Dishonored Assassination Novels & Stories

she agreed hurriedly before closing the link, but not before I felt her rapid heartbeat and read her wild thoughts. "Come in," I said to my beta and gamma. As soon as they stepped in, I felt the shift in the atmosphere. I waited until they sat down across the table, then broke the silence. "What did you find out?" I asked. Nolan cleared his throat noisily while Aslan continued sitting in silence. "The girl's heart was ripped out by the time we reached the dungeon, Alpha. Although the murderer tried his best to make it seem like suicide, the absence of blood beneath her nails proves otherwise," Nolan revealed. He stopped and stared at Aslan briefly before continuing.

Cillian said and the man's eye widened. After some moment he nodded "No wonder, I was somehow doubtful why the Lumerés were silent, non of them made any statement of any sort concerning the girl, so that was why" he said nodding, with a disinterested look Cillian glanced at him "I didn't kill you earlier with my first gunshot wasn't because I missed, it was because I don't want to kill you, or did you perhaps thought that just your pathetic self could evade any of my bullets?, just scram, and if I see you or hear anything about you ever again just consider yourself dead" Cillian said, but before the man could leave there was a gunshot and then the assassin fell face first dying on the spot.

His gaze remained on the grave; his promise meant not for her, but for those who came before her. Far away, inside the cold and quiet halls of Page Mansion, the atmosphere was completely different. Damian and Edgar sat in tense silence, waiting for what they believed would be good news, waiting for confirmation that their plan had succeeded. But instead, the doors suddenly burst open, and a man stumbled inside. One of the assassins. His body was covered in blood, his breathing uneven, his strength barely holding on. “They… failed…” he gasped, his voice trembling. “She’s not… normal… Zogo Walton… he’s there…”

My fingers gripped his neck, piercing his skin. "Let me die," he muttered. "Like death will give you relief," I spat. "And I already know they are alive! What are the names of the nobles?" Broderick opened his mouth, but instead of telling me the name I needed to hear, his breath fell from his lungs and into my face. His heart stopped, and his eyes rolled into the back of his head. "Oh, a record," the Assassin said passively as he tapped his watch. "FUCK!" I threw Broderick's body to the ground. My foot kicked into his side until sweat beaded on my brow. Taking one of the Assassin's knives, I stabbed Broderick's heart repeatedly until I was pulled away. "Fucking hell! Let me go!"

I guess that’s something, but still it hurts that he is gone. With the alliance struggling to figure out which enemy might be responsible for Misha’s death, I think it’s time to turn to someone who deals with assassinations for a living. Shane Thorne is a good friend of ours and he belongs to a secret society assassins called the Faceless Assassins. I only met Shane a couple of years ago, however, he’s been close friends with Max, Trey, and Leo for years. With Shane’s day job being even more morally grey than what we do, makes him one of an ally to have. The one downside to his job is that sometimes he’s not available.

Occasionally, when my convoy passed through the harbor, he would stop whatever he was doing and look from a distance. Just one glance. I lowered the blinds. Late that night, three surviving members of an old assassination crew infiltrated the docks, planning to plant explosives along the route I was scheduled to take the following morning. Leon noticed something was wrong. He drove the tip of his crutch through one man's throat, strangled another with wire, then fought the third barehanded in the mud until the man shattered Leon's remaining good leg. Leon collapsed into the filthy rainwater and rammed the broken end of the crutch into the assassin's neck.

“About the family that disappeared overnight.” No one answered. They didn’t need to. Everyone knew that story. A massacre whispered about in the underworld like a warning no one wanted to fully understand. “An assassin,” Damian continued, his tone even, almost conversational. “That’s what they called it.” He took a step forward, then another. Each movement measured, controlled, as his eyes moved from one face to another. “They said no one survived,” he added. “That whoever did it wasn’t human.” A faint pause followed. Then.. “They were wrong.”

He looked very different from the previous timeline, where he acted like he was God’s gift to the world. When threatened, even vermin fought to survive, much less Luis. He appeared anxious as he tried to get himself out of this predicament. “It was my fault that I arrived late, but Cara has always mistreated Bianca, using her pregnancy as an excuse to do whatever she wanted. Before leaving, she even stole my communication device. I didn’t even know there was an assassination attempt!” My heart skipped a beat when he said this. I gave a bitter laugh. The communication device I had begged for had suddenly become something I had stolen.

I thought I could handle this on my own, thought I could bring Zephyr back without assistance because I’m her mate, but it's not enough. “Did you see the person? Did you see the assassin?” Avani snarls. I look at him, knowing this will hurt him nearly as much as it hurts me. “It’s Zephyr, Avani. She’s the assassin.” He falls back on his butt. “What? Are you sure?” he asks. I raise an eyebrow at him. “Why would she do this? Why would she kill these shifters?” Cedric asks. “They got to her,” Avani says as realization dawns on him and he looks at me. He and I have worked together long enough. We understand each other without words.

Gabriel said, “I didn’t much want to be alive. Ten years of waiting, not knowing if the pull would ever lead anywhere. So I found the most dangerous work I could.” She waited. “I was an assassin, Honor. A professional killer. I took contracts — targets — and I eliminated them. That was my life for the better part of a decade.” She stopped walking. He stopped too, hands in his pockets, and let her look at him. Let her take the time she needed to put it together, to decide what she thought of it. He’d learned enough about her to know that rushing her to a reaction she hadn’t fully formed would only make it worse.