Silver Huntress (Sisterhood of Assassins: Iliana's Story Book 2) Read online

  Silver Huntress

  Sisterhood of Assassins: Iliana’s Story

  Nia Night

  Copyright © 2019 Nia Night

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

  All rights reserved. Without limiting the copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and publisher of this book.

  Contents

  Story Summary

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  The End… for now

  About the Author

  Review, please ;)

  A Note from the Author

  Sneak Peek: Moon of Fire

  Story Summary

  Chapter 1

  Moon of Fire: Available now!

  Story Summary

  Things I was good at:

  Killing people

  That about summed it up.

  I’d trained my whole life to become an assassin.

  If I wasn’t a Sister, I didn’t know what I was.

  With one misstep, I’d thrown it all away.

  Now, instead of being the hunter, I’d become the hunted. Instead of killing, I was supposed to protect.

  A game piece in a game I know nothing about, I’m just doing my best to roll with the punches.

  It doesn’t help that I’ve been stuck with a brooding but sexy Demon who seems to have his own agenda.

  I’d thought Sisters were the baddest of the monsters in all the realms.

  I didn’t realize how very wrong I was.

  Silver Huntress is the second book in the urban fantasy adventure Sisterhood of Assassins Series.

  For Moo

  1

  The Gods were not crying for me.

  Those old bastards didn’t give two shits about me.

  In fact, outside of these walls, there wasn’t a being walking the realms that gave two shits about me.

  I supposed that was what a life of killing for profit bought you. No one to grieve when you were gone.

  I was ready for it to be over, anyway. The storm had rolled in and out, the thunderheads drenching me, making my boots sink into the mud. Lightning had flashed over and over, but it hadn’t struck the metal pole to which I was bound, denying any hope of an early end to my suffering. That was days ago.

  The sky had cleared. Darkened again. Cleared again. Around me, the Academy and its inhabitants carried on in their usual fashion. Training to fight, to kill. They’d stopped paying visible attention to the disgraced Sister chained to the pole in the courtyard, had stopped the taunting and insults, the punches to the gut and kicks to the shins. They didn’t so much as look at me as they passed, but I knew they were aware of my presence, knew from experience that they wanted it to be over nearly as much as I did. My inevitable death would come as a mercy to us all.

  I’d stopped thinking about the Angel’s betrayal. Stopped turning over the possible rhymes and reasons. I told myself it didn’t matter. Kieran may have deceived me for purposes that would likely never be known to me, but he hadn’t forced me to do anything. I saw now that it had been a test. Every bit of it. All I’d had to do was follow The Sister’s Code, as I always have, and I would’ve passed the test with flying colors. I certainly wouldn’t be awaiting death by starvation or lightning.

  My shoulders ached. My body hung limp between them, the chains around my waist ensuring I stay upright even when my muscles surrendered. I’d used my fire magic to warm me, but after days with no water, no food, and utterly exposed to the elements of the cursed land the Academy occupied, I had little energy left for even that. It wouldn’t be long now, at least. And it couldn’t be soon enough.

  All because I’d given a shit. I should’ve taken a lesson from the Gods.

  “He’s an asshole, mom,” I snapped. “I don’t understand why you put up with him.

  My mother’s eyes cut toward me. She didn’t comment on the foul language, as she normally might have. She only sighed. “He’s not all bad,” she replied softly.

  I scoffed. “He’s a drunk. A loser.”

  She opened her mouth to say something, likely some excuse or defense, but what exactly, I’d never know.

  “Who’s a drunk and a loser?” said a deep voice from the doorway.

  The small kitchen apartment in which we sat shrunk smaller. The smell of whiskey drifted across the space. I swallowed once, meeting the glazed gaze of the Demon male who’d just entered. Silence held for a heartbeat. Then he broke it.

  He stumbled a step closer, the old linoleum groaning under his boots. Callum was a handsome male by most standards, with dark brown hair and blue eyes, a strong jaw and straight nose.

  A beautiful monster.

  “Who’s a drunk and a loser?” Callum repeated.

  He loomed over me now, shadow draping me, the smell of whiskey growing stronger. My mother made to step in between us. A smile pulled up her lips, but I knew from the set of her shoulders that she was anything but happy. She splayed her fingers on his wide chest, blond hair falling down her back as she looked up at him. My stomach twisted. Her voice was calm when she spoke.

  “Hey honey,” my mother said, “she didn’t mean it. She’s just a child. Just ignore it.”

  Callum looked down at her for a moment, glassy gaze narrowing. His muscled arms hung loose at his sides. “Nah,” he said. “The little brat has something to say. I want to hear it.” His eyes rose to meet mine where I sat at the cheap wooden table pushed against the kitchen wall. “I see the way she looks at me. I see the look in her eyes. You got something to say, you Halfling little shit? Say it.”

