“Will all of you please be quiet? I’m trying to kill him.” A squat guard who rather resembled a troll with an unfortunate tick in his eye crossed his arms and narrowed his eyes toward Ash.
“With what?” The elderly man sneezed and wiped his face.
“His mind,” another voice piped up. “He thinks he can kill people with his mind.”
Well. That did it. Ash gritted his teeth. Hunter, the Duke of Wolverstone had clearly sent him here in order to finally drive him mad.
The elderly man sneezed again, this time nearly toppling over in the process. His pistol slipped from his hands. He bent over to pick it up, giving Ash full view of what the men were so keen on protecting.
Large, almost-purple eyes blinked at him… once, twice. He swallowed and took a cautious step forward, aware that the guards were whispering amongst themselves regarding what they should do. Allow him to see the girl or kill him where he stood?
He didn’t even have the good sense to laugh. Not while his eyes were locked on hers.
Huge. Her eyes were huge. He scanned her full bee-stung lips. Pieces of dark shiny hair hung across perfectly carved high cheekbones. The girl’s dark eyebrows arched as she continued to watch him. He pushed the men aside until he stood just in front of her.
Odd. Every part of her face seemed too large, from her eyes to her lips. Even her nose seemed more pronounced than would be found on such a petite girl. The catch? If one looked at each individual characteristic, one could almost devise that she was flawed in every way. Eyes too big and searching, lips too plump, eyebrows too dark. Truly, she was almost… odd looking.
But when he added all those unique flaws together, and then looked at the girl, really looked at her, he was almost brought to his knees.
For she was absolutely beautiful.
And then she opened her mouth.
“I do not know who you think you are, nor your reasons for being here, but my men will kill you where you stand if you take one more step!”
Her color was high as she thrust her chin into the air.
“Is she serious?” Ash asked aloud, meaning to be thinking it rather than speaking it.
“Yes, she is.” The girl glared.
Ash pressed his lips together and looked down at the ground, fighting off laughter. She truly thought that the seven idiots standing around her could protect her? He lifted an eyebrow and held out his hand. “I won’t ask twice.”
“Good.” She smiled brightly; he exhaled in shock. Two dimples framed her wide mouth. Perfect white teeth blinded him as she gave a brief curtsy. “I did not even want you to ask once.”
Ash looked behind him to see Pierce leaning against the wall examining his glove as if it had sprouted a face. “Are you not going to give me aid?”
“No,” he said simply. “I am quite enjoying myself. Do continue.”
Ash growled and turned back to the woman.
Finally, he spoke first. “I’m here to—”
Her hand went sailing across his face without warning. The slap was loud enough to send a crack through the air.
Ash stood there, stunned, while the sting radiated outward toward his jaw. And then with a war cry straight out of some terrible play, he lunged for the girl and lifted her into his arms, holding the pistol against her head.
The men surrounding them froze.
Pierce laughed.
Ash rolled his eyes and cursed.
The woman tried to move against him.
He held her firm and then really wished he had let her go.
She was the first he’d held in nine years.
Nine years of celibacy, and now the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen was rubbing against him.
God was punishing him. That much was painfully, albeit arousingly, clear.
“Cease from moving before I really give you something to scream about.” His voice came out sounding hoarse and hollow.
Thank God, the wench actually stopped moving. Ash loosened his hold. “Now, where was I?”
“Before or after you were slapped?” Pierce asked.
“Before,” the elderly man answered as Ash opened his mouth. “He was just getting ready to say why he was here when Her Highness walloped on him.”
“She did not wallop on me,” he said through clenched teeth.
“Sure looked like a wallop.” One of the guards laughed. “You still have a handprint on your face.” He elbowed the one who thought he could read minds as they both burst into laughter.
“Enough!” Ash bellowed, the action causing the sting in his cheek to worsen. “What the devil is wrong with you people? I’m here to see that the Royal Prince Maskylov’s cousin makes safe passage into England without getting herself killed. Though to be honest, I’m having second thoughts.”
“Because of the slap.” The elderly man nodded emphatically.
Sofia, her highness, or whatever the blazes her name was, finally sagged against him.
He released her from his grip and lowered his pistol.
“Who are you?”
“Now she wants to know,” Ash mumbled. “It is of no importance. I am here to—”
“Rescue you, fair damsel!” Pierce chose that exact moment to make a complete fool of himself.
Ash glared at his cohort, truly ready to pull a pistol on the man and be done with it. Idiots, he was surrounded by them, though he knew Pierce was merely trying to vex him. Fool. Ash narrowed his gaze on his friend.
“I am no damsel,” Sofia argued from beside him.
“Clearly,” Ash said dryly.
She turned and glared. “Care to gain another slap?”
“I have nothing against striking a woman.”
“You wouldn’t dare!” She pointed in his face. Again.
With strength he didn’t possess, he held his ground and gave her his most menacing glare. “I would, and I will. Now, gather your things. We are for London.”
“No.”
Ash groaned loudly. “Madam, either you leave willingly or not. The choice is yours, but know you will be leaving.”
“Says who?”
