Shaedes of Gray: A Shaede Assassin Novel by Amanda Bonilla Page B

asked me.
    “I believe we are creatures of darkness,” I said.
    Azriel’s cool laughter mingled with the tinkling sound of rain. “We are born from air and black earth,” he mused before leveling his gaze on me. “And some of us are born from nothing at all.”
    His tone was as dark as the darkest shadow, and his words confused me. But Azriel always talked in circles, so I wasn’t surprised by the cryptic nature of our conversation. But I was not immune to the ominous feeling that accompanied his speech. Dread and foreboding congealed in the pit of my stomach. I reached out to take his hand, but he moved quickly forward and slid from my grasp.
    “I’m tired,” he said as he walked. “I am tired of all of this.”
    “All of what?” I said, pulling up my sopping skirt so I could run to catch up to him. “Of me? Are you tired of me?”
    He stopped, and when he turned to face me, the absence of emotion on his face sent me stumbling back a pace. I knew that look of detachment. I’d seen it a million times from Henry. But I pretended it wasn’t there. I dismissed Azriel’s look, and instead defined it as exasperation with my silly, girlish questions.
    “Who could tire of you?” He stroked my cheek, wiping droplets of rain from my skin. “I have plans for you.”
    The next morning, I woke alone. Azriel had gone out the night before, the first time in decades he’d left my side, tucking me into bed with a promise he’d return by dawn. I’d assumed he’d taken on a job too dangerous for me to tag along. For days I searched the city, wandered alleys under the cover of shadow. He had to be dead. He’d promised we would be together forever—the only two of our kind, bound for eternity. No one confirmed that he’d died. I didn’t get a visit from the police telling me, “Excuse me, ma’am, but we found your Shaede lover dead in an alley this morning.” He simply did not come home, and that fact alone was enough to convince me he’d died. Who had killed him and how never crossed my mind. He’d told me to lie low, and I did. I had no intention of sharing his fate, and by his own words, I knew that I’d be forgotten soon.
    He’d stayed with me for twenty-five years before he disappeared. Eternity, my ass . What an eternal fool I was.
    Industrious, I wasn’t, but I learned fast. Employment opportunities weren’t great for women in the 1930s, and I wasn’t about to become anyone’s maid. Azriel had connections; he’d been hiring himself out, taking money to kill. I’d been his apprentice of sorts, and thank God I’d paid attention. When the first letter arrived, I’d known what it was. Azriel used to receive a letter from a courier each time he took a job to kill. It outlined the mark’s—or intended target’s—name, address, and pertinent information. Sometimes the letters even came with a down payment.
    I crumpled the paper, and as its sharp edges dug into my palm, I knew what I had to do. As soon as I made up my mind, it was easy. My first hit was successful. Clean. And I’d found my first contact. I bounced around after that, a freelance assassin, hired by word of mouth. For many years, I attributed my success to gender. My benefactors seemed to get a kick out of hiring a “lady” to do their dirty work. But I kept my standards high, refusing to take any job that involved an innocent. The men who paid me eventually met their ends. Once or twice at my hand. I’d worked for a Russian mob boss for years, and just like the others, his luck had run out. That’s when I met Tyler.
    I’d heard about him. His name had been whispered in certain circles with a mixture of respect and fear. And, boy, when I met him, had I been surprised. He didn’t look the part—that was for sure. Cute— beyond cute —with a quick smile and a charm that blew the competition out of the water. I knew that I wanted to work with him the moment I laid eyes on him. I felt safe with Tyler, and I hadn’t felt safe in a