Forbidden

Nothing is sweeter than fruit from the forbidden tree.

          The first time Ciaran laid eyes on Gwen was on the night of Mardi Gras. Venice glistened and gleamed with brightly colored costumes, beautifully designed masks, and exploding fireworks of all shades and configurations. Even the brothel was decorated, both inside and out. The girls wore their most expensive gowns and hid their faces from their nightly employers with sparkling masks.

          When he walked into the brothel, Ciaran’s hands were already tainted with fresh blood, but were hidden by dark leather gloves. Gwen had not yet gotten her taste of violence for the night. Her mark had not shown up for his usual appointment with the brothel girls. She’d just have to move on to the next name on her list.

          Gliding across the crowded room toward the door, Gwen felt someone wrap his hand around her arm. Ciaran had had his fill of violence for the night; he would continue on with his list tomorrow. For now, he was only in the mood for the warmth of a woman’s akin. He pulled her toward one of the few unoccupied spaces on the walls and pinned her to it, gripping her upper arms rightly. The feeling of his leather gloves on her bare arms was odd, but intriguing.

          She wore a simple, yet elegant gold-colored gown, which seemed to make her tan skin glow. Her mask was the same color gold, causing her green eyes to appear to sparkle and her long black hair to shine against the lighter color or her mask and gown.

          He wore a simple white, button-down shirt, sleek black pants, and a dark wine red cape. His mask bore the same color as his cape, darkening his already dark blue eyes. His long blonde hair was tied back with a black piece of ribbon.

          Neither of them took much notice of what the other was wearing. They did, however, notice each other’s eyes. Gwen’s sparkling green eyes; Ciaran’s darkening blue eyes. It took him a moment before he remembered what he had come here for. He placed his lips on her, forcing his tongue into her mouth. She indulged him for a moment before ripping away form his kiss. Excited by her roughness with him, Ciaran knocked her back against the wall hard and leaned in to kiss her again.

          Before his mouth could reach hers, Ciaran notice something that made him stop. Due to gripping her upper arms, one of her loosely draping sleeves had fallen further to reveal a small skull and crossbones tattoo on her upper arm. She was one of them; the so-called bounty pirates: assassins who considered themselves half pirate. Realizing that he had taken notice of her tattoo, Gwen knew exactly what he was. Ciaran released her arms.

          Their eyes met and each heard the other’s pistols c**k. A few seconds of silence passed before the explosion exploded. People all around them cheered and clapped as the newest round of fireworks filled the night sky. Ciaran turned his head at the sound of the explosion, but realized his mistake too late. He felt a small dagger enter his right shoulder. By the time he turned back, Gwen was gone.

          Quickly pulling out the dagger, Ciaran rushed outside. No one had noticed; they were all too preoccupied with the fireworks. He scanned the crowd in search of her, but she was no where to be found. She was gone. His shoulder throbbed. She could have dug the dagger in deeper into his skin, but she hadn’t. But why? Probably for the same reason he had hesitated when he first saw her tattoo.

          Placing his hand over the small hole in his shoulder, he smiled and even laughed slightly. He stuffed the dagger into his boot and made his way through the crowd.

          It would be several weeks before Gwen and Ciaran saw each other again.

          Ciaran made his way through the crowd toward the back of the theater. Back stage, practically everyone was either drunk or preoccupied by a companion or both. Nonetheless, he made sure to stay hidden as he made his way to the dressing rooms. When he reached the right room, he turned the knob and entered quickly. The man in the chair turned to face Ciaran.

          “You’re older than the last one they sent.” He said, examining the man who had just entered his room.

          “I’m sorry to disappoint you sir.” Ciaran replied, and then lifted and cocked his pistol. 

          Before Ciaran had the chance to squeeze the trigger, another pistol cracked and the man fell. Ciaran stood stunned and confused. Turning at last, he found Gwen emerging from the shadows, an odd grin on her lips. After a moment’s pause, both raised their pistols to the other’s face.