“I say!” Ash all but roared. “And I have been saying such for the past ten minutes! I am here on behalf of your beastly cousin. Damn and hell, they should have paid me more for this.”
“My cousin?” Sofia chewed her lower lip. “I do not believe you.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “He would never send a — a…” She shook her head violently. “…a madman in his stead!”
Ash sighed. “We are late as it is. If you will not go with me, you little hoyden, I will simply toss you over my shoulder.”
“You will not!” The elderly guard thumped his foot onto the ground and puffed out his chest. “We need proof of your legitimacy.”
“You hear that, Ash?” Standing next to him, Pierce laughed. “They need proof of your birth.”
“No, er…” The old man scratched his head. “…that is to say, I am sure you are a legitimate, er, man. I meant proof of your…” He scrunched up his nose.
The younger guard sneezed next to him and managed to get out the word “Mission” before sneezing again.
“That’s it!” The old man nodded. “Your mission. If the prince sent you, then we need to see proof.”
“Fine.” Ash clenched his teeth, pulled back his arm, and knocked the younger man in front of him to the ground.
“Ash.” Pierce groaned. “Why?”
“He wanted proof.”
“So you punched him?” The elderly man made a move toward Ash just as the younger man came around.
“Look.” Ash pointed down at the man. “Proof.”
Sure enough, the younger man’s face bore the mark of Prince Maskylov’s signet ring, imprinted quite dramatically across his cheek.
“Is it a dragon?”
“A beast.” Sofia spoke up. “His signet ring is a beast.” She moved to help the younger man to his feet and scowled at Ash. “You did not need to hurt him.”
“He’s
fine.” Ash shrugged. “Now, may we leave?”
CHAPTER FOUR
If death does not even want me… who will? I do not even want myself. I disgust myself. But, I want her. I want her so bad it hurts. But she’s gone, and every time I look at another woman I see her face, her lips, her smile, and I tell myself that my celibacy is my punishment; it is my cross to bear. For how could I look at myself in the mirror after just spending the night in another woman’s arms? —The Grimm Reaper
IF IT WAS AT all possible to kill a person by glaring, Ash would be dead. Sofia hated him for a number of reasons, the first and foremost being that he was a cocky fool! Clearly, her cousin had no concern for her welfare for him to send her a man who polished his own blasted boots before dinner!
Twenty minutes later, and they had finally been able to eat.
All because his boots had had a spot.
And after dinner, the man had had the nerve to ask her if she would be so kind as to help him get settled into one of the rooms in the cottage! As if she were his maid!
But the worst of the situation, and truly that was where she wondered if she would ever be able to look a man in the eyes again, he’d asked her to bring him water so he could bathe!
When her Royal Guard had offered, he’d refused, saying that a man should not do a woman’s work.
An hour later, and she was sweating so profusely it was she who needed the bath, not him.
“Will that be all?” she asked once she’d brought the last bucket of heated water.
“This could have been avoided, you know.” Ash removed his jacket and newly shined boots.
Sofia looked away from the infuriating, undressing man. “What? The bath?”
“Yes.” Ash’s voice was deep and commanding, but it seemed the more he talked the harder it was for him; he easily went hoarse during conversation and often resorted to head nodding and motioning with his hands. Now was one of those times; his voice had changed, the inflection gravelly and raw. Merciful heavens, it was hot in that room.
“How?” Sofia asked, exasperated and in need of an escape, even if it meant jumping head first out the window.
“If you had listened the first time, we would have been in the next town and happily on our way into London. Because of you and your stubbornness, we had to stay.”
“So it’s my fault you’re an idiot? Is that what you’re saying?” She tilted her head and gave him a patronizing smile. “After all, you were the fool who barged in and attacked my Royal Guard in hopes of sweeping me away to London. It seems to me, you think me the fool, when truly, the fault lies with you and your inability to practice patience.”
Ash grinned. “That was a lovely scolding. Well delivered. To the point, still courteous. If I did not know you to be royalty, that would have sealed your fate. You must have a care how you speak to others when you are in London. It would not do for your true identity to be realized.”
Sofia held her head high, not willing to admit he was most likely right. “Will that be all?” she said through clenched teeth the second time.
“No…” Ash peeled the shirt from his body. “…no, it will not be all.”
She’d been afraid of that.
“Look at me,” he commanded, voice husky.
Sofia slowly turned her head toward him and managed to hold in her gasp when her eyes fell upon his naked chest. His body was covered in odd markings and scars. His muscles flexed underneath the glow of the candlelight.
Slowly, he walked toward her, his wide smile mocking and wicked. “Just one more thing.”
As if her legs were suddenly filled with lead, Sofia held her ground and waited. Was he going to grab her? Slap her? Her heart thundered in her chest. Would he force himself on her?
When his hand reached out to touch her chin, she flinched. The last time a man had laid a hand on her, it had been the assassin. He had wanted to touch Sofia, the pure princess, before her blood ran cold. At least that was what he had said.
She’d stabbed him in the chest and not looked back as she’d run through the woods to the safety of the cottage where her Royal Guard had stood in wait.
“Help. I need your help.”
“With… what?” Her words came out slow, full of dread as she looked at his flushed face.
