Novel & Cerita Novels About Assassins

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.

Antonio lifted two fingers and Ghost and Shade moved like unleashed hounds. Shade’s blade flashed—quick, brutal, quiet. Ghost’s silenced gun coughed death into the air. The assassins storming in barely got a chance to fire before three were dropped, and another had his throat slit open. The windows were shattered from the multiple rounds of shots fired by snipers. One of the assassins lunged at Antonio, but before he could pull the trigger, Antonio swiftly moved and caught his wrist mid-air, twisted and snapped his arm, causing the assassin to scream. He snatched his gun, drove it into the assassin’s mouth, and fired.

It was just like opening a window into a life she no longer belonged to. “I get it.” Her voice cracked. “This whole thing is insane. And it’s not over yet, is it?” “No,” he said quietly. “It’s not.” She looked up at him, tears brimming in her eyes. “Why me, Nicholas? Why did this happen to me?” He didn't know what to say. He was fascinated by the coincidence of the striking resemblance of Amelia and Allison and the fact she was the one who witnessed the assassination. Something was telling him it was Adrian's handwork though he didn't have any proof.

His strike was swift, precise, a deadly arc toward the assassin’s chest. The serpent spun, meeting steel with steel. The clash rang through the room, bright and violent. They moved in a deadly dance, shadows leaping across the walls. “Don’t kill him!” I shouted. “I need…” But it was too late. The assassin lunged, not at Cassian, but at me. His blade fell short, burying itself in the desk instead of my throat. Cassian’s sword pierced his side in the same instant. Blood sprayed across the ledger, black and glistening in the candlelight.

I grabbed his wrist, forcing his own dagger back against his throat. A quick slash. A gurgle. And he dropped to ground like ragged doll, his blood spilling on the ground, joining the other pool from the other dead assassins. The assassins seem to be an unholy mix of werewolves and humans. When this was finally over, Andrew's room was definitely going to need a makeover. The moment he hit the floor, another assassin took his place, aiming for my head. I pulled my head back, dodging the blow and grabbed his arm, snapping it in an instant making him scream in pain. Then I grabbed his throat and pulled it out, killing him.

“Believe me, I know how desperate you are for revenge, but do you—” I effortlessly push him off me. “I said don’t,” I snap. “Don’t try to talk me out of it.” As I walk away, Jake grabs me again, saying quietly, “And what if you don’t bring his head, huh? You know what Hades does to assassins who fucking fail a mission.” He kills them. I know. But I’m not afraid of death. So I laugh at Jake. “You don’t know me too well after all.”

Borin’s men were gaining the upper hand, cutting down the last of the ambushers. It was over. We were safe. But as I held my trembling, sobbing daughter in the shelter of the stones, the cold, horrifying truth settled in my gut. This wasn't a random attack. The assassins were too skilled, too targeted. They hadn't come for plunder or territory. They had come for a very specific purpose. And as I looked down at Elisse’s terrified face, the single, chilling question echoed in my mind, a cliffhanger more terrifying than any blade:

His eyes were wide with terror. "Who sent you?" I asked. My voice a growl. "Who ordered the hit on the chef?" The rogue did not speak. He looked at me with hate. He brought out a hidden dagger. He cut his own throat before I could stop him. He slumped to the ground. "These are trained assassins.” Cassian said. "They would rather die than spill the truth." He looked at the bodies. "They are professionals. This was not a random attack." "But who would have sent them against Sophie?" I asked.

I wished, with a sudden, sharp ache in my chest, that someone would actually look at me like that for real. I dropped my iPad and leaned into the chair, closing my eyes. The assassination attempt on my father earlier that evening had drained the last of my adrenaline I was tired. I was stressed. And more than anything, I was desperate to feel something other than terror. I thought back to the night before. I had been on my way to find Kenneth, fueled by my friends' advice to "attack," to take control, to make him beg. My seduction plan had been interrupted by the alert of my dad’s murder attempt.

“But we are what was left behind.” One of the others a tall, eyeless man whose skin shimmered like broken glass spoke in a voice that echoed with dozens of tones. “You killed the Quill.” “I did.” “You shattered the pen,” said a girl with birds instead of hair. “I had to.” “And now,” whispered the assassin twins in perfect harmony, “the stories must write themselves.” Ashen stepped closer, page extended. “Give me a name.” “What?” “A real one,” she said. “Not Ashen. That was your placeholder. Give me something meant to last.”