The Assassin's Blade Series Order Novels & Stories

it said. I stepped forward. The ground split beneath us as our power collided. The air bent inward, and the flames around us collapsed into drifting ash. I felt the bond between me and Kaelor stretch too thin. That was the first warning. The second was the cold. The heat vanished from my chest in an instant. The light shattered. And then it was too late. I did not see the blade until it was already inside me. There was no grand strike. No roar. Only the sudden weight of steel sliding through flesh and bone, exactly where the mark burned brightest.

Finally, I turned to look at him. I let my gaze trail over his taper fade, the messy blond hair that refused to behave and those stupid innocent blue eyes that made people trust him instantly. He had the face of a saint, smooth lines, sharp cheekbones, a mouth that curled too easily into a smile that could make anyone feel safe. But Olek wasn’t safe. He was the Syndicate’s golden boy; the number one assassin, top of the kill board for ten damn years. I was fifth, which wasn’t bad considering I’d only been in the game for six years.

She stays two paces behind me through corridors where the guards track my movement with the flat inventory-gaze of men monitoring expensive freight. By the time the nursery door seals behind me, the suppressants have turned my limbs to pig iron. Counting the cameras takes deliberate effort. One. Two. The third, above the doorframe, is still twitching—Damian's manual override still engaged. I check the bedpost. The Phantom Blade's tip cold against my thumb. Just touching it brings something back—some older self, the assassin who didn't need a genetic edge to find a threat. I let that self settle over me like a second skin.

the assassin sneered in a raspy and distorted voice. The assassin raised a jagged steel blade high into the air and prepared to drive it down into Conrad's neck. "Hey! Stop right there before I scream for the King!" I shouted from the bushes and reached for a broken iron trellis spike lying in the dirt next to me.

Would be use as an evidence. Back then as an assassin, I always made sure I destroy every proof that I have. Every single one of them, I don't ever leave any trail or something that could stand as a weapon against me. I am always careful. There was this particular book that caught my eye, is actually the title that piqued my interest... The book title is, *The kidnapping of five kids.* This is so gross, killing people wasn't enough, he actually... Kidnapped kids! My father is a real psycho.

“Then I guess we better give him what he wants. Rogue, take out the needles.” Rogue gives me a knowing smile before he opens up a satchel and removes several six-inch needles. The needles look like knitting needles, but instead of hooks at the end, they’re sharp and extremely painful. Rogue was the first Assassin that I brought on when I became the South American Board Director. The first thing I taught Rogue was how to use the needles for the purpose of torture. I use the needles to dig them into vital organs, which causes slow, excruciating pain to run through my victim’s nervous systems. It’s a very painful way to die. Rogue prefers to use a gun, but I enjoy my needles.

The assassin awoke quickly and leaped, staring intently at Henry. "Don't be too nervous. You wouldn't have woken up if I wanted to hurt you," Henry said casually. "Why?" the assassin asked. Henry did not answer his question. Instead, he said, "Sven Cuthman, also known as the Seven Blades. You're not affiliated with any assassin organization and are ranked 26th on the assassin-ranking list." "How do you know me?" With a faint smile, Henry said, "You told me." "Impossible! I don't even know you!"

The blade glinted, catching the sunlight. The assassin wielding the blade reared back and aimed. Elias was preoccupied with his third kill and unaware of the blade slicing through the air at him. I moved without hesitation before I could think and used my body to shield his. A soft, pained gasp escaped from my lips as the blade sliced through my skin and buried itself down to the hilt in my chest. Time seemed to freeze, and white danced in my vision. I staggered on my feet, watching as blood soaked through my shirt to the floor.

Without hesitation, she rushed forward, closing the distance between herself and the assassin before April could react. The assassin revealed a rapier from beneath his cloak, meeting Emily in a clash of steel. He swung with practiced precision, his blade a blur as he aimed for her vitals. Emily dodged the first three strikes, each swing narrowly missing her by mere inches. Her movements were deliberate, calculated. When she spotted an opening, she lunged forward, driving her blade into his gut with surgical accuracy. She quickly retreated, her instincts guiding her to maintain distance as the effect of her blade’s poison began to take hold. The assassin’s movements faltered as his body betra

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.