          “He was mine.” said Ciaran, angrily.

          “’Was’ being the key word here.” Gwen spoke smoothly and with a hint of sarcasm. “He was yours, and now he’s mine.”

          Ciaran cocked his pistol.

          “They’ll hear us you know. One shot can go unnoticed, but if we start riddling each other with bullet holes, someone’s bound to walk in on us.” She said, sounding cockier then before. She lowered her pistol, lifted her dress, and placed it back in the holster on her thigh.

          Ciaran slowly lowered his pistol and placed it back in its holster. Wasting no time, his hand flew through the air and cracked Gwen across the cheek. Bringing her hand to her cheek, Gwen turned her face back to look at Ciaran, and she smiled. He gripped her by the neck and backed her against the shadowed wall. He could feel his blood boiling as she began to laugh.

          “Oh come now, you’re still not mad about that whole dagger in the shoulder thing, are you?”

          Ciaran tightened his grip, and Gwen closed her eyes. When her smile finally disappeared, Ciaran’s grip loosened. With her eyes still closed, Gwen felt her dress begin to rise up passed her knees, then passed her thigh, and finally passed her waist. Gwen felt her pistol leave her holster. Opening her eyes, she saw Ciaran toss it across the room.

          “Any others I should know about?” Her smile returned.

          “You’re welcome to check.” She whispered.

          “Am I now?” he asked, moving closer to her.

          Gwen felt Ciaran’s hand brush her thigh as he went for his belt. Releasing her throat, he undid his belt. Gwen began to feel his body pulsating against her. She wrapped her arms around his neck. Leaving his belt undone, Ciaran placed his hands on the wall and pressed against Gwen’s body, once again forcing his tongue into her mouth. She indulged him longer this time, but not too much longer. Gwen lifted her leg and kneed Ciaran square in the crouch.

          Ciaran released Gwen and doubled over in pain, his hands covering his genital area. Gwen wriggled out from in front of him and stepped out of the way. Her dress fell back to the floor, and she adjusted it slightly. Ciaran groaned in pain, still doubled over. He fell to his knees and lowered his head to the floor. Through the pain, he could not hear her as she picked up her pistol and placed it back in its holster. She came up behind him and leaned over to place her mouth next to his ear. She said nothing, but merely placed a light kiss on the skin behind his ear.

          The pain began to ease and he was able to lift his head to sit on his knees. Gwen opened the window and went out onto the small balcony. Ciaran assumed she had left.

          “By the way,” she said, poking her head back in the room, “my name’s Gwen.”

          Ciaran smiled and kept his back to her.

          “Ciaran.” He groaned.

          And with that, she was gone again. A few seconds later, the door opened and another man entered and shut the door quickly behind him. Taking out a pistol he approached Ciaran, who was still on his knees. He then noticed the actor, dead on the ground a few feet away.

          “You got him.” The man said joyfully.

          “No.” Ciaran replied.

          “No, what do you mean no? Ciaran, the man’s dead. If it wasn’t you-“

          “It wasn’t.”

          “Then who?”

          Ciaran paused. “It was her.”

          It took him a moment to realize what Ciaran was getting at. “The girl from the brothel?” he asked, his eyes widening.

          The man placed his pistol back in the holster on the inside of his vest.

          “First you let her go at the brothel and now this? What the hell has gotten into you Ciaran?” he asked at long last.

          Ciaran got to his feet. “I have no idea.”

          A month went by and no sight of Ciaran. She continued down, what seemed to be, her never ending list. She wouldn’t deny being good at what she did, but something about those two nights was throwing her off. She was getting her kill, she wasn’t getting caught, but something felt off. She couldn’t describe it.

          That night, the docks were strikingly quiet. The freezing water, dark and muddy, lapped up against the wooden piers with some force. The sky was covered in grey clouds that seemed to puff up against each other, ready to release the showers of water they held inside. No stars shone that night. The wind tossed itself back and forth with growing speed.

          A perfect night for an assassin’s heist, Gwen thought.

