1. Curo
CHAPTER 1
Curo
ALIA
TEN YEARS LATER
G etting your head ground into dirt, rock, and unidentifiable objects that looked like cacao nibs but smelled worse than a stable was not my idea of fun.
It all started with the scent of a werewolf. We Reds trained for years to enhance our senses to be the best killers. We would never outmatch a werewolf’s senses, but if we could sniff out a werewolf before they even noticed we were human? Huge advantage when werewolves were stronger, faster, and overall had the constitution of a dragon.
My ear scraped a rock, drawing blood, and I hissed in a breath. “What are you doing here, Red?”
The freakin’ dolt. My grasping fingers reached the blade resting in my boot—that twisting and pulling while getting my head ground into the dirt by the guy above me was an act of contortion—and drove it behind me.
The man hopped back. I twisted around, spitting out dirt and the odd, crunchy rock. “Baiting werewolves?” I said, casually spinning my dagger while wiping my chin on my shoulder.
Baiting was something I abhorred. Personally, I wouldn’t lay out a scent to bring a werewolf running to protect their territory just to kill it. But the more pelts you brought in, the quicker you rose in the ranks, which were the First through Two Hundred and Fiftieth Blades. I was Second Blade. Despite my aversion to baiting I still killed my fair share of magical creatures.
The guy stood from his crouch, his blonde hair messy from ambushing me. His eyes brightened and his smirk was downright heart-throbbing, if you were you into self-absorbed jerks.
“Aren’t you on a mission?” Brandt, the Third Blade, said, his smirk growing.
“Aren’t you supposed to be hunting unicorns?” A hint of bitterness colored my voice. He’d received the mission I liked; unicorns were fun to hunt. Most times we were dispatched because a unicorn had eaten a villager or some such. It was black and white: they were evil.
Not all of us, my bond whispered in my mind.
Fine, not all of you are evil. Some are just semi-evil, I replied to her in my brain. She snorted, and I wondered if the brain could get an infection from unicorn snot.
While most unicorns were evil, other forms of magic… Well, I’d seen a mage heal a woman who would’ve died in childbirth. I’ve seen weather mages stop a massive tsunami off the coast of Verbi, a seaside town thirty miles east of the capital of Mongolia, where I was currently on a mission.
Brandt was given the mission of hunting unicorns. They gave me the mission of assassinating the assassin Hood.
Great idea, right?
Grandma said this was how I would cement my bid as heir since I’d refused baiting. That was the only reason I didn’t turn it down; I didn’t enjoy killing. It was a simple thing to take a life physically, but looking into someone or something’s eyes as it passed—it stole a portion of your soul. Not to mention each one felt like a scalpel taken to my innards because of my so-called Gift.
I had trained since birth to replace my grandma as matriarch of the tribe of Reds, the assassins who protected humans by destroying magic. That was my mission, to lead them after Grandma retires. But more than that, I wanted to make my family proud and bring them honor after my failure resulted in my grandfather’s death. And there was another thing… something that was changing inside me.
“Hood’s a ghost. You may as well give up now,” Brandt said.
“Lay off it, Brandt. She’s the best of us. If anyone can get that Sixth forsaken creature, it’s Curo.”
My cheeks grew slightly red at the mention of my nickname. “Thanks, Graham,” I said, my voice low.
Graham stepped up beside Brandt, his smile reaching his eyes. “Nothing but the best goes after the best,” he said with a wink.
Brandt rolled his eyes. “You know she isn’t the best, dude. She’s good, yeah. But Hilda can beat our butts any day of the week. Why doesn’t she go after Hood?”
Graham stared at Brandt as if he’d grown a second head. I checked my blades, making sure each one came out of their sheaths with gentle pressure. “Hilda is six months pregnant,” I said blithely.
“So?” Brandt scratched under his arm, squinting up at the sky.
I exchanged a glance with Graham. Graham shook his head, motioning the sign of idiot while Brandt’s eyes were elsewhere. I bit my tongue to hold in my grin.
“Pleasure, as always, Red, but we gotta go,” Brandt said as the sun eased into the horizon.
Graham raised a brow. “Tavern maid on your mind?”
