INFLICTION - Book II of the Shadowblade Series

“There he is.”

Eyes narrowing, Ramona peered down at the darkened street. Moonlight glistened off the Riva del Vin, cold embers that challenged her vision. She tilted her head for a better view.

There. Three stories below, a man darted between the shadows on the cobblestone road. He was wearing a long brown coat and loafers. There was nothing out-of-place about him except for the throbbing sensation his presence caused within her skull.

“I see him,” she said.

“Don’t lose him.”

“I won’t.”

“Make sure.”

She could glare at her counterpart but knew his return stare would be even more withering. Instead, she kept her gaze locked on the retreating man.

From a crouch, she dropped over the edge of the tiled roof. Her booted feet landed on a balcony floor. With a grip on the rail, she vaulted over and plunged the remaining story to the ground. The street was a jungle of brick walls, an odd combination of polished refinement and crumbling decay. She had fallen into a halo of light from the filigree lamp above the entrance of a trattoria.

The man stopped and whirled, face shrouded in blackness. But there was no doubt – he had seen her. His angry hiss echoed off the bulwark.

Oops.

He bolted, rounding a building and escaping from her view.

She sprinted after him. As she neared the building, she slowed only to draw the long dagger strapped to her thigh. The slender blade sibilated from its sheath in the silent air.

A breath, then she rounded the corner. She didn’t need to look far – her quarry stood before her, arms raised skyward. The gleam of a polished sword tip shone under his raised chin. She traced the blood grove to the wielder, a graying man with firm stature. He glanced at her with sooty scrutiny.

“You lost him.”

“No, I didn’t.” She slid her dagger back. “I knew where he was.”

“And if I hadn’t stopped him, he would have disappeared.”

She huffed.

The man’s focus darted over his shoulder toward her. Though she tried not to, she glanced at his maw – a gaping, necrotic pit encasing sharp, stained fangs. Her eyelid twitched.

“Ramona Caen,” the man’s voice came out with a thick accent. “Ho sentito lei era in città.”

“Oh?” the graying man said. “Who told you she was in town?”

Red-black eyes shifted forward. “Dominic Viktorov. I should have known you would be guarding her.”

That means our cover is blown. Ramona waited silently.

“Then you must know why we are here,” Dominic said. “Where did you Varisci take the shipment?”

“Shipment? I know nothing of any shipment. Perhaps if you told me what kind of shipment, I could help—“

“Don’t be daft,” Ramona said, tone low. “Where are our weapons?”

“Ah, ancient weapons.” He chuckled. “So that is why the Second Race is in such a stir. You lost some of your valuable weapons. Most unsettling! The very idea of the Third Race possessing them, well...”

She glanced at Dominic. His expression was stonelike, but there was a glint in his gaze. Yes, he took the idea personally.

“Mi dispiace, but I can’t help you.”

“Can’t, or won’t?” Dominic said.

His smile widened. Brashly, he batted the sword away and rushed at Dominic.

Instantly Ramona drew the dagger and threw it. The blade tumbled through the air until it sunk tip-first into the man’s shoulder. He stumbled sideways with a cry, falling against a brick wall.

With expert grace, Dominic stepped back but kept his blade in a low guard. Ramona watched with morbid surprise as the man reached to grasp the dagger hilt. With immense flexibility, he pulled it from his flesh. The smell of necrosis filled the air.

He bared his teeth at her. “Grazie, signora Caen. Now I am armed.”

She fingered the hilts of three tiny blades sheathed to her opposite thigh. And smiled.

His countenance wavered, but only for a moment before he lunged.

One of the tiny blades appeared in the back of his hand. The dagger clattered to the ground as he shrieked. When he reached for it again, another blade pierced his wrist. A sound akin to a frustrated growl, then he straightened. As his red-black eyes met hers, he laughed darkly.

“What will you do, torture me? You forget we thrive on pain. It will do no good.”

“Frankly, I’m guessing you aren’t worth speaking to anyway,” she said. “You’re just a sleeper, aren’t you? Stationed here blindly in case they need you. Who do you take your orders from?”

Still chuckling softly, he plucked the blades from his hand. They clattered on the cobblestone ground. “I’ll tell you nothing.”

This time Dominic stepped forward, sword still ready. “We’ve heard whispers of a Two-Headed Snake. Who is that?”

“It could be someone of the First Race, familiar with the Third. Or it could be a traitor in your midst. Perhaps it is Amphisbaena. Or maybe just a snake.” He grinned. “Accept it, Hercynians; you will always be a step behind us.”

Dominic glanced at Ramona. She blinked, and he lunged. The sword pierced through the man’s chest, singing as it slid through muscle and bone. This time he made no sound, his body collapsing into the blade. A brief pause, then his knees buckled, and he fell motionless to the ground.