  Callum always said Halfling as an insult. As if I could help that my father had been human. Callum was a full Demon, like my mother, but unlike my mother, he’d hailed from a once affluent line. Peasants, he would mutter under his breath when either my mother or I would piss him off. He wasn’t muttering now.

  He lifted an arm and easily swiped my mother aside. She stumbled a step. He took one closer, form draping over me.

  I was terrified. I won’t lie. My mother and I were fire Demons, our magic among the more powerful of our kind, but Callum’s was Darkness itself. The trump card as far as Demon magic was concerned. The very strongest of them all.

  Even without the magic, he was a large male. I was a child and a female.

  He could hurt us if he wanted. He could do worse than that. I’d known it the moment I’d set eyes on him. I thought my mother must know it, too. I thought maybe she secretly liked this about him. What else could explain his continued presence in our too small home?

  “Speak up, Iliana,” Callum said, voice so low and
soft that goosebumps broke out across the back of my neck. “You got something to say, speak the fuck up.”

  “Cal, please,” my mother said.

  “Shut up, Isla,” Callum snapped. Voice still low, still soft. “Speak,” he commanded, eyes locked on mine.

  The words just came out of me. They were spoken as calmly as had been his, which was curious to my own ears. I hated the male with the force of the fires of the ten hells. I hated my mother for not hating him, too. I hated that I loved her so much. And that she loved him so much.

  “You, Callum,” I said, as if I were commenting on the weather. “You’re a drunk and a loser.”

  The words had barely reached the air before the back of his hand connected with my face. Each knuckle was a rock, a boulder striking my cheekbone. Lightning flashed across my vision, shock holding me dumbfounded for a brief moment before pain lanced through my head.

  I think I heard my mother’s horrified gasp. I couldn’t be sure. My ears rung. I was dimly aware of lowering my head to the table, unable to hold it up, of my arms coming up on their own accord to cover the top of my head, as if my limbs were independently aware of the danger.

  I blinked. The world slowly began to clear around the edges.

  He’d never struck me before. I’d never seen him strike my mother, either. But, sometimes, after a long night making the most hideous noises behind the closed door of their bedroom, my mother would emerge the next day to cook me breakfast, and I would glimpse the bruises around her neck, the upper parts of her arms. She would tuck herself deeper into her pink bathrobe and smile at me without addressing the unspoken question, the smell of bacon hanging between us.

  Blood dribbled from my mouth, iron on my tongue.

  “Not so fucking smart now—” Callum began, but was shoved backward quite suddenly by my mother.

  I gasped as I took her in. My mother, soft spoken and demurely mannered, small framed and delicately built, was now somehow larger than I’d ever seen her, somehow laced with power even in her small body as Demon fire danced in the gray of her eyes, at the tips of her manicured fingers. He had to be more than twice her weight, but she’d shoved Callum hard enough to make him stumble back in his drunken state. For as little as it was worth, the bastard looked as surprised as I did.

  “Get the fuck out,” my mother told him.

  If I’d not been in so much shock, the pain of the backhand still blurring my mind, I might have shouted for joy. I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. Couldn’t believe that the very thing I’d prayed for on so many long nights might indeed be happening.

  “You stupid b—” Callum began again as he shoved off the wall and tried to regain his footing.

  Fire flared in my mother’s eyes, and I noticed then that my great grandmother’s Calidi chain was in her hand, the links glowing red-hot with the magic flowing through them.

  I could hardly draw air as Callum advanced on her, his own dark magic rallying around him. My mother moved fast—faster than I’d been aware she was capable of, the Calidi chain striking out and snaking around his ankles. He howled as the fire burned him, let out a grunt as my mother yanked the chain back, pulling him off his feet, ass striking the linoleum.

  I sat wide-eyed as my mother coiled the chain around her hands again, Demon fire still blazing in her eyes. Callum stared up at her from the floor as if he was just now seeing her for the very first time.

  “Get. Out.,” she repeated, and the blaze around her grew brighter, fighting back the dark magic reaching for her, for me. For the first time ever, it was a blessing, a stroke of true luck that Callum was drunk enough for his magic to be muted. If it hadn’t, I was positive it would’ve ended for both my mother and me that very night. When he was in full control of himself, he was too strong to take down.

  But that night, my mother did just that. Took his punk ass down.

  Silence held for half a heartbeat, and then Callum slowly pulled himself to his feet, bracing his hand on the doorframe leading out of the kitchen. He didn’t say a word, but the look in his eyes relayed that this was not over. That he might leave now, but he would be back.

