To Seduce An Assassin (The Omaja Series Book 2)(16)

Terijin looked up, trying to see their assailant, but the arrow had come from the cover of a nearby grove of trees. A second arrow whistled through the air, striking the coach, and then a third that buried itself into the chest of the mercenary in the driver’s seat.

A black-cloaked figure emerged from the trees, moving like a quick shadow along the darkened road toward the coach.

At first Terijin thought it was Yajna, but then he saw steel blades flash in the moonlight, dual blades crisscrossed over his back. Yavi. He’d cut Terijin and his crew to shreds. Terijin scooted away quickly on his hands and heels, then stood and ran. Fast.

§

Yavi killed the bandit on the back of the coach by slicing through his chest with his scimitars and tossed the body into the nearby ditch. He strode over to the open door of the coach and pulled back the curtain, but the inside of the carriage appeared to be empty. He grabbed the torch from the driver’s seat, held it up to see inside better.

Luminous, light hazel eyes framed by dark, arching brows stared back at him, and a full, soft pink mouth parted in surprise. Her dark, shiny hair was piled loosely on top of her head, and her sweetly rounded breasts heaved a little with shortness of breath.

“Graciella?” he rasped, in disbelief that the beautiful woman inside the coach was really her. She was definitely not as he remembered her from six years earlier.

“Are…are you Yavi or Yajna?”

“Yavi. Are you all right?”

Her heart leapt. She pressed a hand to her chest, offering him a wry smile. “I will be, as soon as I can breathe again. I fear my coachmen had the worst of it, poor fellows.”

“Yes.” He glanced back at the driver’s body grimly, then retrieved her dagger from the side of the road, where the bandit she’d stabbed in the throat had tossed it. He cleaned the unusually dark-looking blood off on the shirt of one of the fallen mercenaries, then handed it to her by the blade. “You’d better keep this wherever you had it. It seems to have come in handy.”

“Yes.” She raised the hem of her skirt a bit and bent forward to tuck the small dagger into her boot. Her breasts pressed together inside her neckline, jiggling a bit with the movement. “I thank you.”

Yavi stood frozen at the doorway, catching himself glancing down at the creamy smoothness of her leg just before she let the hem of her skirt back down. He looked up and cleared his throat. “Well, so much for a warm welcome into Nandala. I’d best get you to the palace before the others realize I’m gone and start to worry.”

She nodded, swallowing. “Do you want me to—to stay in here?”

“Yes. I’ll drive the coach. Let me get my horse tied to it, and we’ll be off.” He closed the door, then reopened it and held up the torch again to see her face. “Sure you’re all right to continue your journey?”

“I’m fine.”

“Call to me out the window if you need anything before we arrive.”

“Okay.” She smiled then, a fetching grin that lit up her lovely face and showed off a row of pearly white teeth.

Yavi cleared his throat again, shut the door, and went to get Sikar.

The bandit she’d stabbed had survived and escaped, but Yavi didn’t want to waste time chasing him down at the moment. His sole mission now was the safe delivery of Graciella to the palace.

Kitchen help, his arse. If he had his way, the exquisite creature inside that coach would never dirty her delicate little hands in his kitchen.

§

As the coach started rolling again, Graciella untied the restrictive strings of the cloak from around her neck to get some air, then sank back against the cushioned seat, fanning herself. Dear Gods, the attack was scary, and then to have Yavi suddenly appear in the doorway—she didn’t think her heartbeat was going to slow down for many miles. She had hoped to be washed, coiffured, perfumed, and dressed in her best gown when he first saw her, but instead she was sleep-deprived, had half her hair coming down, and her face was all sweaty from having to fight off those vile highwaymen.

The attack wasn’t the only reason she’d had trouble catching her breath. Yavi’s exotic silvery eyes were as handsome as ever, his firm jaw still square, his silver hair still thick over his brow and cropped short. The only thing that had changed about Yavi of the Zulfikars in six years was the pained sternness of his expression. That had deepened, and it worried her.





Four


Terijin shoved the heavy wooden door open and staggered inside the dilapidated fortress. “Sire!” he shouted, hurrying down the stairs to the lower level. “Sire!”

Uman met him at the bottom of the stone staircase, his eyes narrowing. “Where’s the girl?”

“We were thwarted, Sire. By Yavi. I don’t know how he knew about our ambush, but he killed the three mercenaries. I alone escaped.”

Without warning, Uman backhanded him, a powerful blow against his face that sent him skidding across the stone floor. When Terijin looked up, Uman was stalking toward him, his solid black eyes menacing.

Uman bared sharp, black-stained teeth. “I told you not to return here without the girl.”

Terijin held up a hand to deflect another possible blow before it could hit his face. “I know, Sire, but I couldn’t get to her. He killed two of my men with arrows before I could do anything, and then he rushed us with his swords. No one survives a sword fight with Yavi. He—he’s the best swordsman the Assassin Army has ever had.”