Beneath The Assassin's Touch (Daggers 0f Desire Book 2)

  Beneath the Assassin's Touch

  Daggers of Desire, Volume 2

  Katherine Hastings

  Published by Katherine Hastings, 2018.

  Copyright © 2019 by Katherine Hastings

  All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof

  may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever

  without the express written permission of the publisher

  except for the use of brief quotations in an article or book review.

  ISBN: 978-1-949913-05-7 (Paperback)

  ISBN: 978-1-949913-04-0 (ebook)

  FIRST EDITION

  Editing by Tami Stark

  Proofreading by Vicki McGough

  Published by Flyte Publishing

  www.katherinehastings.com

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Beneath the Assassin's Touch (Daggers of Desire, #2)

  DAGGERS OF DESIRE SERIES

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  DAGGERS OF DESIRE BOOK THREE

  BY THE ASSASSIN’S SIDE Daggers of Desire: Book Three

  THANK YOU FOR READING

  DEDICATION

  Sisters by birth, friends by choice. This book is dedicated to the first person to read it, my biggest cheerleader, and my partner in crime... my sister, Anna. Thank you for all your support, insight, and encouragement!

  DAGGERS OF DESIRE SERIES

  While each book is a standalone and can be enjoyed on its own, the series is best enjoyed in order so you can follow along with the characters and their adventures.

  Book One: In the Assassin’s Arms

  Book Two: Beneath the Assassin’s Touch

  Book Three: By the Assassin’s Side

  CHAPTER ONE

  THE SMELL OF STALE ale and unwashed men crinkled Viktor’s nose when he stepped through the doorway into the tavern. The door closed behind him, sealing in the sounds of the rowdy crowd laughing and arguing over their drinks. Curses punctuated almost every sentence; perhaps it would be considered offensive to some, but it made him feel right at home. His eyes scanned the room for an empty seat, his parched throat ready to be quenched with a mug of ale.

  “Fancy a tug on your tallywags?” a voice asked as a hand slid across the front of his pants.

  His eyes fell first to the pair of breasts threatening to pop out of a too-tight bodice, then moved up to the face perched above them. Not entirely unpleasant, but he had seen better.

  “Not right now, love. Perhaps later.” He removed her hand from his pants and tipped his head, stepping toward the last open seat at the bar. Not usually one to turn down a tumble, tonight his thirst was for ale rather than women. Two days of riding had left his muscles burning and his libido depleted.

  “Suit yourself,” she called after him, turning her attentions to the man who entered behind him.

  He slid into the seat with a sigh. It felt good to sit down on something other than a horse. Leaning his elbows on the worn wooden surface, he lifted a hand for the barmaid.

  “One ale.”

  She cast an irritated look his way. “Hold your horses. I’ll get there when I get there.” Her attentions turned back to the man she was gossiping with at the end of the bar.

  Viktor heaved a sigh. With a powerful thirst egging him on, he itched to launch himself over the bar and fill his own mug. “If you aren’t interested in these, I suppose I can go elsewhere?” He slipped the leather coin purse from his waist sash. The coins in the sizeable bag jingled when they dropped on the bar. The sound caused her head to snap around and her conversation to end. She looked first to the money and then back to him.

  “One ale, you said?” Her voice sweetened and she reached for a mug.

  “With the service here, let’s start with two.”

  She ignored the insult and filled the second mug. She took her time hobbling over toward him, two full ales threatening to spill over the top with each ambling step. Viktor watched the ale grow closer, his mouth parting in anticipation when she set the mugs down in front of him. His hand clutched one handle before she had a chance to set it all the way down.

  She stepped away, her eyes wide as she watched him tip back his head and let the cool liquid slide unchallenged down his throat. He slammed the mug down on the bar and blew out a breath ripe with ale and relief.

  “Shite that was good.” He smiled and grabbed the next mug. “This one I’ll savor a bit more.”

  He took a sip, the cold metal refreshing on his lips as he tasted the ale this time. “Good hops in this one.” He reached into his coin purse and tossed a few her way. “Keep the change.” She scooped them up without hesitation, nodding before she made her way back to her conversation at the end of the bar.

  He took his time with this ale, relishing the way it quenched his throat and soothed his tongue. A pair of dark eyes two stools down became fixated on the pouch that sat open on the bar. Viktor kept a wary eye on the man while he slid the pouch from the bar and secured it back to the red sash around his waist. He had been in enough taverns to know the temptations a heavy purse could induce.

  “Where are you coming from?” a soft voice asked from behind. He turned in his stool to see a lovely creature standing behind him. Her hand rested on her ample hip just below her narrow waist. Sultry eyes batted the promise of pleasure.

  “From the sea,” he answered, looking her up and down, enjoying every inch of the view.

  “And where are you going?” She twirled a brown curl between her fingers. With attentive eyes, he watched it fall between her bosoms.

  “At this rate, to your bedroom, I suppose.” He took a sip of his ale. With this thirst quenched he could now turn his attentions to the other one.

  A slow smile passed her lips. Her eyes fell to the pouch dangling beside his pistol. They moved then to the bulge in his pants. “Impressive.”

