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  “Eleven.” He answered in a strangled whisper. He wasn’t going to bother lying to her. She already knew the answers she sought. The beautiful woman was just toying with him like a viper who had caught the prey she sought in her powerful body and was simply tightening until suffocation set in.

  “Eleven.” She said, crossing one leg over the other and leaning back. Still staring straight at the crucifix, she continued her questions in that same soft voice.

  “And were they all men?”

  Yulian’s breath hitched, and his eyes closed once again, this time in shame.

  “Yes.” He whispered back brokenly.

  “Hm. And do you remember their names… Father?” The young woman breathed, her words spoken even softer than before.

  Yulian started trembling, coldness seeping into his very soul. He shook his head slowly.

  “No.”

  The answer to her question seemed to visibly shake the woman. Her eyes widened, and her lips turned up into a fierce sneer, her body giving one long shudder of rage. Just as quickly as her reaction had overtaken her, calm suffused her being and she grew stoic once again. She laughed quietly, the sound as flat and lifeless as her eyes as she stared straight ahead.

  “I shouldn’t be surprised. You degenerates are all the same. Letting power corrupt you until you gang-bang an innocent man in the dead of night just to prove your loyalty to the first fucker to offer up money and status.”

  Yulian went still, his eyes widening into large spheres. The scene she described had been so specific. Too specific. His memory flashed to a pale-haired boy in a room of five other men as disgusting as himself inside the mansion of a man who was more powerful than God. He slowly and ever-so-carefully examined the woman once again. Her beautiful form, shrouded in that flowing dress, and her pretty features, with the proud tilt of her chin that dared anyone to challenge her… he took it all in and recognition hit him.

  And with that recognition came hollow, cold despair.

  “You,” he breathed. “I know who you are.”

  Silence met the stunned statement, and the woman merely sat in complete stillness for a moment. She suddenly unfurled herself from the pew, standing above the quivering priest. Finally looking away from the crucifix, she met the stare of the terrified priest once again, and a realization took hold and made him whimper with terror.

  Those cold, dead eyes are the last thing I will ever see.

  “Yulian Semenov, you have said that God forgives all if you truly repent. And I truly believe that you believe that and have found peace in that belief. When I first looked into your eyes and listened to your beautiful sermon, I felt kindness and compassion from you. I believe you truly want forgiveness and have been working hard to atone for your past. All this I do, from the bottom of my heart, believe. I also think God may have already forgiven you and perhaps even considers you one of his messengers, spreading His word to those who truly need it.”

  Yulian didn’t even see the young woman’s arm move before he felt the pinch at his throat. Gazing into the eyes of his killer, he tried to gasp for air, only to find warm liquid as it strangled him. He tried to cough only to find more hot fluid, choking on the river that seemed to be coming from his neck… and all the while his stare was held captive by the woman’s icy gaze. He saw the flash of silver at her side and watched as she used a cloth to wipe off the blood-soaked knife she now held in her fist.

  “I am not your God, Yulian. I do not forget, and I most certainly do not forgive slights against me. The minute you laid your filthy, disgusting hands on Silas, you were a dead man.”

  The woman’s image started to blur as Yulian felt his body slam to the floor. The cold that had already taken over his entire being permeated even further through tissue and bone as his life drained slowly from his throat. The hands that he had clutched to his neck slackened and finally fell to the floor beside him. He felt a peaceful, floating sensation overtake his frozen body and his vision slowly dimmed.

  He was going home.

  He gave a strangled gurgling sound as the woman’s foot slammed onto his privates, the excruciating pain bringing her form back into clear focus for a moment. Standing above him, she ground her foot into him and the sound he emitted sounded like a gutted pig as he begged her with his gaze to let him die.

  “I must say one more thing before you go, Father.”

  The woman breathed the words, leaning down, her weight pressing on the foot she had planted on him. He felt tears mix with the blood pouring down and could only stare up in horror as her cold, dead eyes sparked with an icy hatred that followed him into death’s embrace.