  My mother stood strong, fire poised at her fingertips, making the Calidi chain glow as the bastard sneered and stumbled out of the kitchen. His footsteps retreated down the short hall, and the apartment door slammed shut a moment later.

  All the air seemed to rush out of her at once, flames dying. My mother knelt before me, casting the Calidi chain aside, where it pooled like a silver snake upon the kitchen floor, the red flicker of fire leaking from her eyes to reveal the stormy gray of them—the same color as my own eyes.

  I sat utterly still in my chair at the table as she looked me over, taking my face between her fingers to examine the black eye and bloody lip now blooming across my left cheek. Her delicate throat bobbed, her teeth flashing as she took in the state of me. I stared back at her, half in shock, half in awe.

  With a deep breath, she stood, kissed my forehead, and retrieved a bag of frozen vegetables from the freezer. She pulled out the chair beside mine and collapsed into it, leaning forward to hold the vegetables to the left side of my face.

  My face throbbed hot against the frozen bag, but I only stared at her.

  “I’m so sorry, my heart,” she said. “So sorry.”

  I reached up and covered the hand that she held to my face. “It’s okay,” I said.

  But it wasn’t. We both knew that it wasn’t.

  “Things will get better now,” she promised. “I’ll make sure they do.”

  I nodded. Because I was still naïve enough to believe this.

  2

  The dark shape darted across the lawn, through the shadows, little more than an outline of deeper blackness against the night.

  Even in my weakened, deteriorating state, I took notice. I could not say how long I’d been chained to this pole, could hardly summon the energy to remember my own damn name, but unless I’d begun hallucinating, I was pretty sure someone was breaking into the Academy.

  One guess as to what—or rather, who—they might be trying to steal.

  The wind cut across the courtyard, bitter and cold, carrying with it a scent of fresh rain and brimstone. The scent disappeared as quickly as it came, and I pulled on my reserves of fire magic to warm myself. The chains containing me clinked against the metal pole as I fell into a fit of shivers.

  The dark outline detached from the shadows cast by the dark stone walls of the Academy and moved again. Had I the energy, I might’ve told the visitor not to bother, unless whomever it was wanted to end up as my neighbor on one of the other poles.

  Instead, I only sent a silent prayer of good luck. Maybe the intruder would have better fortune than me. Maybe they’d at least wreak a little havoc before their inevitable capture. After all the suffering I’d sustained while chained here, I was not opposed to seeing some of the other Sisters suffer, too. Misery loves company, after all. From where I was standing, fuck them all.

  The shadowy figure was gone before these bitter thoughts even finished moving through my head. I glanced up at where my wrists were secured over my head. I’d tried to work them free so much that there were bloody bracelets adorning them. The kind of deep digging that would leave thick bands of scars. Not that it would matter. I was as dead as the night.

  I was just starting to lose my grasp on consciousness once again when a ripple of dark magic shot by me, jolting me back to the present. I gasped, the strength of it knocking the wind from my body. The tiny hairs on the back of my neck stood on end, those upon my arms rising as well.

  The sheer force of the magic was enough to knock me into a deep sleep, and on instinct, I burned through the reserves of my fire magic to keep the sensation at bay. If I hadn’t been on my toes already, the blast of dark magic would’ve knocked me right into slumber. As it was, I couldn’t move for a few terrifying moments while my fire burned away the assault.

  Once I could actually heave a breath, I scanned the darkness,
wondering where the blast had come from, who could’ve sent out such a powerful wave. Who the fuck that shadowy figure had been.

  Despite the assault of dark magic—the worst kind of Demon magic there was, if you asked me, and also the most powerful—I was suddenly wide awake. It was one of the few hours during the long, dark days in the realm housing the Academy when the occupants of the school actually all slept. This slumber would not hold long, never did, for someone would be rousing their platoon of students before long to put them through some hellish sort of training. But for now, the school was silent, the countless windows dark, the cold, echoing halls quiet.

  It was the perfect time to break in. The same time I’d tried to use when coming here, only to be caught by the Warden.

  Five minutes passed following that blast of dark magic. Then ten. Each seemed longer than the previous. Exhaustion and pain tried to tug me under again, but I continued scanning the darkness, watching the shadows. Waiting. For what, I didn’t know.

  And then I saw them. Two figures exiting a side door in the building and darting across the lawn. There was little to do other than stare in that direction, to watch as the shadows moved, draped in darkness too thick to penetrate.

  They made it to the wall. The sons of bitches were gonna make it. I hoped Vida was one of them. I hoped she was wrapped in that shadow, and I prayed that if she was, whomever had taken her was a good guy. These thoughts struck me as inherently odd, seeing as how I didn’t even know what that meant, what a ‘good guy’ even was.