  “The pouch or the pouch?” He matched her smirk and shifted to give her a better view.

  “Both.” She bit down on her finger, pulling her lip as she let it slip out of her mouth.

  Viktor felt himself stir as she batted her lashes again.

  “Who’s up for Crown and Anchor?” A man’s voice called across the tavern and cut through the chatter. It turned Viktor’s head from his temptress. Good ale, a game of dice, and a roll with this lovely lass? His night was turning out better than imagined.

  “Want to come blow on my dice?” Viktor waggled his brows.

  “Nothing would give me greater pleasure than to... blow on your dice.” Her eyes moved back to the front of his pants.

  “All in good time, love.” Viktor stood and extended an arm. “Let’s have you blow on these dice and then you can blow on those.”

  With a coy tip of her head, she slipped her arm inside his. He led her through the crowded tavern to the table where the Crown and Anchor mat tempted him to sit. A surge of excitement coursed through him at the prospect of wagering on his favorite game of chance.

  “Minimum wager is one shilling,” the dealer said, lifting the dice from the table.

  Viktor settle
d into his chair. He patted his lap, and the woman hopped onto it without hesitation. She slipped an arm around the back of his neck and wiggled in tighter. “I’ll bet thirty shillings.”

  The dealer’s overgrown grey eyebrows rose at the sum. He nodded and encouraged Viktor to place his bet.

  “Put them down on crown is what I always say,” Viktor said with a smile. He stacked his shillings on the crown and sat back, his hand now resting in her lap. The dealer shook the dice and released them onto the table. They rolled to a stop, landing with a diamond and two spades face up.

  “Damn,” Viktor whispered as the dealer swept his money away. The furrowed lines on his forehead softened and he smiled up at the woman. “I forgot to have you blow on them! That’s why I lost. Dealer, again.”

  Viktor stacked another thirty shillings on the crown.

  “The crown again?” she questioned.

  “Down on crown... it never fails. Well, except last time. Now, go on. Blow on his dice.”

  She wiggled forward in his lap, leaning to where the dealer held the dice cup in his hand. The dealer’s eyes fell to her bosom and he gulped as her breasts threatened to fall out. She blew into the cup and then settled back onto Viktor’s lap. The dealer cleared his throat and tossed the dice. A club, a heart, and an anchor appeared when they stopped.

  “Shite,” Viktor spat. “You blew on the dice, right?”

  “Of course I did.”

  “Maybe I need to bet more. That’s what it is,” Viktor said with certainty. “Two pounds on the crown.” He pulled the pounds from his pouch and stacked them on the mat.

  Concern stiffened the dealer’s lip. “Two pounds? Both on the crown? Are you sure?”

  “Positive.” Viktor puffed his chest and lifted his chin. “Darling, give them a blow.”

  She leaned down and blew on the dice again. With a shrug, the dealer flung the dice out on the table. Viktor watched them roll to a stop. A diamond, two hearts, and an anchor.

  “Bloody hell. You’ve got to be kidding me,” he groaned. “You sure you blew on them? You didn’t miss?”

  “No, I didn’t miss. I don’t ever miss,” she protested.

  “Maybe I need another ale. That must be it. Will you be a good lass and fetch me another?”

  She nodded and pushed up from his lap. With the flick of his fingers the shilling flew through the air. She caught it effortlessly and giggled.

  “Can I examine those dice, sir?” Viktor asked, leaning forward to look at them.

  “Are you calling me a cheat?” The dealer’s eyes narrowed.

  “Of course not, sir. I’m asking to examine your dice. If they are missing the crown, then I will call you a cheat. Now, the dice if you don’t mind?”

  The dealer scowled and lifted the first dice, turning it over to show the crown symbol clearly marked. “Do I need to continue?”

  “If you don’t mind,” Viktor stated, nodding toward the next dice.

  The dealer lifted each one, the crowns unmistakably present on all three. “Satisfied?”

  “I won’t be satisfied until I win my money, but I’m confident you aren’t using trick dice.” He grinned.

  A scream whipped Viktor’s head toward the bar. “Let go of me!”

  He saw the arm of his escort clenched tight in the hands of the man who had eyed his coin purse at the bar.

  “I said let’s go now, you filthy drab!” The man snarled at her, tugging her toward the stairs that led to the rooms above.

  “Let go of me!” she screamed as she resisted. Her pleas caused the men in his group to howl with laughter while he dragged her away.

  Viktor stood from the table. He flipped the tails of his black leather cloak behind him, moving his hand to the dagger in his sash.

  “Release her,” he growled, the depth of his voice left no question to his threat.

  The patrons in the tavern grew silent, their attention focused on the impending battle. A round of fevered shushes silenced the room. All eyes turned to Viktor as he stood immobile, his intimidating stature looming over the room. Rigid. Waiting.

  The man holding the girl stopped, yanking her to a halt with him. She whimpered when he tightened his grip on her arm. “Release her, or what?” He smiled a crooked smile, his jagged tooth catching on his lip.

