed.
The crack of gunfire had not been completely swallowed by the storm, but still, Blade nurtured a faint hope that Raven had not heard it. But his hope died as the pale golden shadow of her face appeared at the flap in the tarpaulin, and she emerged, her bow in her hands, an arrow nocked.
The assassin had seen Blade look to the shelter and swung his pistol in her direction. Blade saw the shock on his face shift to lust in reaction to her defenses.
Blue fire flared in Raven’s eyes as she loosed her arrow. With a sodden thud, it buried its head high on the right side of the assassin’s chest, near his shoulder.
That injury would slow down but not incapacitate a trained killer. Fear for her made Blade less wary, and he dove from his hiding place and charged the assassin, who remained disciplined enough to shift targets and take another shot at him. This time, the bullet struck Blade high on his left arm, spinning him in a half circle and knocking him partially off balance.
Adrenaline numbed the injury, but he knew from past experience that if it was serious, he would suffer for it later. The threat of coming pain did not trouble him. The possibility of harm to Raven wiped all other matters from his head.
He let momentum carry him to the ground, then rolled to a crouch. As he did, he used the hand of his injured arm to seize one of his knives from his clothing, releasing it in a smooth, well-practiced motion. He followed it with a knife thrown from the other hand.
Both found their marks. One struck the assassin’s pistol hand, the other, his throat. The assassin dropped his weapon, the fingers on that hand useless now, and clawed at the knife impeding his breath. Gurgling noises bubbled from around the knife’s hilt, along with pale red foam, as his lungs filled with fluid. Blade would have liked to question him, but it was too late for that, and he doubted he would have received answers in any event.
He should finish this quickly. The assassin was dying, and he had no desire to make him suffer.
Raven tossed her weapon aside and hurried toward Blade. She did not look at the dying man on the ground.
“Go back inside,” he said, not wanting her to see the ending to this.
She wavered, her gleaming gaze fixated on his upper arm, which had begun to sting and throb. Warmth seeped down his sleeve, and he knew he was bleeding, but it didn’t feel too severe.
Her eyes, blue-diamond bright and revealing the depth of her worry, shifted to his face.
“You’re injured,” she said.
“It’s nothing.” He met her gaze. “Please,” he added. “Leave this to me.”
He could read her expression. She wanted to plead for the man’s life, but thankfully she did not. He didn’t want to have to refuse her. Her lips trembled, but no further sound emerged from them.
Instead, she fled.
He grabbed the knife handle protruding from the assassin’s throat and jerked its edge from one side of his neck to the other. Blood gushed over Blade’s hand, steaming at first, then rapidly cooling and coagulating. He dragged the body to the edge of the cliff and pushed it over. The assassin’s remains tumbled into a swirling maelstrom of white and disappeared.
Blade cleaned his hands, scrubbing them thoroughly with wet snow and taking his time with the process. He checked his arm and found both an entrance and exit wound, but no hidden pieces of shrapnel. The bleeding had stopped, the flesh appeared clean, and he could move the arm without difficulty.
He was procrastinating because he had no idea what to say to Raven about what had just happened. She had been in danger and he had dealt with the threat, but there was more to it than that. He did not want her to learn to kill with the same ease he did, or develop a lack of regard for mortal life, which was what would happen if her friend Creed somehow did persuade the trainers to accept her. They would strip away her conscience and empathy and all that made her unique, for their own purposes.