Were Brandt’s cheeks red? “Shut up.”
“What’s her name?” I asked, a sly smile on my face.
Brandt narrowed his eyes. “Don’t, Curo .” He spat the name like a curse.
My grin grew innocent. “What? I wasn’t planning anything.”
His eyes narrowed into slits. “Last year you told Shiela my wife and two kids were languishing at home without me when you well know I have no wife.”
I clapped a hand to my chest. “Oh, what will Bronny and Lassie do without their father? They miss him so, but the only one who truly knows what a scamp their father is, is his wife, Lila, who knows naught but the dreaded perfume of other women by which he comes home?—”
“Stop,” Brandt growled. Funny how much he sounded like the werewolves we hunted.
A slow grin crossed Graham’s face. “Is that why Sheila slapped you? Twice?”
A low chuckle came from my chest before I could stop it. “She slapped you? Oh, what I wouldn’t give to have seen that!”
Brandt gritted his teeth and stalked off, dust poofing with each step.
Graham shook his head again. He glanced up at me, then his eyes darted away. “How’s your sister?” he asked.
My chest clenched at his question. “Anna is hanging in there. Mom has scheduled another healer to see if they can figure out what’s wrong,” I said.
He nodded, then shyly met my eyes before looking away again. “Would you like me to walk back to the tribe tonight?” he asked, his eyes once more darting to my face. There was a slight panic within, almost as if he were afraid of my answer.
I shifted my feet. “Sorry, but no. I’ve gotta infiltrate tonight. Only time I could bribe the gatemen. But thank you for the offer,” I said, smiling.
His face fell. “Oh. Ok. Audacia numquam amittere ,” he said the typical Red goodbye, looking up with a tiny smile that didn’t reach his kind blue eyes.
“ Audacia numquam amittere,” I said, giving him a tiny smile.
It wasn’t until I was halfway across the city and nearly to the nobleman’s house that my brain caught up to what Graham was really asking.
“Dragon breath and poppycock,” I hissed.
He was asking me to walk with him. As in, more than friends.
I was an idiot. More than an idiot, I was absolutely clueless about relationships. Give me a stick and a werewolf, and I’d fight any day. But social niceties were beyond me.
I turned my mind to my mission. I needed a werewolf to draw out Hood, and I had just the one in mind to do so.
A stately, sprawling, three-story mansion spread before me. The manor itself was whitewashed. Gold, vine-shaped filigree with ruby-red leaves trailed circular columns that upheld the second-floor balcony.
Glass windows were all along the three stories. Trailing cobblestone pathways webbed from the home, the meandering trails meeting statues, bubbling fountains, and even a mage-lit Ambrose tree—said to be renowned for their poison and their beauty with silken pink blossoms and green leaves with blue veins.
Shadows detached from beneath statues and towering bushes, their silent paws sending a trail of skittering nerves up my spine. So silent, so deadly. Long fangs which were designed to tear into meat, ears which can hear even the slightest change of heartbeat, a nose that can detect a squirrel from a mile out—none of these were the strongest part of the werewolf. If we found a lone werewolf, they were easy to put down. It was the pack you had to worry about. Injure one and a dozen were behind them to rip out your throat.
A dragon was stronger, but a werewolf pack could kill even the strongest elemental dragon.
I shook my head, focusing back on the house. And my target.
Sicario Hood was the goal. Drag him out and claim my place as heir.
Hood only emerged for two things: when he was sent to assassinate a Red, or when someone of high power was in danger.
He had been a glorified bodyguard a few times in recent history. Once for a stuck-up brat of a mage, though the mage was the only known Empath of our century. How an Empath could be a brat… The kid berated a maid for brushing his hair wrong. That was before Hood came on the scene. We were sent to make the kid pee his pants in fear and keep him straddling the line of truce between Reds and mages; instead, we ran off with our tails tucked because of Hood.
But the kid’s character didn’t entirely leave even Hood unscathed. The kid leapt on Hood’s back and clung to him like an overgrown spiderfish while screaming in Hood’s ear. There was a grimace of those perfectly straight teeth and that strong jawline beneath the black hood he was known for. With a werewolf's sense of hearing, that had to be excruciating. The kid reached a level of shrill even my youngest niece would be hard-pressed to meet.
