Preface:  Welcome to my serial.  The intention of this is to provide a new scene  once a fortnight for free for you to enjoy.  Come travel with me to a world where hate, desire, action and betrayal collide.  This is a fantasy romance, so enjoy.

Disclaimer:  My writing is dark, hot and aimed for those over 18.  If you are under 18 please don’t read on.

3. Shakra

Talia rose from oblivion with a sense of foreboding.  The sound of birds chirping and the bright sun that slashed over her closed lids didn’t inspire her to open them.  Her arms rested above her head and with a subtle shift she noted the tightening of—silk perhaps—around her wrist.  Inwardly, she assessed herself.  Her muscles ached, but other than that, her body felt healthy.  There was no pain in her abdomen, nor was there the tightness of stitches within or without.  Silently, she cursed the healer that must’ve seen to her.  Held captive and alive.  A problematic situation that could easily be resolved.  She tongued the back of her mouth to feel for the tablet.

“It’s not there.  I removed it.”

The soft timbre of his voice filled her head.  Sensing the inevitability of the moment, she opened her eyes to find herself in his room, lying upon his luxurious bed.  He sat beside it in a wingback chair, his fingers steepled and eyes cold as death.  To think it had once shined with love.  Now there was nothing.

The vestiges of yearning clung to her and she shook it off.  An assassin couldn’t live their life in regret and futility.  To live such a way would have killed her a long time ago.  She relaxed her body, forcing the staccato beat of her heart to slow.  With practiced ease she slowly shut off all the emotions that racketed inside her.  Everything from desperation, anger, longing were blanketed by cool professionalism and the hard edge of control.  Keeping her face blank, she shifted her arms to ease the pain that screamed through her joints.

As though waiting for her to realize there was indeed no way out of her current predicament, Miksala spoke.  “You surprise me, Talia.  I didn’t think you hated me that much to kill me.”

Talia raised a brow in dull amusement.  “You think far too highly of yourself, your highness.”

He stiffened, his face falling into a mask of anger.  “Don’t call me that.”

“Excuse me, Councilor,” she amended dryly.

Miksala released a disgusted breath and stood.  His body was now swathed in a luxurious burgundy robe.  The traditional garb for one of the royal court.  “What did you hope to achieve?  Why this?”  He flung her headpiece on the bed.

She tilted her lips in a cold smile that often made men rethink their position.  Did he think he was that important to her still?  That she herself would seek vengeance.  She was past it all. 

He stared at her, his brows lowering in annoyance when it became clear she wasn’t going to answer him.  “The blade you sought to use against me is a master’s tool, not something easily found in the market.” He paused and eyed her carefully.  “Are you an assassin?”

She didn’t answer, but it was clear by the muffled curse that it was all he needed.  A shadow assassin was regarded as folklore.  No one had ever actually seen nor captured one of her order.  She thrived on shadow games and death and was the stuff that made children fear the night.  How could he know of the blade?  It was one of the primary weapons in an assassin’s arsenal and was never left behind.  But then, Miksala had always been inquisitive.  It’s what made him the powerful man he was today and what cost her her freedom.

Once, she was perceived as an orphan living at the Temple of Shez with other misfortunate children.  It was the cover they lived by.  In the village they were in plain sight, yet hidden in darkness.  What truly went on beyond the massive doors of the church would shock even the hardest of men.  Yes, she was an assassin, but one born into it.

Now her secret lay bare before him and she was shamed by her lapse in concentration.  She’d let her heart rule her head and now she was captured.

 “You won’t get any information from me, if that’s what you think.”

 A cold smile tilted his lips and he stepped forward.  “Is that what you think I want?”

Talia kept her face devoid of emotion even though confusion, and yes, a little bit of fear trickled through her.  What else did he want from her?  He had within his grasp a fabled assassin.  One would want to know who had sent them after him.  But no, not Miksala.  Truly, she’d underestimated her position.  She angled her chin and stared at him with frigid disdain.  “I can’t see how I would be of any value to you, why not kill me now and be done with it.”

He chuckled, a sound bereft of any humor and he shook his head.  “Oh, you are valuable to me.”

Her traitorous heart took flight and she swallowed hard against the burst of joy that flowed through her and demanded a voice. 

“Oh no, to have an assassin under my command is far too delectable to pass up.”

Talia sneered at him, even as apprehension sluiced along her skin.  “I would never be in your command.”

He arched one smug brow.  “You forget with whom you decided to play with.”

That was just it.  She didn’t know whom she was assigned to kill.  It wasn’t part of her training to ask questions.  But if she had, would she have ended his life or face the blade herself?  The price of failure was death.  Even now, he tested her will and her heart.  His presence washed over her like the sun, touching her in places that’d long since grown cold without him.

He stepped even closer, his scent of sandalwood and berry washed over her and tickled a memory locked away in the depths of her soul.  Damn him.  His gaze ran over her body and Talia could feel every brush as though he’d touched her.  Mastering her emotions was a task she’d long been familiar with, and now he tested it with his brash observance of her person.  The lust in his eyes blazed and her body answered in kind.  Desperate to maintain control, she stared at the ceiling and calmed her breathing as she recalled the creed in which she lived by.

Death is cold and so must I be cold. 

Vengeance is hot and so I must strike when the opportunity is hot. 

Life is always a calculated move, and so I must calculate every move I make.

Survival and death is my creed and I shall live by it.  

With command over her body, she effectively shut down every emotion until nothing was left but cold determination.

He brushed the back of her hand along her cheek and jawline.  Talia swallowed hard and resisted the urge to either jerk from his touch or press into it.  He was making a mockery of her training.  Effortlessly he tore away her control and turned her into that love sick woman she was once.

“Such lovely skin,” he murmured.  “I always thought you had a beautiful neck.  Pity now, all I want to do is strangle it.”

Talia heard the frustration beneath the casual air he tried to display.  She chanced a glance at him to find his gaze on her neck, his gaze pensive, as though he were recalling a time long ago when dreams seemed within reach. 

“Do it,” she whispered.  She was dead anyway.

His hand jerked back and clenched as though to eradicate the feel of her.  He looked at her then, his green eyes determined and hot with anger.  “You would prefer that.  But no, I have a better solution for us both.” 

He clapped his hands and the door opened.  Three men entered and a young woman.  In the woman’s hands was a shackle made of shakra.  The ebony stone glimmered ominously and Talia’s heart dropped.  He wouldn’t dare!

The shackles were bespelled with the name of the wielder; the person who would have control over her body and punish her accordingly should she disobey.  Her training had once subjected her to shakra.  It was a punishment for a rebellious student.  Memory of a time where misery and pain reigned came to the forefront and she whimpered.

“Ah, so you do show emotion,” Miksala commented dispassionately.

Talia snapped her head toward him.  “I will not bow to you.”

He laughed again.  “Oh, but you will my dear.”

Talia glanced up at the headboard and pulled against the restraints.  The fabric tightened over her wrist, but she didn’t care.  Like a snake, she writhed on the bed in a desperate attempt to release herself.  But it was too late.

Thick hands dropped over her limbs and subdued her.  She screamed out in fury, her muscles straining against the weight that pressed upon her.  The cold stone settled over her neck and clicked shut with a snap.

Talia gasped.  It was over.  Rather than crumble under the weakness she’d long thought she’d conquered, she turned her head away from his deadly deceitful eyes.  She was a fool.  He wanted to play games with her.

To be continued…