  “Out of all six of you fucking pigs I’m going to slaughter… I despise you the most.”

  With that final icy blaze of her eyes and the trembling words spoken with deep, resounding hatred, Yulian Semenov died in a pool of his own blood and tears.

  • • •

  Emilia

  “Well now, that was interesting, Kitsune-san.”

  I looked up from the body that was cooling by the second to find Masamune leaning against the doors of the church. I took one last long look at the corpse of the priest, kicking it once before I turned to the handsome Japanese man. His lips curled into a mocking grin, he looked at me with eyes that seemed to know too much as I calmly made my way to his side.

  Stopping in front of him and meeting his gaze, I tilted my head.

  “And just how long were you standing there?” I inquired softly, my body thrumming with a need so fierce, I was shocked my voice only trembled slightly.

  Masamune gazed at me for a long moment before he stepped forward. Standing toe-to-toe with me, our bodies brushed as he answered me in the same soft tone.

  “Long enough.”

  Reaching a hand up, Masamune went to touch a stray piece of hair that was laying against my forehead. With swift accuracy, I gripped his wrist in my hand before he could make contact. We stared at each other for a few moments, neither of us saying a word in the silence of the church. Finally, the silent tension was broken by Masamune stepping even closer, his hips brushing my own as I held his hand still clenched in my grip. Tension and excitement straightened my spine and made my breath hiss out. God, what was he doing to me and why the fuck did I like it so much? The tall Japanese man leaned down, his lips brushing my ear as he whispered his next words.

  “You want to kill him all over again, don’t you, Emilia?”

  His slightly accented voice caressed my name as gentle as a butterfly’s wings, and I couldn’t suppress the shudder that raced down my spine. Masamune’s other hand came forward to intertwine his fingers with my other hand, and I stood still as stone as he seduced me with his words.

  “You feel that… sudden rush when you kill your prey. That rush is so potent, it can create a latent effect where you can’t help but want to see the life drain from their eyes again… and again.”

  While he spoke, those fingers caressed my own, and my breathing grew ragged. He knew what he was doing to me, damn it, but I couldn’t bring myself to step away. He pressed our bodies even closer together, those lean, hard hips pressing against the softness of my body, sending a wave of unadulterated need ricocheting through me. I felt my eyes close as his next words hit me exactly where he knew they would.

  “And since you cannot have that… the unsatisfied desire builds until your body trembles from the need.” His fingers left my own to trail ever so slowly up my wrist, my forearm and my shoulder until finally the long, graceful appendages tangled with the hair at my neck. Before I could find my sanity and step away, he gripped my hair so hard my head snapped back, and a breathy, tortured moan poured from my lips.

  “Emilia, you are already so pent up. What do you think will happen to you if you keep denying yourself?” With the deep, husky voice of Lucifer himself, Masamune trailed his lips faintly down my exposed neck, eliciting excited, panting breaths from me.

  “All killing and no fucking makes you go insane, kitsune ch
iisana.” Calling me little fox in his native tongue, I felt the smile at his lips before his teeth sank into the side of my neck. I gave a strangled scream, feeling the sting all the way to my core. His tongue followed, soothing the sudden nip with a long, hot swipe that almost sent me to my knees.

  Something snapped inside of me, and with a quick flick of my wrist, I released his hand from my own. Surprising him with my sudden movement, my hand whipped around the back of his head and I gripped his hair in my own fist, tugging his head to my own. Breathing unsteady, and my hot, flushed skin obvious in the moonlight that was now streaming through the stained-glass windows, I snarled my next words at Masamune like a ravaged beast.

  “Release me now, or I promise you I will fuck you until the life has left your eyes.” I felt the other side of me that I constantly battled, yet never seemed to win against, take over my movements as I leaned my face even closer to his, our lips brushing as I hissed the next words.

  “I will leave nothing behind but a broken shell of a man once I’m through. Keep this in mind the next time you think to seduce me, your captain.”

