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Rule #1: avoid mortals at all costs.
Trust no one.
Out there in the daylight,
where the mortals can see us,
we angels are burned at the stake.
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CHAPTER 01
Never, in all Mori’s centuries of living, had she wanted to punch someone in the face this badly.
Beside her, the mortal teetered on his barstool in a weathered old tavern on the south end of a town whose name she had already forgotten. He grinned, eyes half-closed from all his ale, and slammed his empty mug on the counter.
“Another!” he shouted.
As she studied him through the corner of her eye, Mori lifted her own mug to her lips and pretended to take a sip.
She was on to him.
She didn’t want to punch him because of his slurring, or his off-key singing, or because of how revolting his breath smelled each time he “accidentally” leaned toward her.
No, Mori wanted to break his nose because this was all an act, and he thought she was too stupid to notice.
Once again, she scanned the candlelit tavern. At the far end of the bar, a towering man hunched over a half-finished roasted chicken. He curled one muscled arm around the plate, as though someone might reach over and steal it from him at any moment, and stared down at the glistening bones he’d already picked clean.
The second she looked away, however, his gaze shifted toward her yet again. Mori tilted her head just enough to watch him in her periphery, and sure enough, his brooding glare lingered on her.
Figures.
It didn’t matter that her thick hood still hid the wild black hair that so often drew lecherous glances from men and fae alike. It didn’t matter that she could pass for human, or that her enchanted battleaxe sat in its custom sheath on her back. She caught glimpses of its silver steel each time she turned her head to survey her surroundings, and even through her robe, she could feel the glowing blue pulse of its magic along her spine. Any fool with half a thought in his head would’ve known better than to make her his mark, but clear thinking wasn’t what this part of the world was known for.
On the fringes of human society, a lone woman would always be a target.
“You should—hicc—smile more, love,” the drunk beside her slurred. “Look at that face! Pretty as a—hicc—flower. Take off that hood.”
With her mug at her lips, and without so much as turning her head, Mori glared at him through the corner of her eye.
The unspoken warning she had channeled into that one, simple look was enough to make him freeze. For a moment—so quick that any mortal would’ve missed it—she saw the facade fall away. His eyes briefly widened with a flash of fear, and he roughly cleared his throat as he returned to his ale.
Smart man.
“What’s happening?” a little voice whispered into her ear.
A furry tail brushed against the base of Mori's skull, stirring the hair beneath her hood, and a cold nose pressed into the back of her neck. She shivered on impulse. To this day, she could not figure out why her familiar’s nose always felt like ice—or why he always enjoyed surprising her with it each time she was in public and couldn’t chastise him.
That adorable little twit.
“Cricket, hush,” Mori chided under her breath, low enough that even the drunk beside her wouldn’t be able to hear. “You promised to stay quiet. It’ll draw even more attention if they think I’m whispering sweet nothings to my coat.”
Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.
“But I’m bored.” Her familiar’s tiny claws pressed into her skin, still hidden by her hair, and his touch only strengthened their connection. She felt his need for mischief, followed by a surge of restless energy. “Can’t we kill something? That mortal next to you is annoying. Can’t we drag that one into an alley or something?”
Mori shushed him, and this time, the barkeeper shot her a wary glance.
Ugh.
She wasn’t there for the watered-down ale she was pretending to drink. She wasn’t there to watch drunks make fools of themselves, nor to tease slavers out of the shadows and lure them to an early grave—as much fun as that would’ve been.
No, she was there for the man in that booth at the back of the tavern.
The burly man had the build of a soldier, with shoulders broader than most bears and gray hair indicating his warring days had been over for quite some time. Most soldiers didn’t survive past thirty in this world of werewolves and dark fae, not to mention the dragons and sirens which saw them as easy prey, so he must’ve been quite a fighter.
Noted. If she ended up taking him on, she couldn’t underestimate him.
Her mark took the final swig of his tenth mug of ale and set it beside the empty shot glass that still had a lingering trace of the whiskey he’d ordered before his meal had come.
A barmaid walked past his table, doing a double take at the empty cups before him. “Are you alright, Sheriff?”
Still white as a sheet, he merely nodded. The girl frowned, but she ultimately continued on her way to the kitchens and left him to brood over his beer.
Behind Mori, the tavern door creaked open, and a gust of icy winter wind followed. A few of the men closest to the exit yelled for the newcomer to close the door, only to stop mid-sentence as they spotted a curvy blonde in a bright blue cloak. She scanned the now-silent patrons and, once she’d spotted Mori's mark, headed for him at a brisk walk.
What a novice. Sure, Mori didn’t exactly blend in either, but at least she had tried.
“Is it true?” the blonde whispered as she slid into the seat beside the sheriff. “What happened when–”
“Not here,” the man interrupted with a wayward glance at the tables nearby. He even looked Mori dead in the eyes for a second, and she looked away with all the casual boredom she could muster.
Damn. That had been close.
The hum of muffled conversation continued as the patrons slowly returned to their mugs and dinner plates. Bursts of laughter punctuated the occasional thud of fists as the tavern reluctantly did their best to ignore the gorgeous blonde in the corner. More than one gaze lingered on her, but now that she had joined my mark at his table, none of the other patrons tried to join her. No one had even spoken to her, despite the pang of sexual tension that snapped through the air each time one of the drunks gazed longingly at her ample chest.
Apparently, no one here dared trifle with the sheriff. All the more reason not to underestimate him.
“...too crowded,” the sheriff whispered. “We’ll need to… back storage…”
She gritted her teeth with frustration. Even with her enhanced senses, she strained to catch more of their conversation. His voice was so quiet she almost couldn’t hear him at all over the bustling conversation and the slurred, brewing hum of an off-key drinking song.
With a nod of the sheriff’s head, he and his companion stood. He gestured for the blonde to follow him into a dark hallway that led deeper into the tavern’s back rooms. As they walked, he leaned toward her and said something else, but the heavy thuds of his boots drowned out the words.
Mori groaned in annoyance. Of course he couldn’t just make this simple. Of all the men in this town, of course she had to target the one with enough military history to understand how to adequately discuss sensitive information without others overhearing.
Her sisters would need an update soon, so she needed to get moving.
To avoid suspicion, Mori allowed her mark to leave first, taking those precious moments to memorize his gait. His footsteps would later identify him, making it easier for her to find him once she caught up. After he and the woman had left, she casually tossed a copper she'd stolen from a bandit onto the counter and stood up, ready to follow.
She wasn’t the only one to do so.
They tried to be subtle, but honestly, they were terrible at it. To their credit, at least they staggered their exits instead of all standing at the same time, but she still counted five men in total who slowly trailed her to the door—including the man who’d so carefully guarded his plate.
The drunk who’d been sitting beside her, now surly and quiet, reached out with his open palm as the man passed by. A flash of gold exchanged hands, and even though they hadn’t so much as looked at each other, their unspoken agreement became chillingly clear.
The drunk found marks, and the silent man took them.
With her back to them, Mori smirked with mischief. Sure, she wasn’t supposed to engage on this little mission of hers, but she had the right to defend herself if she was being tailed. After all, no one would object to her killing traffickers, and she needed to let off some steam.
Well, now. What a delightful turn of events.
This would be fun.
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