  Viktor lowered his chin and deepened his glare. The men at the bar rose one by one, hands hovering above their weapons. Viktor’s eyes never wavered though he took count of their numbers. Sixteen if he counted correctly. A difficult fight even for someone of his skill. The woman whimpered again as the man’s grip tightened on her once more.

  “I said... release her.” Viktor’s muscles twitched in anticipation.

  “Bugger off,” the man chortled. “Come on, whore.” He yanked her forward and Viktor’s hand flew to his dagger. It sliced across the room and drove deep into his wrist, nearly severing the hand that held her. He yowled as he released his grasp. The woman fell forward, terrified eyes turning to Viktor while he stood, unmoving.

  “Go. Now,” he commanded her. She nodded her thanks and raced out the back door. Sixteen pairs of eyes fell to the man now bleeding on the floor, clutching his wrist. Sixteen pairs of eyes now moved back to Viktor.

  “Get him!” they yelled as they fell over one another, racing toward him with weapons drawn.

  Viktor slid two of the daggers from the armed baldric strapped to his chest. He eyed up the incoming charge. The man in the lead had them all by six inches in height and one hundred pounds of muscle. The bloke three men over was less impressive in size, but covered in scars and battle wounds. No doubt he knew how to survive a fight. With his two most direct threats in his sights, Viktor let loose his two daggers. They arrived at their targets in unison, both men dropping to their knees, clutching the daggers embedded in their throats.

  Viktor slid his sword from his sash and prepared for the first wave. The first man arrived, his inexperience showing as he took an early swing. An easy sidestep and a jab sent him hurdling to the ground, blood spilling unchecked from his abdomen. The next man entered the fray just as carelessly. Viktor cut him down before he even had a chance to swing.

  “I can do this all day,” he sneered as they filed through the opening between the tables to reach him. He had two more men down at his feet before they smartened up and began to encircle him. Viktor glanced at his surroundings, backing up now so he couldn’t be surrounded. The half-circle of men shrank as they pushed in toward him.

  The first man lunged. Viktor jumped his blade and swung at him. He caught Viktor’s swing, pushing back as their swords collided. Viktor leapt onto the table and flipped backward, severing the man’s jugular as he landed. The circle closed in, blades flew as Viktor deflected each blow, cutting through them with ease and thinning the remaining men down to eight.

  “Come on now, gentleman,” Viktor said, standing ready for the next assault. “No more of you need to die. Let’s just call this a night, you can buy me an ale and I can get back to winning my game. What do you say?”

  A snarl erupted from the man to his left. Viktor swung to deflect the blow while another man attacked from his right. He kicked out, sending the man flying backward while battling the attacker on his left. Another sword joined the attack, this one narrowly missing his arm. For the first time since the fight began, Viktor could feel the tides slipping out of his favor.

  He deflected blow after blow, the group closing in together now, making it almost impossible to do anything other than play defense. Viktor sized up his surroundings. He remembered the lesson taught to him when he was eighteen years old and training to be a Liberta assassin... there is no shame in retreating. Better to retreat, regroup, and return than to perish a proud man.

  Viktor flew backward, running up the wall, swords slicing below him as he leapt off it and over the heads of the men that surrounded him. He couldn’t resist a taunting smile when he watched their faces fall in disbelief as he passed over head. His feet connected with the table, hi
s muscles ready to push off and send him to safety. The table buckled beneath him, and Viktor’s eyes flashed wide as it collapsed.

  “Shite,” he managed to murmur just before tumbling to the ground.

  He rolled to his back, struggling to free his sword from the rubble of splintered wood. A sword descended on him and he raised his arm to deflect the blow, hoping the hard leather gauntlets strapped to his forearms would protect him. He braced for impact. Just when he steeled himself for the blow, another sword appeared above him, sparks flying when it collided with the one intended for him. A hiss of relief escaped his burning lungs. Viktor looked up to see a man towering above him.

  “John?” Viktor furrowed his brow, trying to make out his features. “John Douglas? Is that you? What the hell are you doing here?”

  “Are you going to lay there napping all day, or are you going to get up and finish this?” John looked down and smiled.

  Viktor returned the smile and pulled his sword from the rubble. With one push he leapt back to his feet and returned to the battle.

  “Causing trouble again, Viktor?” John asked, sending a man sailing backward with a kick.

  “Rescuing a damsel in distress... the usual.” Viktor cut down another man.

  “I think I am the one rescuing the damsel in distress right now, don’t you think?” John taunted him with a wide grin that matched the mischievous glint in his eye.

  “Me? A damsel? I think not, my friend.” Viktor stuck his blade through a man’s throat.

  “Certainly seemed that way to me,” John teased as they cut down two more men. “You helpless on your back; me jumping in to save you. Seems pretty damsel in distress to me.”

  “I had things well in hand,” Viktor argued back.

  “Sure you did.” John rolled his eyes, his sense of humor well intact even in the heat of battle.

  The last two men stepped forward, blades drawn. John and Viktor raised their swords and stepped side by side. The four men circled each other, one deliberate step after another, each waiting for the other to make their move. Viktor tightened the grip on his sword and prepared to end this standoff with one quick move.