Free Shaedes of Gray: A Shaede Assassin Novel by Amanda Bonilla Page A

for you decades ago. Only a very powerful Shaede can make another, and Azriel was a fool to have left you.”
    That didn’t exactly bolster my spirits—or answer any of my questions.
    “How was I made?” I asked, needing to know the answer to this question.
    “I told you last night that I require your services.” He changed the subject, I think, because he could tell I was becoming agitated by his lack of a straight answer. “You are an assassin by trade, and that’s what I need. What I hired you for.”
    “Why me?” I asked. “Anya appears to be able to hold her own.”
    “You’ll find out,” he said, standing. “Come to the warehouse in two nights’ time.”
    My mouth twisted into a smirk. He sure snapped back into king mode pretty damn fast. “Why?”
    “You need to begin your training.”
    I opened my mouth to challenge him, but he had already left.

Chapter 6
     
    I stripped down, changed into some comfortable clothes, and found a nice spot on the shag rug in front of the TV. Using the couch as a backrest, I pulled my knees up against my chest, hugging my body into a tight ball. I wasn’t thinking about Xander or the job anymore. He hadn’t answered any of my questions, more or less giving me the runaround. As if finding out after all these years that I wasn’t the only Shaede roaming the planet wasn’t enough of a shock, I had been assured by Xander that had he known of my existence, he would have come for me. The thought of knowing others like me, the freedom of being released from anonymity, frightened me. Truth be told, I only pretended to want nothing more than to be alone. Solitude was not what I wanted, though I’d been alone for nearly a century. And I had Azriel to thank for that.
     
    I’d been human once.
    I met Azriel in another age. A gentler age—a bullshit age, really. Women hadn’t learned how to empower themselves yet. Of course, there was a growing faction of females who were big into the suffrage movement. They were the first real feminists, ready and willing to embrace their true power. I think I could have been one of them.
    According to my family, I was a sad excuse for a girl. Though I was winsome and lovely, my mouth could sometimes be my greatest flaw. My father had been fairly successful, a banker in a rising industry. And he wanted his daughter’s marriage to echo his financial status. They tried to peddle me off to every guy with a buck. None of the matches ever worked out . . . until Henry Charles. He was an up-and-coming doctor, upstanding and well liked by everyone. He made a decent living, and he seemed to adore me. So, of course, my father pushed me to accept his proposal. I was already twenty-one—old by marriage standards—and my family was dying of embarrassment that I had yet to find a suitable husband.
    They were so anxious that they allowed for an unusually short courtship and married me off to him just weeks after our initial meeting. “Charming” didn’t even begin to describe Henry. I had high hopes for me and one of the city’s most eligible bachelors. I wanted to be loved, adored, and paraded on someone’s arm. Only my sharp tongue hinted that I was a less-than-docile female. But fiery or not, a girl wants affection. I dreamed of an equal partnership full of passion and tenderness. Life would be perfect.
    In reality, our life was as far from perfect as one could get. Henry never wanted me; he’d actually never wanted any woman. His tastes ran a little more on the masculine side. Now, in this day and age, Henry would have had a better chance at happiness. The modern world isn’t perfect, but he would have found some of the acceptance he assuredly deserved. He lived a double life, slinking around, finding pleasure under the cover of darkness. And I was left to take the brunt of his anger at the card he’d been dealt.
    I was a human punching bag. His drunken antics always ended in a beating. I suppose he was mad at me for being lovely and