Chapter Two
“Your life is mine, dark one.” Samia Hassan pressed her blade harder against her mark’s throat.
She couldn’t see his face in the shadows, but before she killed him, she would look him in the eyes. It was a habit she’d formed over the years. Not out of respect to her victims, but for herself.
To force herself to confront what she was—a killer. Born and bred to hunt supernatural beings. The brotherhood’s best assassin.
Her stomach churned. Or she had been the best. Until a cold night, three months before, when she’d made a horrible mistake.
The hand holding the knife wavered. Then she sank her other hand into the man’s thick hair and yanked his head back. She looked into his face and everything in her froze.
The mouth-watering features belonged in a Renaissance painting. There was no mistaking his Italian heritage—bronze skin, straight nose, dark hair curling over his forehead. His eyes were stunning—the amber of expensive cognac. She’d seen photos of him in her kill file…but they didn’t compare to the impact of him in real life.
He watched her, his unblinking gaze skimming over her face. A strange feeling welled up in Samia, like a warm breeze rushing over her skin and through every cell of her body. He seemed familiar, like she’d met him before. But she knew for a fact she’d never seen this man before tonight.
His big body bunched beneath her. “Uh, uh.” She moved the knife, nicking his skin.
She’d kill this man, this evil, because this was her last chance to prove herself. And she had nothing else in her life but death.
He stilled. “Who are you?”
His voice was deep, sensual. His English was perfect with the barest hint of an accent that she knew drove women wild. She’d seen the clippings of him at parties and restaurants with glamorous, beautiful women.
Samia shook her head to break the odd spell of his gaze. “I’m the woman who’s going to kill you.”
He cocked an eyebrow. “How about a name instead?”
She frowned down at him. He wasn’t afraid. When she held a knife to a man’s throat, she expected fear. Then she felt the power in him, pulsing under his skin, twirling in the air around them. He probably thought he could best her. But she had her own powers and it wasn’t just her skill with a knife.
“You don’t need to know my name,” she said.
In a flash of movement, he pushed her off him, surprising her with his strength and speed. She possessed far more strength than an ordinary human, even more than most of the beings she hunted. But this man was strong.
He tried to pin her, but she kicked at him. Her foot connected with a rock-hard stomach. She heard her father’s voice in her head, intoning her training. If he was here, he’d berate her for playing with her target.
Get the job done, assassin. Fast and clean.
They rolled across the dirt. Samia scissored her legs and managed to get on top of him again, straddling his chest. She jammed her knees into his sides and heard him grunt.
She slashed down with her knife, aiming for his throat, but at the last minute he dodged. Her blade sank deep into his shoulder.
He grunted and suddenly, a strong wind rushed over them. His body faded beneath her, like the wind was taking him away, and she dropped onto the ground.
Dammit. She scrambled to her feet. He’d escaped and all she was left with was a bloody knife.
She watched the blood drip down the hilt of her blade and over her fingers. Bile rose in her throat and another scene shot through her head.
A young face, lifeless. Innocent blood on her hands.
Strong arms clamped around her from behind. She was tugged back into the hard planes of a big body.
“That wasn’t very nice.” A masculine drawl.
She didn’t buck against him, instead she stilled. Patience was an assassin’s most valuable skill. “I wasn’t trying to be nice.”
His breath brushed over her ear. “My name’s Dante.”
“I know who you are, Mr. Venti.” She had an inch-thick file on Dante Auster Venti, Warrior of the South Wind. He and his brothers were Italy’s most eligible bachelors—rich, good-looking. But few knew what hid beneath their wealthy playboy personas.
“Well, you have the advantage. I’d very much like to know the name of the woman sent to kill me.” His arms tightened on her. “Or we can just stay here like this all night.”
Annoying bastard. “You’ll be dead soon, so I guess it doesn’t matter. Samia. Samia Hassan.”
“Samia.” He murmured it, like he was rolling it on his tongue, savoring it. “I’d like to know why you’re trying to kill me.”
“Because you’re dangerous.” She needed to remind herself that the job she did was important. Someone had to take down the strong beings that hurt those who were less powerful.
His lips brushed her temple. “No argument there, but the same could be said about you.”
His words were like a slashing knife to her chest. “I don’t hurt innocents.” She closed her eyes. Except for one terrible mistake.
“I don’t either.”
His voice sounded sincere and she detected no lies. Her heart kicked against her ribs. That was another of Samia’s skills—the ability to feel truth and lies.
No, he had to be trying to trick her. He wouldn’t be the first target to try anything to escape an assassin.
Except at this moment, this man had the upper hand. Why try to convince her of his innocence?
The elders had told her that he had killed, and used his powers against humans. From the brotherhood enclave in Morocco, they always researched a case beyond reasonable doubt before assigning it to an assassin. They were never wrong. “That’s not what I’ve been told.”
“Who do you work for?” he asked.
She remained silent. The brotherhood was so secret little was known about it in the outside world. It was the way they liked it.
One big hand slid over her belly, splaying over the inch of bare skin bared between her black T-shirt and dark trousers.
“Who do you work for?”
His hand tightened on her and she felt a spike of heat. She sucked in a breath. What was wrong with her? She jerked against him. Not once had she allowed herself to be distracted on a mission. Especially not by a man.
