Beloved in His Eyes (Angel's Assassin #2)(33)

He moved to the next body. He wasn’t sure what he would do if he found Justina amidst the carnage. No matter what he did, he couldn’t prepare himself for her death.



Once, darkness had been Damien’s friend. Once, he had belonged to the shadows. But Aurora had come and banished them from his soul, revealing him as a hero. A good man. Now, he felt cold. Rage burned inside him, charring away the good man he had become. With Aurora gone, the beast lived again. He wanted blood. He wanted to kill the Hungars. Every last one of them.

Damien threw the rope over the wall, glancing one way and then the other. He knew he couldn’t let the guards see him; they would never let him leave the castle alone. They would demand to accompany him. But this was something he had to do alone. He had been an assassin in another lifetime. He had been a killer. And he knew how to circumvent sentries and how to stay hidden. His instincts were heightened. He should have been amazed at how easily his past skills returned. But he wasn’t.

The moon hid behind thick clouds as his feet hit the ground. He looked up the tall wall where the rope hung. His passage of return. If he made it. It didn’t matter if he did or not. He would seek vengeance at all costs. He would be death’s messenger. He snuck across the moat. He was an excellent swimmer and the dark waters held no peril for him. He came up on the other side and stayed low to the ground, moving along the moat until he saw them. The Hungar camp directly outside of the city walls.

He clenched his teeth. Laughter floated around flickering fires and white tents. They had killed Aurora. The words played over and over in his mind and his hands clenched so tightly they shook. He wanted to kill them all. He wanted to make them pay for hurting her.

It would do no good to think of anything but his mission. There would be blood this night, he knew. The beast inside of him would be sated. He wanted the blood of one man above all the rest. The leader. Hogar. The one who had given the order to take Aurora’s life. To take her away from him.

He watched the camp, waiting patiently. Far too patiently for a man bent on death. He observed, taking in their laughter, their movements. Damien recognized the outline of Hogar, the big man with thick shoulders and arms. Hogar crossed the campsite and disappeared into a tent.

Damien focused on the tent. He stayed low to the ground and moved toward the tent. He paused once when a shout went up from his left. A drunken Hungar stumbled onto one of the campfires while another laughed.

He froze until the scene settled down and the camp was quiet again. Then he moved quickly, quietly forward. Hiding behind a wagon, he scanned the area. From this vantage point, he was able to see the front of Hogar’s tent. One guard. Hogar obviously thought there was no danger to him. The fool.

Damien slowly eased his dagger from his belt, making no sound. He would not miss this opportunity. Hogar would be dead before day break.

His hand shook with the image of Hogar lying in a pool of his own blood. Damien desired his death like he had no other.

He skirted the edges of the camp moving from shadow to shadow. The essence of an assassin had returned, filling him with its full force. It was almost as if he had never left it. Such anger and the need for vengeance burned within him. He wanted blood. The beast inside him was demanding, hungry.

Inside Hogar’s tent, he saw the leader move. The big man crossed the tent and lay down, leaning forward to blow out a tiny flame.

Damien waited. Patiently, anticipating. He paused, scanning to make sure no one was watching. He waited for what seemed like hours until he heard a snore issuing from the tent. He moved. He lifted the edge of the tent flap and crawled beneath the sheet, pausing halfway beneath to allow his eyes to adjust to the complete darkness.

Hogar slept on the ground like the animal he was. Damien wasted no time. He moved swiftly, silently, deadly up to him until he stood over him. He placed the sharp edge of the dagger against Hogar’s throat and moved his wrist.





Chapter 13


Justina led the way through the darkness, through the thick brush of the forest. She moved at a quick pace, the branches scratching her arms and face. Her dress caught in a bush and she ripped it free, tearing off some of the material. She didn’t want to think. She just wanted to move. The faster she moved, the less she was able to think of her brother. She glanced back at Aurora. She was amazed that the noble woman was keeping up. “How much farther?”

“We have to cross a road and then maybe until daybreak.”

She was breathing heavily, and Justina knew she was pushing her. Her gaze swept Aurora. Her hair was tight in the braid, her dress was untorn. She looked like she was refreshed and ready for a day in the Great Hall. “Do you always look so... amazing?”

Aurora looked down at her dress. “I do not look amazing.”

Justina quirked her lips in disbelief. She turned and continued on.

“Do you have any other family members?” Aurora asked.

Justina stopped cold. “Just my Uncle. But the guard said the farm had been burned.” Silence spread through the forest and Justina clenched her jaw against the anguish that rose in her. She hadn’t thought of Uncle Bruce until this very moment. “I don’t think Uncle Bruce is alive.”

“I’m so very sorry, Justina,” Aurora whispered.

Justina shook her head and hardened her heart, pushing the sorrow down.

“If you had been at the farm, there’s a good chance you would have been killed, too. I’m glad you were in Acquitaine.”