CHAPTER ONE
The call of a lone cricket pierced the cool night air as Amina clung to the wooden beam, gazing down on the sleeping figure below. With slow, silent movements, she lowered herself on a silken rope, her padded feet touching the floor noiselessly.
She’d scaled the high walls of the fortress and evaded dozens of guards. She’d entered the room through the roof, removing several ceramic tiles.
At night, she was in her element, all but invisible to the naked eye.
As Amina crept towards her target, she started to draw the longknife strapped to her back. It slid soundlessly from its sheath. Stealth was her specialty. In her village, there was no-one as agile and silent as her.
That’s why she’d been chosen for this particular job.
The man she’d been sent to kill lay asleep in his bed, entangled in the silken sheets. Amina drew closer, taking time to study her victim. The full moon cast pale light through a high window, illuminating him where he lay.
Even in sleep, he looked every bit as formidable as the stories made him out to be.
Amina took a deep breath, unable to draw her gaze away from his still form. She watched the steady rise and fall of his chest. She couldn’t help but admire the hard, elegant features of his face. The only softness was his full, sensual lips.
His torso was bare, and she could make out the outline of hard muscle and broad shoulders.
In that instant, she almost regretted having to kill him.
But this was the infamous Tarak Chul, the ruthless Akuna warlord who had singlehandedly captured back the Western Borderlands from the Eratean Empire. His skill in battle and his cruelty were legend.
On silent feet, Amina reached his side, her longknife raised.
In the clutches of a deep sleep, Tarak Chul did not stir. She was a wraith, a silent assassin. Amina knew how to conceal her qwi , her life force, so that even the most hardened warrior wound never sense her coming. She was Inue, born of the tribe that were known for their stealth and prowess in the art of assassination.
And she was one of the best.
Tarak’s long, black hair framed his face like a wild, dark halo. Bathed in the faint moonlight spilling through an open window, there was something almost otherworldly about his appearance.
Amina blinked, having almost become mesmerized, caught in his spell. She told herself not to be stupid or superstitious. There was nothing different about this man. He was flesh and blood, just like everyone else. He breathed, ate and bled, just like any other human.
Amina took a deep breath, gripping the longknife in both hands, aiming for Tarak’s heart.
Her downwards stroke was swift and decisive, and always true.
As Amina brought the knife down in a killing arc, she met hard resistance. A sudden, viselike grip surrounded both her wrists. Dark eyes opened, staring through her, and for a moment, she almost thought she caught a flash of crimson.
Tarak was awake.
How had he sensed her?
Amina gasped in pain as his hands tightened. The longknife fell from her hands and he twisted his body to avoid it, allowing it to drop, clattering across the wooden floor. Tarak held her still, staring at her with deadly intent.
Clenching her teeth, Amina tried to wrench herself out of Tarak’s grasp. But he was too strong. For the first time, her concentration wavered, and she lost the fine control she had on her qwi , allowing her killing intent to spill forth.
She couldn’t remember the last time an opponent had shaken her this much.
“What glorious killing intent.” Tarak’s voice was low and deep, his words rounded with a slight Akunese accent. But he spoke in Eratean, the universal tongue. “You must be exceptional, woman, to evade my guards.”
Amina wasn’t sure, but she thought she detected amusement in his tone.
“How did you sense me?” She couldn’t hide the surprise that bled into her voice.
“You forgot,” Tarak continued,
The call of a lone cricket pierced the cool night air as Amina clung to the wooden beam, gazing down on the sleeping figure below. With slow, silent movements, she lowered herself on a silken rope, her padded feet touching the floor noiselessly.
She’d scaled the high walls of the fortress and evaded dozens of guards. She’d entered the room through the roof, removing several ceramic tiles.
At night, she was in her element, all but invisible to the naked eye.
As Amina crept towards her target, she started to draw the longknife strapped to her back. It slid soundlessly from its sheath. Stealth was her specialty. In her village, there was no-one as agile and silent as her.
That’s why she’d been chosen for this particular job.
The man she’d been sent to kill lay asleep in his bed, entangled in the silken sheets. Amina drew closer, taking time to study her victim. The full moon cast pale light through a high window, illuminating him where he lay.
Even in sleep, he looked every bit as formidable as the stories made him out to be.
Amina took a deep breath, unable to draw her gaze away from his still form. She watched the steady rise and fall of his chest. She couldn’t help but admire the hard, elegant features of his face. The only softness was his full, sensual lips.
His torso was bare, and she could make out the outline of hard muscle and broad shoulders.
In that instant, she almost regretted having to kill him.
But this was the infamous Tarak Chul, the ruthless Akuna warlord who had singlehandedly captured back the Western Borderlands from the Eratean Empire. His skill in battle and his cruelty were legend.
On silent feet, Amina reached his side, her longknife raised.
In the clutches of a deep sleep, Tarak Chul did not stir. She was a wraith, a silent assassin. Amina knew how to conceal her qwi , her life force, so that even the most hardened warrior wound never sense her coming. She was Inue, born of the tribe that were known for their stealth and prowess in the art of assassination.
And she was one of the best.
Tarak’s long, black hair framed his face like a wild, dark halo. Bathed in the faint moonlight spilling through an open window, there was something almost otherworldly about his appearance.
Amina blinked, having almost become mesmerized, caught in his spell. She told herself not to be stupid or superstitious. There was nothing different about this man. He was flesh and blood, just like everyone else. He breathed, ate and bled, just like any other human.
Amina took a deep breath, gripping the longknife in both hands, aiming for Tarak’s heart.
Her downwards stroke was swift and decisive, and always true.
As Amina brought the knife down in a killing arc, she met hard resistance. A sudden, viselike grip surrounded both her wrists. Dark eyes opened, staring through her, and for a moment, she almost thought she caught a flash of crimson.
Tarak was awake.
How had he sensed her?
Amina gasped in pain as his hands tightened. The longknife fell from her hands and he twisted his body to avoid it, allowing it to drop, clattering across the wooden floor. Tarak held her still, staring at her with deadly intent.
Clenching her teeth, Amina tried to wrench herself out of Tarak’s grasp. But he was too strong. For the first time, her concentration wavered, and she lost the fine control she had on her qwi , allowing her killing intent to spill forth.
She couldn’t remember the last time an opponent had shaken her this much.
“What glorious killing intent.” Tarak’s voice was low and deep, his words rounded with a slight Akunese accent. But he spoke in Eratean, the universal tongue. “You must be exceptional, woman, to evade my guards.”
Amina wasn’t sure, but she thought she detected amusement in his tone.
“How did you sense me?” She couldn’t hide the surprise that bled into her voice.
“You forgot,” Tarak continued,
Similar Books