And not by someone she was sent to kill.
He spun her and Samia took her chance.
She kicked out, catching him in his hard stomach. He stumbled and cursed. She jumped at him.
And found herself caught mid-jump, held up in the air by a heavy gust of wind.
Venti held one palm up, his golden-brown eyes burning with an inner fire. Like something very dangerous lurked inside him. She felt the strength of his power wrap around her.
Samia pushed but didn’t move at all, held in place by the wind.
She cursed and stared at those eyes again. Then Samia noted something else, with the sharp instincts that made her an excellent assassin and kept her alive.
This man didn’t have the eyes of a killer.
She’d dispensed justice to many killers over the years, and each time, she’d seen the evil reflected in their eyes. Oh, Venti looked like a man capable of killing, but not one who’d take the life of an innocent for pleasure.
No. That couldn’t be. The elders had sanctioned his assassination.
“Fine. I’ll find my own answers.” Venti’s hand gripped the neckline of her shirt and with a twist of his wrist, he tore it open a few inches.
She gasped. The neckline gaped. He flicked the black fabric away and exposed her tattoo.
The black stylized writing was Arabic calligraphy and sat above her left breast. It spelled the word death and was the symbol of the brotherhood.
He gripped her shirt tighter and dragged her closer. His fingers were warm against her skin. “You’re Hashshasin.”
Shock tore through Samia’s system. Few knew their name. She fought to keep her face impassive.
“I know your people pride themselves on being shadows.” He released her, but the wind held her body in place. “But an organization can’t exist for a thousand years and think no one’s going to learn about them.”
He paced away, then turned to face her. His dark trousers outlined lean hips and long legs, and his blue shirt was rolled up, baring strong forearms.
“So, Signorina Assassin, are you going to tell me why I have a price on my head?”
She lifted her chin. “You can control the wind.”
He raised his hand. The wind around her lifted her another foot into the air. Like a damned puppet on a string. She shot him a fierce scowl.
He tilted his head. “That’s hardly a killing offence.”
Her eyes narrowed. “You infect humans with the darkness the wind carries.”
His gaze narrowed and he strode up to her. His face was only an inch from hers. “I fight the darkness of the wind. You aren’t describing me, you’re describing the evil I’m hunting.”
Her stomach turned over. The elders never made mistakes. “I don’t believe you.”
With a muttered oath, he shoved a hand through his hair. “And yet, I’m telling you the truth.”
Something in that deep voice and those cognac eyes made her want to believe him. Impossible. There was no way the elders had sent her after an innocent.
The young boy’s face came back to her. Ruthlessly, she pushed it away.
“Who hired you, Samia?” Venti demanded.
She remained silent.
He reached out and touched her neck. The touch was shocking, electric.
For a second, he looked just as shocked. Then his face hardened. “Assassin’s code, right? Don’t give up the client’s name.”
His fingers moved to the fluttering pulse in her throat. She tried to ignore the heat that followed the touch.
He leaned closer. “Give me his name.”
She locked her jaw and fought against the power holding her. “No.”
“Tell me.”
He was so close his lips were almost touching hers. She sucked in a startled breath, her gaze locked with his. Inside, something shifted and wanted closer. She had a crazy urge to press her lips to his. Oh, God, something was horribly wrong with her.
She pulled in a deep breath, and got a hit of his sea-scented cologne. Focus, Samia. “I won’t tell you.”
“Damn, you’re stubborn.” Suddenly, his head lifted. “My prey is close.” His face took on a stark edge and his eyes darkened. “I am more powerful than you can imagine. You were stupid to pit yourself against me.”
Samia watched something ripple over his face. Something scary.
“The Hashshasin have always been arrogant.” His hands gripped her upper arms, digging into her skin so hard she knew she’d have bruises.
Then he blinked, staring at his hands on her. He stumbled back, a muscle ticking beneath his eye. He looked like he was struggling for control. “Dio. Just tell me who hired you and I’ll let you go. You need to get far away from me. For your own safety.”
Something was very wrong here. Samia’s instincts were screaming at her.
“Tell me,” he ground out. “Before I need to go and stop Africus.”
She froze. “Africus?”
“You know him?” Understanding flashed in Venti’s eyes. “He was the one who hired you.”
Venti cursed. Suddenly the wind holding Samia captive dropped away. She braced her legs to prevent herself from falling.
He faced her. “I know you’re a killing machine that can only blindly follow orders, but Africus is a danger to you. He’s one of the Tempest Winds.”
Killing machine. She lifted her chin. He was right. She was nothing but a weapon. She focused on what he’d said. Tempest Winds? She remembered a vague reference to them in her file. “I have a job to do.”
“I suggest you find another assignment and stay out of my way, Hashshasin.”
“Failure is not an option for an assassin.”
“I’m warning you.” He loomed over her. “Do not get in the way of my duty.”
“And I can’t let you get in the way of mine.” But first, she needed to find out exactly what was going on here.
A scowl cut across his face. “What am I going to do about you?”
Samia called on her power and used her ability of camouflage to meld into the shadows. “Watch your back, Warrior, because I’m coming for you.”