This Monster of Mine

Prologue

PROLOGUE

The girl was still alive when he returned with the tablecloth they’d use to dispose of her.

The material slid between his fingers. Honeybee silk, a shroud suited for bluer blood than hers, though she wouldn’t be grateful. A burst of wind swept in from the balcony to dim the sconces ringing the ballroom, but he could still make out the figure on the floor, hear labored breaths quickening as he approached. More corpse than girl, she contorted into a fetal position, clutching what was left of her robes around her thin chest. Lacerations graffitied her breasts and sallow face. Chunks of singed hair littered the floor around her, the remainder melded to her scalp.

His lips pressed together. Not again. After a brief, futile search for patience, he fixed the fool across the room with a stare.

“Five minutes,” he said through clenched teeth. “I left you for five minutes to cut her up for disposal. What in all the hells is this?”

The oaf fidgeted, clutching his arm. A nasty wound bled through his fingers. “It’s a prime piece of flesh.”

There was nothing prime about the body bleeding over the floor, but his business partner wasn’t known for his intelligence.

He spread out the tablecloth. “How did she cut you?”

“She’s a healer,” the fool spat. “Ripped at me when I touched her.”

“Well, she’s weak or she’d have liquefied you, bones and all, wouldn’t she? You’d be a screaming shapeless mass of skin.” He let the suddenly quiet man consider that image. “Pack her up.”

“I didn’t even get to enjoy her,” the fool said mulishly, crouching to ponder the mess he’d made of her. “Might still be able to make it work, though.”

Trying and failing to be surprised that the man could evoke enthusiasm for a half-burnt, half-dead girl, his gaze drifted back to the floor. Her resistance had cost her. The bones of a chair lay fragmented by her skull, a once ornate vase’s ceramic shards studding her skin to leak blood over the tiles. By the Elsar, disposing of her was going to be a headache.

“What I don’t understand is why she was here.” His voice was dangerously quiet. “She’s clearly no illusion magus, and this room is well warded. How did she get in?”

The other man rose, color slowly leeching from his face. “In my defense,” he mumbled, “I couldn’t have known that she was awake.”

Alarm spiked sharp through him. In my defense. The most useless words in the common tongue.

In two strides, he seized the man by his collar. “Explain.”

“I stuffed her in the closet before our meeting, alright? For afterward. I thought she was asleep—” The fool choked, going ruddy as he tightened his grip. “Her wine was drugged! A few sips should have incapacitated her!”

He released him with a barrage of curses. “She pretended to drink it, you hav?d fool. They’re smarter these days. They don’t simply swallow what’s offered to them.”

Which meant that she would have been lucid throughout it all. Could have overheard them. Everything he’d worked for could vanish like lightning, and all for one man’s depravity. He’d never liked the fool, but, tonight, he’d happily burn his throat to a crisp. His thoughts must have shown because the other man sidled out of reach.

“By the Elsar, it was a mistake,” the fool croaked. “It won’t happen again—”

“So don’t let it linger,” he hissed. “Carve her up. Now .”

“But I didn’t get to—”

“Do I look like I give a damn about whether or not you got to bed her?”

The fool shrank away. “There’s just one other thing.”

I should just kill him . He waited.

The man looked everywhere but at him. “She’s the one that girl of yours brought. ”

He stilled as the words sank in, then lunged across the room. The fool darted to one side, a finger sweeping across a rune on his armilla. A shield of lightning hissed and crackled to life, enveloping him.

Within, he crossed his arms, chin jutting out despite the sweat beading on his temples. “She’s just some northern girl!”

“Some northern girl that my aide valued enough to bring here!” he snarled. “Did she see you with her tonight?” He swore when the man nodded. “What happens when she finds her missing and you were the last person seen with her?”

“We’re handling it, aren’t we?”

We . Of course, it was suddenly his duty to remedy everything. “That’s why you shouldn’t have touched her, you useless fuck!”

Hands fisted, he glowered down at the girl. Her eyes fluttered, consciousness coming in bursts. She had to vanish. She knew too much. But what of his lovely aide? Once the body was found, she would suspect the fool. An unwanted distraction when he had such plans for their future. Throwing her off their trail would—his head snapped up, heartbeat settling back into a placid rhythm.

He smiled. “Drop your shield.”

The other man had the gall to eye him warily before complying. The lightning dissipated with a crack, smoke lingering in the aftermath.

He gathered up the tablecloth. At least they’d spare the silk. “Throw her off the balcony.”

The fool’s jaw dropped. “But that’ll draw even more attention.”

“Precisely. Is it a murder? Suicide? A lovers’ spat gone wrong? Everyone will have a theory. They’ll write us a story.”

“That girl of yours might not buy it.” The man scratched a grizzled cheek. “Is she really that special? She’s pretty if you go for the frail type, but—”

“She’ll buy it,” he said curtly. She always did. Spotting the relief dawning on the man’s face, he snaked out a hand and gripped the now-bruised flesh of his neck again. “But pull a stunt like this again, and it’ll be you I’m flinging off.”

The fool nodded, eyes watering at the grip. Releasing his throat, he ignored the brief flash of anger across the man’s face. Resentment was the defining characteristic of their alliance. A master and his brainless but powerful dog. They needed each other and resented that knowledge.

The girl twitched as the fool stalked to her. Gripping what was left of her hair, he pulled her toward the balcony, shaking her by the scalp when she struggled. Ceramic slivers clinked as her body carved a path through the broken vase. He watched the man hesitate and sighed.

“There’ll be plenty like her once things get underway, so just throw her off—”

“You’re disgusting.”

He paused at the rasp of sound. Propped against the balcony’s railing, the girl’s eyes defiantly bore into his. He saw in them the knowledge that she was going to die, hatred of him and the fool—all predictable—but the sentiment curving her lips gave him pause. Derision.

“You think you’re clever,” she croaked. “But someone will notice. They’ll wonder why I died.”

He crouched as close to her as he could stomach. Truly, the smell coming off her was horrendous—burnt flesh, sweat, and the copper tang of blood that always soured his stomach.

“People may wonder,” he conceded, inhaling shallowly. “A few might even put it together. But there’s still nothing they can do.”

“The Elsar will damn you for this.” Her voice held pure loathing.

He straightened. “We pray to the same gods, my dear. And given your condition, I’d say they find me more to their liking. But”—he paused consideringly—“we can make certain of that.”

The fool perked up. “You mean—”

A pity. He’d actually tried to spare her this. “We’ve enough time for a little fun. Let’s see if the Elsar make an appearance. ”

The other man’s eyes gleamed, one hand already on the hilt of his dagger.

He tilted his head to the girl in farewell as the fool began. Moonlight struck metal. Blood arced over the balcony’s stone tiles—he’d have to have them scoured. Her eyes never left his, terror and rage blotting out all light as she pleaded with the gods and the Saints for salvation. Screaming in desperation, then agony.

He shook his head. Really, she should thank him. By next morning, an unremarkable northern girl would be the talk of Edessa. He was giving her a death so spectacular it would live on in legend.

“The Sidran Tower Girl,” he mused, and smiled as she fell into the shattered moonlight. “Oh yes. That’ll stick.”