          An assassin’s heist: a pathetic excuse for a mass assassination with a bit of thieving tossed in. Something those bounty pirates had cooked up in their spare time just to prove to themselves that they were more than mere killers. Ciaran couldn’t stand any of them; pompous murderers who got it in their heads that they could justify their killing by calling themselves assassins and then justifying themselves further by calling themselves pirates instead of corpse robbers.

          The ship had tied off to the docks. Men yelled in a strange language while others ran about the deck. It took the crew half an hour before they finally deboarded the ship. Those men didn’t matter though. It was the officers that they wanted. The officers, and bits and pieces of the cargo. Gwen smiled as two crewmembers dropped a large, wooden chest, which opened to reveal glittering jewels and fine gems. Those were just bonuses though; they were here for the officers.

          What a mess they’d make, Ciaran thought. They weren’t entitled to those treasures, and they were going to take them anyway. It was their idiotic way of throwing off the police: making it appear as a robbery gone wrong. It was disgraceful. These were men of rank, gentlemen who deserved to be killed with honor. This was a job for professionals, and somehow they had gotten the hire.

          How did Gwen ever become one of those amateurs, Ciaran thought.

          Gwen felt her heart race with the anticipation of the kill.

          Shots began to crack; men began to fall; orders began to be shouted. But the real chaos did not start until Gwen saw one of her own fall. A man she did not know stepped out from behind a stack of barrels, aimed at another bounty pirate, and fired.

          Assassins; what were they doing here? This was not their hire. Assassins had no purpose being at the docks. They weren’t after the officers though.

          Ciaran fired again at another bounty pirate. He yelled in pain as the bullet entered his chest and fell to his knees. He watched as Ciaran came to his side and placed the barrel of a pistol on his temple. The man took a deep breath, and Ciaran squeezed the trigger.

          Gwen ran out from behind a cart of chests and saw Ciaran standing over her cousin’s body. He turned around and noticed her standing there.

          “You.” She growled.

          “Hi.” Ciaran replied, quite surprised to see Gwen.

          Bullets flew through the space between them, hitting men they could not see. Ciaran ducked down quickly. By the time he looked back, Gwen was gone.

          “How does she do that?” he asked himself.

          After nearly forty-five minutes of shooting, the police arrived. The death toll was recorded at thirteen, eight bounty pirates and five assassins. Several others were arrested.

          Crouching down inside a small shed on the edge of the dock, Gwen debated on whether to pull the bullet in her should out herself or wait until all was clear and she could get back to the tavern. Though it hurt, she kept quite. The police had left about two hours ago, or at least that’s what the police wanted them to think. She knew better though. They would have officers hiding, waiting for any lingering criminals until morning at least.

          A creak; Gwen painfully drew her pistol from its holster. Ciaran appeared out of the darkness, standing before her. As he stepped into the light, Gwen could see that his shirt had been torn. Blood dripped from a large cut above his right eye as well as the slit on his lower lip. She could see bruises beginning to form on his skin, mostly his face and the part of his stomach that was revealed. Grunting, Gwen came to her feet, her gun still in hand.

          Ciaran strode over to Gwen quickly, knocking the gun out of her hand before she had time to react. He gripped her by the neck and pinned her against the wall. Gwen dared not fight back. Without a word, Ciaran unbuckled his belt and let his pants fall to the wood floor. He quickly pulled her dress up passed her stomach. Like all their other encounters, Ciaran pushed his tongue into Gwen’s mouth. This time, she did not rip away or fight back. Gwen felt him take her by the sides and lift her up. As he did, she wrapped her legs around his waist. She moaned loud, breaking the kiss, as Ciaran forced himself into her.

          Before they could get very far, Ciaran heard something through Gwen’s soft moans. Stopping quickly, he pulled out of her and let her down. As Ciaran pulled his pants back up, Gwen turned her head to the window. Lanterns were moving toward the shed. She felt her dress fall back to the floor and rushed over to her gun. When she stood up, Ciaran was already pointing his pistol at her. The two heard dogs begin to bark.

