Prologue

Malik Blackwell woke early one December morning with a beautiful woman beside him.  She had hair like fire, curls to top it off.  Her skin was like soft gold, unblemished save for a few birthmarks here and there.  She lay on her side, facing him with her head on the pillow beside him, her eyes closed.  He could feel her leg against his.

Malik lay on his back for a moment, watching her sleep, savoring every detail of her beauty.  Her lips were elegantly heart-shaped, her chin had a stubborn angle to it, and her eyebrows were arched and defiant.  He loved the way his gray silk sheets hugged every curve of her body like they owned her.  The assassin turned onto his side ever so silently and rested one hand on her hip gently so as not to wake her.  He knew the calluses along his palm would scratch at the sheets and possibly startle her awake if rested on her bare skin.  He propped himself up on his elbow, resting his head on his free hand, smiling slightly as she twitched and took a deep breath.

Malik slid his hand up her side to her arm, his calluses making little scratch sounds as they slid across the sheets.  He could feel his hunger for her and her body rising up again.  Flashes of the night before rose up from the back of his mind.  The feel of her satin dress had been like liquid beneath his fingers.  He’d undone the ties at the back of it as easily as he’d undone his own weapons belt.  She had kissed him so deliciously, her lips sliding over his like water.  One moment, they’d been kissing, the next he was shirtless on the bed with her in a white corset, her hair out of its pins.  

The assassin pressed his lips to her forehead gently.  Then, her cheek and her neck.  He felt the tiny flutter of her lashes moving against his jawbone and knew she was awake.  He felt her soft exhale warm his neck.  He nipped her cheek as he pulled away.  She chuckled. “Malik,” Her smile was lazy. 

“Good morning.” He whispered.

Her only reply was a gentle groan and a stretch of her thin arms over her head as she yawned right in his face.  But, Malik didn’t care.  He simply thought it amusing, her way of teasing him.  He drew his head back a little and smiled lovingly.  Her eyes were such an unbelievably bright blue.  They were like aquamarine gems.   

She looked at him again, her eyes traveling over the planes of his face, down to the faint and fresh scars from all of his fights.  She placed her soft, thin hand on his chest, over a scar he’d had for years.  It was a scar that remained as a reminder that no matter how well-trained he was, no matter how strong he was, he was mortal.  He could die.  It was a scar that seemed so stubborn, insisting that it would never fade.  It was several inches long, nearly a foot.   It was a simple straight line over his heart, risen and not quite ugly.  

He’d given up counting how many times this young woman had touched that scar in the past night.  It was strange to him how she could be so intrigued by a simple line of risen flesh on his chest.  He’d told her the simplest version of the story that he’d told any person who had asked about it but really didn’t need the whole story: it came from a fight that had nearly cost him his life.  Simple.  That was all anyone really needed to know.

She kissed the scar, putting a gentle pressure behind it that he loved.  She wriggled her way closer to him, so that her body was pressed against his.  It felt as though every inch of her was pressed against every inch of him, though she was several inches smaller than him.  But, she had this way of making him feel totally consumed by her presence.  He wondered if she felt the same way.  He wondered if she felt that all-consuming feeling of love and need and desire when she was even in the same room as him.  He wondered if she felt that every time he entered the room she needed to be beside him in the least, if not touching him…or more.

She nipped all along his collarbone and kissed down his chest, making his heart start to speed up from its calm state.  Her fiery curls tumbled down as she moved ever closer " nearly laying on him again " falling across his arm, tickling him slightly.  He tipped her head up with one finger, guiding her lips toward his own.  She kissed him with the same fire and pressure as she had the night before and he felt his hunger for it rising up in his chest.  She slid on top of him, straddling him.  He gripped her thigh with one hand, sucking her lower lip.

“You know…I need to go soon.” He whispered between kisses and bites.

She groaned. “Why?” 

“Because…I have important work to do.” He replied his voice smooth and soft as her gown had been.  

“No.  I want you to stay.  I don’t want to see you with more cuts and stitches, scars and bruises.” She whined.  “You already have so many.”

He looked up at her, finding it harder to breathe as she traced some of his scars that ran along his sides, arms, and chest with her finger nail.  “I can’t afford such petty thoughts.  The people of our country need me.  They need my assassins.  If I don’t get myself out of bed in the morning to train them, to fight for them, who will save them?  Who will protect them from the king’s tyranny?”  Malik raised one dark eyebrow.

She sighed, her face falling into sadness.  

“I promise that I shall always return to you, my darling.  You have no idea how much you mean to me.  If you would like, once I return from my work in the country, I shall begin to train you to fight beside me.  That way, you will never have to watch me leave your side to fight again.  Is that something that you would like?” Malik tilted her head up so that she faced him.

Her face lit up once again.  “Are you serious?” 

“Of course.  Whatever you would like.” He replied.

She gasped. “Thank you!”

Malik laughed as she hugged him and kissed him all over.

•••••

He lay in bed with Farrah kissing and playing around for a little while longer before he told her that he had to go.  She let him go reluctantly.  He then showered, dressed, and grabbed a bite to eat before leaving.  

He’d just stepped out of his home when he heard screams.  At first he’d thought it was a bird of some kind, but when he heard it again, he could determine that it was a little girl in the land of Fensande far below his mountain home.  He scrambled down the mountain, not caring to be graceful and quiet.  The cold mountain wind bit his face through his scarf and nipped his body beneath his tunic.

When he reached the bottom of the mountain, he heard the screams again.  He followed the sounds to a small home a mile or so from the mountain and saw a man beating a little girl to death.

Reviews

[Ace St. Jean]

Interesting story, looking forward to what happens in the next chapters!

[Tessa Melendez]

Thank you for your review. I'm hoping to find time to finish chapter 1 sometime soon. :/