“An injury, I cannot—” Ash stopped talking and shifted his feet as he cursed and looked at the ground. “Because of an injury I cannot reach— Never mind. Just leave me. Send one of your royal protectors. Send Pierce, for all I care. I just need—“
“I am able to help.” Sofia swallowed her fear and took a step forward. “Just tell me what I need to do, and I will help.”
Ash exhaled a curse. “I cannot get off my shirt without assistance. My right arm will not rise above eye-level, and it causes great pain to undress myself.”
Sofia looked at his right arm. “It appears to be fine.”
“Forget it.” He pushed her toward the door.
“But—”
“Leave.” His tone was deadly as he pulled open the door and shuffled her out. “Send in Pierce. Won’t be the first time he’s undressed me.”
“But—”
“Good evening, Princess.” With that, he slammed the door in her face. Cursing resounded from the inside of the room.
Sofia clenched her hands, allowing her nails to bite into her skin as she stared at the closed door. What the devil had just happened?
“You make him angry, love?” Pierce held a candle out in front of him as he made his way down the narrow hallway.
“He’s…” She pointed at the door. “…rude and impossible, and apparently needs help undressing!”
“Ah,” Pierce leaned against the wall. “And you were unable to aid him in his request?”
“I was about to, but then…”
“Do go on.” Pierce smirked. “Then what, love? Did he try something with you? Better yet, did you try your feminine wiles on him?”
“No.” Sofia glared. “I told him his arm looked fine, and then he yelled and slammed the door, all before I could get another word in.”
The smile fell from Pierce’s face as he eyed her coldly. “Have a good night, Your Highness.”
“But—”
Suddenly Pierce was directly in front of her, the candlelight glowing against his angular face. “I said… goodnight.”
“Goodnight,” she responded quickly then nearly tripped on her skirts as she made her way down the hall to her bedroom.
After turning the corner, she stopped and listened.
Pierce knocked twice.
There was talking, and then a low voice said, “How bad?” just before the door was slammed again.
Whatever the situation, they could not harbor secrets against her, not when her life was in danger with every breath she took.
She would discover his secret. She would decide if he would be more hindrance than help, and, if that were true, then she would simply travel with her guard, alone, without the beautiful man who called himself Ash.
CHAPTER FIVE
I try to cover up the scars, but all it does is make it worse. It seems the longer I try to hide, the more everything threatens to come to the surface. If anyone ever finds these journals after my death, I hope the one lesson they learn is that the things you think you want, you don’t. The things you don’t want always happen and are always what is best for you, even if you don’t know it until you breathe your last breath. Everything happens for a purpose. I just wish I wasn’t damned to hell, so God could tell me mine. —The Grimm Reaper
THE FIRST GULP OF whiskey burned its way down, and Ash winced. He stared at the glass in his hand, contemplating a second soothing swallow, but set the glass on the side table instead. Whiskey had never helped before; certainly it wouldn’t help now.
“You need a doctor.” Pierce cursed as he examined the scars on Ash’s back.
“I have you.” Ash shrugged off his friend’s serious tone. “Besides, what can a doctor do? I’m beyond helping.
”
Pierce placed a compress against Ash’s right shoulder. “You have no way of knowing that.”
“I’m dying.”
“You are not dying.” Pierce sounded disgusted.
“The last doctor said I was dying. Didn’t you just say so yourself? Doctors have all the answers? Doctors help?”
Heaving a sigh of exasperation, Pierce went to the basin and washed the remnants of blood from his hands. “I’m ignoring your sarcasm just this once. The doctor you visited was more interested in coin than anything. I imagine, once we reach London, you may get a second opinion that has you living long enough to irritate everyone you come into contact with.”
“And if the diagnosis is the same?” Ash swallowed. He did not fear death; after all, he was death’s deliverer. A gun for hire. An assassin. No, he had already cheated death once. He knew he could not do it again, no matter what Pierce said.
Thankfully, Pierce said nothing; instead, he walked to the table and poured himself a healthy glass of whiskey. He threw back the contents and slammed the glass down with a resounding thunk. “Then I’ll pray for your soul.”
Ash smirked, knowing full well that Pierce believed just as he did, that one couldn’t embark on the life both of them had led without having to justify their actions to the Almighty. And Ash knew there was no justification. No excuse that would save him from the fires of hell.
“We leave in the morning?” Pierce interrupted Ash’s dark thoughts. He leaned against the wall, his head tilted to the side as if examining Ash and his mental state. Infuriating friend. He was always concerned Ash would somehow get so depressed that he’d turn his pistol on himself again.
“Yes. Now, go to sleep.”
“If you promise me not to shoot yourself, I’ll go to sleep.”
Ash groaned into his hands. “The only man I intend on shooting is you. Now, go to bed.”
With a grunt, Pierce pushed away from the wall and quit the room.
The silence was deafening.
Ash watched the flames lick into the air, felt the heat of the fire against his skin as he took a seat near the fireplace.
Months. He’d been told he had months before the pieces of metal reached his heart. Of course, the doctor had no way of knowing, not unless he operated. But what was the point? It wasn’t as if he had anything to live for.