  Masamune’s eyes, for the first time since we had been forced together by fate, lit with an excitement so palpable, I felt my bravado falter slightly. We released each other at the same time, stepping back. I was gratified to see I was not the only one whose breath was ragged, taking note of the irregular rise and fall of Masamune’s chest. The Japanese man stared at me almost like he had never seen me before, before his lips split into a grin so full of anticipation and sin, I almost came on the spot.

  “Now, that, Kitsune-san… is very, very interesting.”

  “We’re done here.” I lifted my chin, gliding past him, but not before he murmured words that filled me with a deep, unwanted anticipation.

  “Yes, Emilia. For now.”

  • • •

  Pomest'ye Korol

  The next morning.

  “Korol.”

  Zakhar looked up from his attendant buttoning his cufflinks to find Alexei in the doorway of his private rooms. He jerked his chin, permitting entrance to his second-in-command. The attendant hurriedly finished with Zakhar’s clothing, and then bowed to him as he exited, leaving Zakhar and Alexei alone.

  “Alexei. What brings you in so early?” Zakhar asked pleasantly, sipping on his coffee as he considered the grim look on his ever-serious bodyguard’s face.

  “I received a very… interesting report this morning.” Alexei began, his speech slow and deliberate. “Last night, a priest was murdered in the small town of Drezna.”

  Korol lifted an eyebrow to Alexei, his tone bored as he asked, “And?”

  “The priest’s name was Yulian Semenov.”

  Zakhar sighed, setting his coffee down and going to his desk to retrieve his watch.

  “What does this have to do with me, Alexei?”

  “You were the one who gave him permission to sell his entire estate, divorce his wife, and retire to the countryside… after a small party you invited him to three years ago. At the country manor.”

  Zakhar stopped all movement.

  “He was one of the six men who… spent time with the French boy after Emilia was injured by one of our guards.”

  Zakhar turned slowly to face Alexei, whose face showed not even a hint of emotion.

  “Yulian Semenov’s death was caused by his throat being slit from ear-to-ear.”

  Zakhar could only stand and stare at Alexei. His face slack from shock, his breath caught in his throat, it was a full minute before Zakhar could bring himself to react.

  And he laughed.

  And laughed.

  Finally, after his sides began to ache and he grew light-headed, Zakhar finally stopped.

  A slow, insane grin contorted his features, causing Alexei’s heart to sink.

  “She’s here.”

  • • •

  The same time across town

  At the stronghold of Father of Assassins

  “Mon Seigneur.”

  Leonid Sokolov wanted to jump out of his skin in surprise at the husky French voice addressing him as “My Lord”, but years of grueling training kept him from shouting like a woman. He turned with a calm, collected look to find one of his most trusted spies, Ethyn Dubois standing in the doorway of his office. Acting as if he had known the tall, slender Frenchman was there all along, Leonid turned from the window where he had been watching Viktor being taken out in a blindfold to a car that would transport him back to his captain.

  He trusted Viktor, but Emilia was still an unknown player in this dangerous game of coup d'état that she and Korol were playing. He did not trust Viktor to not tell Emilia exactly where the base of Father of Assassins was and, even more than that, did not trust Emilia not to use the information to her benefit.

  “Ethyn. I take it you have come to give me the report from last night.” Leonid sank down into his plush leather chair behind his very large and very intimidating oak desk. With his size, his glower, and the large entity the desk and his own body created for him, he knew the picture he painted was one of power that left most men trembling in fear.

  Not the impudent Frenchman before him, who walked right up, sat down on the edge of his desk, and leaned back, crossing his legs in a way he knew displayed his long, sensual body perfectly. Long, blonde hair tumbled down his back, and eyes a strange green-gold color made the man a beautiful picture to behold, indeed. But it was his mastery at stealth and trickery that made Ethyn Dubois indispensable to Father of Assassins.

  Not to mention his association with the only other assassin organization that truly terrified Leonid to his very soul.

