Prologue
ALINA
One week prior
The sharp scent of fear mingled with the coppery stench of blood as I leaned in closer to the writhing figure chained to the wall. His whimpers were muffled by the gag wedged in his mouth, but his eyes—wide and wet—screamed the terror that his bound lips could not.
The meager light from a small window above cast sinister shadows over the grimy, rotting dungeon floor. The air was oppressive, with the sickening scent of decay and desperation. I paid little attention to my surroundings, consumed by my single-minded pursuit—to retrieve the cursed moon dagger at any cost.
“Where is it?” I whispered, my voice a serpent’s hiss as the blade of my dagger traced the outline of an old scar on his cheek—a souvenir from our last encounter. He shook his head frantically, his skin quivering under the cold steel.
“Think carefully,” I said. “The moon dagger and the ancient scrolls of time are not trinkets you can forget about.”
The dagger tip pricked his skin, a bead of crimson swelling up like a promise.
Fourteen years… It had been fourteen years since I first made death my ally. Fourteen years of screams and silence, and bloodshed and betrayal…
Each cry I extracted, every drop of blood I spilled, was a note in the symphony of my existence, a testament to the ruthless efficiency I’d honed. My hands, once hesitant and unsure, now moved with the precision of a master craftsman, carving agony into flesh with the finesse only a seasoned killer could possess.
A putrid stench permeated the air, suffocating and overpowering my senses. The smell of rotting flesh permeated the room, a reminder of my failure and a warning of the horrors that awaited if I couldn’t retrieve the weapon. But I pushed on, determined to uncover the dagger’s whereabouts despite the overwhelming stench of death surrounding me.
My victim’s muffled cries echoed off the stone walls as I slid the cold, sharp dagger beneath the gag. With a yank of my hand, I sliced through it with ease, catching his flesh in the process. Blood spewed from the gaping wound, staining my hands in thick crimson. The man’s body convulsed in agony, but I reveled in the power coursing through me with each passing second.
“Please,” he finally choked out, the word garbled and desperate.
I knew better than to trust the pleas of those who harbored secrets. Secrets that could unlock the power I sought, the power we all coveted.
I leaned in, letting my breath dance across his ear.
“Your pain will end when you speak the truth,” I assured him, though we both understood the lie for what it was.
His mouth twisted into a grimace as he clenched his teeth and shook his head, refusing to speak. Steeling myself, I leaned in close, my resolve unwavering, and whispered, “You made your choice.”
With velvety finesse, I traced the cold blade across his neck, drawing a thin line of crimson blood that trickled down his chest. The air was tense as we both knew the weight of this moment and its irreversible consequences.
His eyes, wide with the realization of his impending doom, met mine for a fraction of a second before I ended his life. I unfastened his shackles, and his body crumpled to the ground, joining the others who had fallen by my hand. I stood above their lifeless forms, the finality of my actions settling in like a thick fog. My heart thudded dully against my ribs, the only sound in a world gone mute. No moon dagger. No scrolls. Only the stillness of death as my constant companion.
“Any luck?” The voice pricked at the bubble of solitude that had surrounded me. I turned, finding Mathias leaning against the dungeon doorway, his arms crossed over his chest, his features cast in shadows that hid his thoughts.
“Father, it’s you!” I cried. As if propelled by the strings of our shared bloodline, I leaped over my fallen prey and closed the distance between us, each step shedding the weight of my recent kill. Father’s eyes followed my approach, gleaming with pride. He received me with open arms, the familiar scent of leather and steel wrapping around me like a cloak of affirmation.
I buried my face in his chest as he embraced me tightly. Tears streamed down my face as I whispered, “I’ve missed you so much.”
“I have missed you too, my daughter,” my father replied, his voice thick with emotion. He placed a tender kiss on my forehead before leaning back.
“Alina,” he said, scanning the decomposing bodies scattered around the room. “Look at you—my daughter, my protégé. You’ve exceeded my every expectation.”
I allowed myself the briefest of smiles, basking in his rare praise, feeling the darkness inside me purr with contentment.
“Your precision and ruthlessness,” he said, his grin wolfish and wide. “You’ve become a lethal assassin, and I love it!”
The echoes of our footsteps mingled with the whispers of the past as we navigated the dimly lit corridors out of the dungeon and upstairs to Salvatore’s study. The door creaked open, revealing walls lined with books that held secrets darker than their leather-bound covers. I turned to my father, impatience for news scratching at my throat.
“Father, give me news! What do you know?”
Father paced before the hearth, where embers fought a losing battle against the cold.
“Olivia and Roman have infested Wales. Those fools, Roman and Malik, are scurrying about for supplies like rats.” He slammed a fist onto the desk, causing the candlelight to shiver. “And Olivia... She’s pregnant. Breeding yet another weakling into this world.”
