Prologue
Assassin
The darkness of the forest around her was thick and cloying; the meager light of the moon barely able to penetrate the thick canopy above her. She waited, her back pressed up against a tree, its rough bark snagging at the smooth fabric of her black clothing. A single hair had escaped the hooded mask hiding her face and had gotten trapped in the ash and sweat darkening the skin around her eyes. She could hear his movement coming up the trail behind her. He was the one originator of noise amongst the trees and she smiled beneath the silk of her mask; he was making this so deliciously easy.
Soft footsteps drew closer, the shuffling of detritus along the path occasionally punctuated by the cracking of small twigs. She adjusted her vision so that she could see more clearly in the dark as the form of a man passed by her tree. His shoulders beneath the cream-colored tunic were wide and glaring against the night, almost painful to look at now that she could see more clearly. His gait was long and purposeful, confident as he unknowingly strode within a few feet of his death.
Closing her eyes, she felt for her connection to her victim, sifting through the strings until she found the one belonging to him. She could feel his heartbeat through the string - could feel the alcohol he’d drank not long ago poisoning his body. A tumor, small and benign and fatty was growing slowly near his intestines. A disease was lurking in his blood, not yet strong enough to show outward symptoms. She’d have to remember to purge it from her system after she was finished.
Soundlessly she moved onto the pathway behind him, taking small, quick steps to close the gap between them. The gentle gleam of her long, thin daggers shone darkly as they slid from her sleeves. With two quick steps and a small leap she was on his back, simultaneously using the string to sever his vocal chords while her daggers speared through his shoulders and out the front of his chest. They fell forward together, the shock and pain startling him so much that he didn’t even try to catch himself. The tips of her blades sank into the ground, pinning him where he fell.
Rolling off of his back, she watched for a moment as he writhed, his hands spasming against the ground as he tried to free himself. He was a large man, and unwilling to risk her daggers coming loose, she took her foot and stomped on each hilt, ensuring that they were deep in his flesh and securely stabbed into the earth. Then, she stomped each of his elbows, pulling at his string in order to weaken the bones so that they shattered.
Lying down beside him, her smiling eyes met his wide and frantic gaze. “Good evening,” she purred, her own sultry voice sending a jolt of desire born of bloodlust through her core. “Headed towards home, were you?” She paused a moment, giving him a chance to respond before giggling, “Oh, that’s right, I cut your vocal chords. Oh, now don’t give me that look,” she chided. “At least I didn’t slit your throat. I just needed your silence, not for you to bleed out. No need for you to ruin the moment with your pleas for mercy.
“Besides,” she continued, “I don’t want you to die that fast. I have plans for you, you know. I need you to be alive for at least a few minutes so you can get the full effect of what’s in store. Shall we get started?”
He was still trying to use his arms to struggle against the daggers pinning him down and she smiled, enjoying the view of his awkward movements as she sat on his back. Laying her hand between his shoulder blades, she felt the force of his silent scream and sighed with pleasure. “You know what the best part about this job is?” She asked him, leaning down so their eyes could meet again. “Going home to fuck my husband after a kill. In a few hours, I’ll be describing this to him in detail as he mounts me, and it will be glorious. So, let it be of some comfort to you that your memory will live on through us.”
Straightening back up, she pulled a small kit from a hidden pocket in the waistband of her tights. Unrolling it, a variety of tools were revealed. Taking the full syringe, she stabbed it into the man’s shoulder and emptied the contents. “Don’t worry, just a paralyzing serum. You’ll still feel everything, just be unable to move.” She then chose a knife with a small blade and a long, delicate handle and began her work.
This job had been a very specific request. Her employer had given a precise list of ‘techniques’ to be performed and on which part of the body to perform them. Ripping open the back of his shirt and straddling his ass, she ran a hand across the muscled flesh - what a waste of a beautifully masculine body - and made her initial incisions. First, she cut the skin from shoulder to shoulder up along the bone, trailing the base of the neck, then she sliced down along the spine to the tailbone, careful not to go too deep; she only needed to peel back the flesh, after all. No need to exert too much effort. Another slice spanning the width of his hips and she set the knife aside and chose a spatula-like tool and began to peel back the skin, using the flat, smooth edge of the instrument to separate it from the membrane.
Humming as she worked, she savored every twitch of muscle she glimpsed as his body tried desperately - and failed - to fight the work of her special serum. She’d developed it and tested it on herself, so she knew how effective it was. She and her husband employed it regularly in the bedchamber. She grew aroused just thinking about it, and shifted her hips slightly to rub herself against the rough seam of his trousers through the soft silk of her own. A small moan of pleasure escaped her and she set the spatula down to pick up a short bone saw and got to work on where his ribs met his spine. Once they were each cut free, she moved to his side and began to pull them away from his body until finally each one had snapped and was lying open. She knew now that she must work quickly. She could feel through the string that his body was in shock and would be dead soon. She needed to remove his heart before then.
“Now, I’m going to remove your heart before it stops beating on its own,” she whispered against his ear. The wetness of his blood seeped through the front of her tunic, its warmth heating her breasts; her nipples hardened. “Good night, precious pet,” she breathed, letting him know the identity of the one who had ordered his death by calling him the special nickname.
Taking a pair of small scissors in each hand, she quickly snipped through the valves of his heart, avoiding the strong squirts of blood, then reached in with her gloved hand and pulled the organ free. She closed her eyes and could almost imagine feeling its last beat held there in her palms. Her eyes opened dreamily and she smiled down at her work, so purposefully orchestrated and tidy.
Well, tidy if you didn't count the 6 liters of blood pooling on the forest floor.
She liked this client of hers, how similar their requests had been to the desire of her own artistry. She hoped they would contract her services again in the future once she presented them with their treasure. Customer satisfaction ensured repeat buyers, and she took great pride in the quality of her work and providing stunning results and complete discretion. It's why her reputation was so laudable and business had been picking up.
An iron banded, padded box had been provided to transport the organ and she placed it there now. She put away her tools and went back to her tree where she retrieved a small pack. Pulling off her bloodied gloves and shirt, she glanced down at the bright moons of her breast and could just barely see the spattering of blood against her flesh. Choosing not to wipe them clean - she rather liked the idea that his blood would remain there so that her husband could lick it from them - she pulled on her clean shirt and gloves and carefully packed away the box and her soiled clothing.
Her steps were impatient as she ran through the forest. First, she would have to deliver her little treasure to the one eagerly awaiting it, then she would be free to rush home to her husband.
She had an itch to scratch.