  “Quite an interesting evening, Seigneur. Your lady has quite the friend.” Ethyn spoke in perfect Russian, save for the “My Lord” which he taunted Leonid deliberately with. Knowing Ethyn hated speaking Leonid’s language, Leonid switched to English just for the stubborn Frenchman.

  “She does, indeed. Was Alex in danger at any point?”

  This question was the most important. The answer to the question determined young Emilia’s fate and whether Korol would continue to rule Underworld unchallenged.

  “Hound was asked to stay outside in the company of the Usami sisters and Masamune Onodera. Emilia Fox fully intended to enter the church by herself and leave all her guards with your lady. It was very apparent she did this for Hound’s safety with no concern to her own, and Hound is still furious over it today. You will find your lady currently sparring with Gregor, James, and Miles burning off her irritation by thoroughly trouncing them.”

  Leonid did not show a hint of emotion for a full moment, processing the information slowly but efficiently. He finally nodded, pleased with this answer.

  “Good. I like Emilia immensely and Korol is getting too high and mighty for my tastes. A new regime is long overdue. But as you know, if she had put Alex into danger intentionally…” Leonid trailed off, letting Ethyn finish the thought.

  “Yes, I was to kill her without hesitation, one bullet to the skull.” Ethyn finished, nodding.

  “Did you learn anything new?” Leonid got right down to business, folding his hands in front of him and watching the lithe Frenchman uncross and re-cross his legs before he answered.

  Ethyn paused for a long moment, his beautiful face revealing nothing as he seemed to contemplate the question. He leaned back further, his shirt riding up slightly to reveal his taught, pale stomach. On his right hip, Leonid could see the small tattoo of a lily.

  That tattoo still managed to send a shiver of dread down his spine.

  “Emilia Fox is… not doing well.”

  This surprised Leonid out of his musings, and he raised a brow.

  “Explain.”

  “I think there is another layer to the lovely Emilia that no one has seen. It seems to me, through my observation of her kill inside the church and the interaction she had with her man Onodera afterwards, that Lady Emilia may not be the woman she presents to the world. At least, not all of her
. And whatever she is hiding is making her… lose her sanity.”

  “I was just with her yesterday, Ethyn. She seemed perfectly fine to me!”

  A secret smile pulled the Frenchman’s lips into a gorgeously mocking grin.

  “Forgive me, mon seigneur, but which one of us do you trust more to read a woman’s mind?”

  Leonid paused. After a moment, he gave a begrudging nod.

  “So, you think she is driving herself insane.”

  “Yes. I think that whatever it is that Emilia is trying to control inside of herself is going to get out eventually and she is playing with fire by denying it. If she keeps this up, I do not think Emilia will be in any shape to take care of herself, let alone an entire crime organization.”

  Leonid considered the possibilities from every angle, analyzing with cold, unfeeling logic.

  “Then, we wait. We will not extend help to a woman who cannot control herself, let alone her men. Until I am assured that her slight problem has been dealt with, we will watch and wait to see what unfolds.”

  “I’ll handle it.”

  Leonid and Ethyn both looked up in surprise at the sound of the voice. The owner of the serious voice strode through the door silently, her beautiful, slim body moving with grace as she approached Leonid’s desk. Leo watched hungrily as his Alex, beautiful in all her post-fight glory came to stand before him. Not allowing the lust and joy to cross his face, he merely lifted a disbelieving brow at her, knowing it pissed her off and loving every minute of it.

  “Oh? And what will you do, moya golubka?”

  Alex tossed her main of strawberry curls over her shoulder, glaring down at him, her usually vacant eyes shining with resolve.

  “You think stupid Ethyn is the only one who noticed Foxy’s distress? She’s my Foxy for fuck’s sake.” She rolled her eyes, sneering her lips at Ethyn. “Don’t think you’re so smart just because you pay attention to girls, Ethyn. And I knew exactly where you were at the entire time last night. You’re not as smart as you think you are.”