          “Now what?” Gwen asked.

          “Well, we either go back to trying to kill each other or we can wait like this until the police find up and either arrest us or kill us themselves.” Ciaran answered, quite out of breath and a bit confused as what to do.

          Men began to yell as the barking got louder.

          “Don’t know which one sounds more tempting.” Gwen said coyly.

          Ciaran gave an annoyed smile.

          “Turn around.” He demanded softly.

          Gwen’s playfulness disappeared with those two words, and was quickly replaced with a twinge of fear.

          “Turn around.” Ciaran repeated, placing his other hand on his pistol as well.

          Gwen finally did as she was told. Closing her eyes, she waited for Ciaran to squeeze the trigger. What she heard was much different though.

          “I love you.”

           With that, Gwen heard the door to the shed open and a whistle blow. Turning back around quickly to find Ciaran was gone and the dogs outside began barking loudly.

          “Oh, you idiot.” Gwen mumbled, and ducked out of sight.

          Two weeks went by slowly. Gwen had obviously made it out of the shed without being caught and back to the tavern. One of her comrades successfully removed the bullet and tended to the wound. She had heard that Ciaran had been arrested.

          It was late when Gwen finally made it to her bed. On this particular night, there was no moon. No light whatsoever in the sky save the dull stars. It did not take her long to fall asleep; it had been a long day. Her thoughts immediately drifted to Ciaran.

          She had not slept for long when she heard a faint noise close to her window. She kept her eyes closed as to appear that she was still asleep. She assumed it was some sort of animal. Her room was on the third floor and in no place for any person to successfully climb up to it without falling. But as the noise grew closer to her open window, Gwen began to think that perhaps it was a person after all.

          Whatever it was had reached the window and was peering through at Gwen in her bed. The person climbed through the window just as Gwen sprung up. Her dagger stopped just at his gut as she realized it was Ciaran. He quickly placed a hand over her mouth.

          Had he honestly escaped from prison to simply see her? How stupid was he? Gwen could not figure it out. This kind of behavior was new to her.

          Taking his hand from her mouth, Ciaran kneeled on the bed. As he came closer to her, Gwen slowly laid back down. When her head hit the pillow, she felt Ciaran’s lips on hers. Ciaran slid the blanket off her, pressing his body against hers. This time around, Gwen did not fight back. She allowed Ciaran to hick up her gown without objection. She gave a quiet moan as she felt him inside her once more.

          In that moment, everything was right. The world disappeared and it was just the two of them. This was right. This was pure. This was what they had been waiting for their whole lives. This was a glimpse of that thing called happiness. But alas, it was only a moment.

          Ciaran felt the dagger enter his chest. He pulled back quickly, causing him to fall off the bed. He lay on the floor, staring up at Gwen. She peered over the bed.

          “Well done.” He laughed, realizing that there was now blood pouring into one of his lungs.

          It was then that Gwen felt the lower half of her body go numb. A feeling gripped her lungs, depriving her of air. Her skin went cold. Moving slowly, Ciaran removed a small needle from his pocket. Attached to that needle was a small empty tube. Gwen smiled upon seeing this.

          “Oh, I love you.” She whispered.

          Within the next few moments, Gwen drew her last breath. Stilling lying on the wooden floor, Ciaran breathed heavily. The pool of blood beside him was growing rapidly. She had done her job well; the wound was deep. He laid there, still. It was pointless to move. He could not cry for help, Gwen’s people would kill him once they found him. And there was no use getting up either. Ciaran could no longer feel his legs. His mouth was filled with hot blood. With what strength he had left, he yanked up his pants. Placing his hands on his chest and stomach, Ciaran stared up at the ceiling.

          There had been no questioning why; no whining; no regrets. They had loved and now it was over. They had been doomed from the start; fated to be destroyed by their love. And that was okay.

          Closing his eyes, he smiled a blood-soaked grin and let go of all feeling. It took him ten minutes to die.