By then, the red of our cloaks had blended back into the underbrush with the help of a spell that took them from red to a mottled brown and green, almost as though they were covered in mold.
I shook off the memories, trying to dampen the humor as the moon traveled higher in the sky. I sat in my little cubby in the tree, careful not to show any teeth even as I smiled. No teeth and stillness—two vital rules of the hunt. Werewolves saw the slightest movement, and white showing up in the dead of night would give me away just as bad as if I waved my hand or yelled. My body didn’t shiver at the cool breeze coming from the Dragon Mountains. In the middle of summer, the weather couldn’t quite decide if it wanted to be hot enough to melt metal or cold enough to freeze toes. Maybe it was because we were only ten miles from the ocean.
A pure black werewolf sniffed around a tree ten feet from the one I sat in. The wall was right beneath me, and a few times, I lost sight of the werewolf as he searched the perimeter.
A lighter, brown-and-white mottled werewolf with a black-tipped tail snuck up behind him. I watched as she leapt from a bush, but the male dodged and she face-planted into the dirt. She growled low in her throat as high-pitched sneezes accompanied the low growls. The male chuffed, which I took as laughter as he continued sniffing. They continued this cat-and-mouse game, the werewolf continuously evading the she-wolf with a patience I would never expect from blood-hungry animals.
I had watched werewolves before, but that was mostly in battle or during a hunt. Those didn’t wag their tails like puppies and they didn’t show this level of… play.
It reminded me of my younger siblings, specifically Jacob with his niece, Jess. Jacob was only thirteen, but he had the patience of our father while Jess inherited the spiciness of her mother. Jess continuously prodded her uncle, but she hardly ever got a rise from Jacob. Which made her pester him all the more.
The two werewolves were out of sight when the bell in the library sounded out twelve massive rings. The werewolves below gathered round the house, their paws clicking against rock and thudding against dirt. They gathered and then a resounding howl ripped through the yard as they tipped their heads back and released their voices at the full moon high overhead. That was the haunting melody that plagued my nightmares from times past, the yips and growls interposed over memory. But here in this place, these howls were just a song. A song of life and love and misery and hatred and joy and sorrow.
I felt the needs of this pack deep in my soul, as if their voices gave a direct link to my Gift.
One needed a raw steak as his blood was running low after a recent battle. Another was pining after a girl but needed to grow up.
The light-colored werewolf who’d pestered the black werewolf… I sucked in a breath. She sang a song of great need, though her voice didn’t say it. Her howl was bright and contained traces of humor and cheer. Her body, however, screamed something else entirely. Her heart was crying. It was having a hard time pumping blood, something about a place that was nearly blocked from pumping in or out.
But… I thought werewolves didn’t get sick? Their healing abilities should keep them from sickness, right?
This one’s need pushed against my soul like the scraping of a blade against tender skin.
She was not my responsibility. If she died, it was just one less blood-thirsty werewolf to kill my siblings and family and tribe.
The black werewolf caught my eye. He was near the back of the pack, his song not quite as loud as the rest. A pure-white werewolf came over and nudged his neck, encouraging him to join. When he shook his head with a tiny growl, she bowed her head to him, showing him her neck. The white werewolf, Lady Niveous, was the daughter of the current ruling Alpha Princess of Mongolia. She was one of four prince and princess rulers who governed their perspective races under the human king who presided over all in Mongolia.
My lips stretched in a broad grin. So my contact was correct. The son of the current ruling Alpha Princess was here; only he could gain a submission from Lady Niveous. I nearly cackled in glee.
If I were caught, the consequences would be dire. But the prince would bring Hood running. He might bring the entire kingdom running, but that was a chance I’d have to take.
Ran, change of plans, I said to my bond.
A low growl came into my mind. Could you, just once, make things simple, Two-Legs? she replied, irritation zinging from the bond connecting our souls.
My lips creased in a smile. Come quickly. This is about to get fun.
Your idea of fun and my idea of fun are two very different things.
Despite her grumbling, I felt her coming closer.
Showtime.