Sloane peered out from beneath her bangs at the charcoal
black sky. Another storm moving in.
Perfect cover for her, even if it meant rusted weapons. She ducked back under
the cover of her tent in the throwaway camp of the rogues.
She fingered the chain on her neck. The teeth hanging from
the crude rope clinked together as they settled against her pale skin. Sloane
could recite who she’d taken each tooth from and how she’d killed them.
Sloane had an excellent memory.
“Hey,” said a soft voice from her right.
Sloane’s head swung around in a slow motion to meet the dark
eyes of her oldest comrade, Mikhail. His skin beaded with sweat in the swelling
humidity as he crouched next to her. “Mikhail,” she replied. “Any news?”
“You always ask me of nothing but news.” He chuckled and
elbowed her. “It’s as though we have no friendship.”
“Our friendship runs strong, and you know it. But we have
everything to do and nothing to lose. What news?”
He nodded. “Father is preparing the Breeders for a fresh
round of child bearing. But he’s still not sure if Flint can make a son or not.”
Sloane snorted and sat back on her haunches with a gleam in
her eye. “Of course he won’t. He never has. I wonder why?”
“Well,” Mikhail said as he stretched his legs out in front
of him. “They say he can’t keep up.”
A siren interrupted Sloane’s giggles and they sat up and
leaned into the steady downpour. Four of the leaders stood in the clearing
looking for them. Sloane walked towards them slowly, eyes following their
movements.
“You called?”
The closest one to her spun on his heel and stared at her. “You
scared me, Sloane.”
“Not hard to do,” she mused, and fingered the teeth around
her neck. “Am I adding to my collection tonight?”
They backed away collectively as she caressed the sharp
point of the bone awl hanging loosely from her belt. “Yes,” said the eldest. “We
have a new assignment for you and Mikhail.”
* *
* *
The high fence loomed in darkness, only a sliver of light peeking
over the side from a security lamp on the other side. Sloane stood, hands on
her hips, and looked over the smooth stone.
“Well, Mikhail,” she whispered. “Shall we?”
“Shouldn’t we search for an easier route in?” He looked
doubtful.
“Why?” She used a tree for leverage and swung her feet up
the wall until she perched in the high branches and peered over the wall.
Mikhail, shaking his head, landed neatly beside her. She pressed a finger to
her lips and pointed.
A man sat in the gardens, alone and unaware of their
presence. His muscled back shifted as he sighed and leaned forward to pick a
flower from the ground. Sloane jumped to the ledge of the fence and cocked her
head.
“Oh, sweet flower,” the man said, his deep voice betraying
the pain he felt. “We’re both out here, in the cold, alone.” He turned the
petals over in his fingers and held it to the moonlight. “Now that I’ve picked
you, you’ll die. And now that he’s picked me, I’ll die.”
Sloane dropped to the ground, Mikhail on her heels. The man
heard their feet and turned, dropping the flower to the ground. “Who’s there?”
Ignoring her friend’s hands, Sloane stepped into the
moonlight. “Who are you?” She looked at him inquisitively, ignoring his
defensive stance.
“Who are you?” he retorted. A look dawned across his face. “Oh.
No, no, no. You’re that assassin girl. You’ve come to kill me.”
She snorted and shifted forward so quickly the man had
trouble following her movements. She ran a hand across his back and he shivered.
“Cold hands, warm heart,” she murmured, fascinated with the way his skin
flexed. “Are you Father?”
The other flashers:
Julie Hayes (m/m)
http://julielynnhayes.blogspot.com
http://julielynnhayes.blogspot.com
Lily Sawyer (m/m)
http://lilysawyerbooks.blogspot.com/
http://lilysawyerbooks.blogspot.com/
1 comment:
Oh dear! She seems like quite a character. Is there going to be more?
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