Assassin's Cerulean Dagger Mga Nobela at Kwento

A blade gleamed silver black, quickly rushing for my throat. I rolled, fury and instinct taking over my body. The dagger kissed my cheek, sending fire across my skin, but missed my jugular by a whisper. “Kale!” I screamed, though I knew he was too weak to rise. The assassin snarled, mask glinting in the torchlight, his movements sharp and precise...trained, not a common rogue. His second strike came for my heart, but I caught his wrist, claws digging deep. Blood spilled, and still he pushed, eyes glowing faintly with a red I knew too well. Ritual blood.

It intentionally missed me, burying itself deep into the pillar an inch from my head. I fired back, but it was too late. She already vanished as if she had never been there in the first place. I lowered my gun and reached for the dagger. This wasn’t the kind of standard steel most assassins in the underground carried. It was personalized, covered in red wine with a silver rose carving on its handle. “See you soon, sweetheart.” I smirked, twirling it once in my hand before slipping it into my coat.

At that moment, a sharp cold gleam shot toward him, slicing through the air with deadly precision. "An assassin?" Chase's expression changed instantly. He leaped to the side, dodging just in time and landing a few yards away. The spot where he had just stood cracked open, revealing a deep, narrow crevice. A dagger was embedded in the soil, driven three inches deep. "That was close!" Cold sweat beaded on Chase's forehead. He lifted his gaze and saw a youth in a cyan robe emerge from behind a tree. The young man had delicate, androgynous features, but his eyes were filled with cold cruelty. A short blade rested on his shoulder as he gazed at Chase with chilling indifference.

So he had seen the sinful temptation trotting down. My eyes narrowed at him, I was in no mood. I threw the python 357 on the table. The gun belonged to my dead father, no sentiments, I like its unique design. “What the f*ck are you doing here?” I asked calmly undoing my cufflinks. I don’t wear ties, ever. Undoing buttons to calm me out of this suffocating situation, I looked up to see him observing me with keen eyes. I raised a brow and he shook his head in deep vexation.

If I have to become a killer once again, then that’s what I’m prepared to do. I change into a black long-sleeve turtleneck bodysuit and slip into black jeggings with buckles around the thigh and waist. I put on a pair of black athletic sneakers and then tie my hair up into a ponytail. I then walk over to the armoury and prepare to stock up. I grab my usual thigh holsters and strap them around my waist and each thigh. Grab two Beretta 92Fs and load them with mercury-tipped rounds and secure them into my thigh holsters. I then grab my knife holster and strap it to my thigh, select my set of six diamond-shaped daggers and slip them into the holster. Each dagger is made from titanium but with me

Before I could even call out for Lucien, Gabriel, or Jacob, a figure jumped out from the dark. It was an elite assassin. He wore a black leather mask and dark clothes that made absolutely no sound. In his right hand, he held a long, thin dagger. The silver metal of the blade was painted with a thick, green liquid. I knew that smell instantly. It was the poison of the Death Flower. Just one small scratch from that blade would stop a werewolf's heart in seconds. "Die, traitor," the assassin whispered, his voice cold and sharp. He lunged forward, aiming the poisoned blade straight at my chest.

"Interesting." He slowly reached beneath his cloak. "I recovered this before escaping." He placed a broken silver dagger upon the stone floor. "It belonged to her." Nysera descended from the throne herself.mEvery vampire in the chamber immediately lowered their heads. She knelt beside the broken weapon. Running one elegant finger across the engraved hilt. "Zelios craftsmanship." She turned it over. A tiny emblem had been carved near the guard. The insignia of a lieutenant. Her crimson eyes lifted.

But as my eyes adjusted to the spinning crowd, I caught a glimpse of movement over Alaric’s shoulder. A waiter in a crisp white jacket was weaving through the dancers. He wasn't carrying a tray of champagne. His hand was buried inside his vest, and as he drew closer to Alaric's exposed back, the pale moonlight from the grand windows caught the edge of a long, jagged blade. The steel glowed with a faint, sickly purple light—an enchanted weapon. Cursed steel. Alaric was looking at me, his back completely turned to the threat. There was no time to yell. There was no time to pull him away. The assassin lunged forward, the glowing blade aiming straight for the space between Alaric’s shoulder blad

I growled, stepping toward the bars. "You should ask the man coughing up blood on your floor, not the woman you have locked in a cage," she said. She slowly let go of the blade, letting it clatter to the stone. She didn't wince. She simply wiped her bloodied palms on her trousers and sat back down in the shadows, as if an assassination attempt was nothing more than a minor inconvenience. I turned to the assassin. He was foaming at the mouth, his eyes rolling back. Cyanide. Before he went limp, I pulled back his sleeve. There, branded into the flesh of his inner wrist, was a small, twisted serpent’s head.

He wasn't going to kill her… at least not yet, not until he's gotten reasonable answers from her. “I-I don't know, but it was instinct.” She stammered before gaining her voice back. “Instinct? What kind of maid instinctively knows how to handle a glock?” he asked suspiciously. His eyes raked her body from top to bottom. Alina was undeniably beautiful. Even with her hair cut into a bobbed hairstyle, it matched her sharp features more. Her lips, cheeks and nose had this permanent flush that made her look innocent — completely hiding the fact that she's a bred assassin.