Free Knight Avenged by Coreene Callahan

Faster than fast. Before Cosmina’s fear infected him and he lost his edge. And yet, even as he told himself to do just that, Henrik checked on her anyway, reading her like an open book. Heartbeat strong. Mind set. Focus fixed. Afraid, but not seriously injured. At least, so far. But not for long if he didn’t do somethin g . . .
    Like eliminate the threat.
    Another assassin came within range. Weapons whirling, Henrik pinwheeled, ducking beneath razor-sharp swords. He lashed out with his own. His blades bit, cleaving through flesh to reach bone. The bastard roared. He rammed the steel tip deeper, punching through the enemy’s breastbone. Impaled on his blade, the warrior’s eyes widened in shock. Henrik raised his booted foot. A split second. A mere moment in time an d . . .
    Slam-bang. He kicked out, hammering the man in the chest.
    Arms flailing, the assassin flew backward. With a yank, Henrik pulled his sword free of muscle and bone. Black blood arced through the air. Viscous liquid splattered across the top of the golden altar. Each movement sure, weapons flashing, Henrik took on another Al Pacii and whirled full circle. A quick flick. A brutal twist, and he sliced the enemy’s throat. The bastard’s head left his shoulders, spinning end over end.
    More black liquid splashed across mosaic tiles. His gaze narrowed on the strange blood. ’Twas unnatural. Inhuman. Not normal at all. Aye, Al Pacii assassins might act demonic, but they always bled red. Always red . Like everyone else on earth.
    Henrik dodged, avoiding another enemy blade, his eyes on the corpse. Excep t . . .
    The decapitated body moved. Hands flat against the floor, the dead man crawled toward his head. Incredulity rose. Incomprehension circled. With a quick shift, Henrik parried another thrust, body moving, mind mired in the mystery.
    “ Merde ,” Andrei growled, severing an Al Pacii arm with one slice.
    “Jesu.” With a sharp twist, Shay snapped his opponent’s neck. Body twitching, the assassin hit the floor, then tried to get back up. Wide-eyed in disbelief, Shay watched the body squirm and took a step back. “Hellfire, H . . . they’re not dying. The bastards keep getting up. I cannot—”
    A hellish hiss slithered from beyond the altar.
    Enemy assassins took a breath, pausing mid-fight.
    Silence descended. Alive with mystical power, cold air heated and rose. The warm wave rolled up the stairs and slithered around the base of the altar. Stance set, Henrik’s focus narrowed on the lip of staircase. Blond head bent, a man mounted the steps, becoming visible a little at a time. As his boot touched down on the top tread, the assassin lifted his chin. Pulling the blade from the center of his throat, he tossed the dagger aside and met Henrik’s gaze. Orange irises flickered, bright color moving like fire and—
    Henrik bared his teeth. Holy Christ. It couldn’t be. Just wasn’t possible. But as he shifted to meet the threat, the truth rose to greet him. He’d have recognized the bastard anywhere. Had spent years under his thumb, trying to survive his brutality inside Grey Keep. Halál, leader of the Al Pacii natio n . . . the aging assassin who wielded cruelty like a blade. Excep t . . .
    That wasn’t true. Not anymore.
    The bastard was changed in significant ways. Strong of body. Steady of hand. No longer an old man, but a young one with familiar features cast in demonic lines.
    With a snarl, Henrik raised his blades.
    His former sensei growled and, taking aim, loosed an arrow. The bolt roared from the bow. Time stalled, slowing perception as instinct sparked. Henrik’s heart paused mid-thump. The bowstring twanged. The air warped and realization struck. Halál hadn’t aimed at him. The bastard had found a narrow laneway instead. Had taken the shot and now—
    On her knees behind him, Cosmina gasped.
    The smell of blood infused the air. Her whimper of pain hit him like a body shot. Not wasting a moment, Henrik spun toward