Can anything go right tonight?

  He shoved Thornfield behind him, his own body tense and coiled, every muscle ready to spring into action.

  The assassins in front of them didn’t waste any time. They lunged, their blades already raised. Thorne’s daggers were in his hands before he even registered moving, his body reacting on instinct.

  The first assassin’s blade came down in a savage arc, aimed at his throat. Thorne sidestepped, the movement fluid, and slashed upward, his dagger slicing through the man’s arm. The assassin snarled, stumbling back, but Thorne didn’t let up. He twisted, driving his knee into the man’s gut, then spun around, catching the second attacker’s blade with his own.

  The clash of steel rang out, the force of it jarring up his arm. His shoulder screamed in protest, but he didn’t let it slow him down. He stepped into the assassin’s guard, driving his elbow into the man’s ribs. There was a satisfying crunch, and the assassin doubled over, gasping for breath. Thorne didn’t give him time to recover. He brought his dagger down in a vicious arc, slicing through the man’s side.

  A sharp pain exploded in his leg, and he staggered, his vision flashing white. He glanced down, saw blood pouring from a new wound in his calf. The first assassin had recovered, his face twisted with rage as he wrenched his blade free from Thorne’s leg.

  Thorne gritted his teeth against the pain, his mind a blur of adrenaline and fury. He didn’t think, he just moved, his body acting on pure instinct. He activated Aether Surge, feeling the familiar rush of power flood his veins, sharpening his senses just as he felt a scraping sensation run through his body. The world slowed, the assassins’ movements sluggish as he lashed out, his dagger slashing across the man’s throat. Blood sprayed, hot and thick, and the assassin crumpled, clutching at the gaping wound.

  Thorne spun, his eyes blazing as he faced the second attacker, who was already back on his feet. He was fast, almost too fast, his blade a blur as he slashed at Thorne’s chest. Thorne parried, the impact sending a shock of pain through his already battered arm, and drove his boot into the man’s knee. The assassin buckled, his leg giving out with a sickening crunch.

  “Stay down,” Thorne hissed, his voice a low growl, and drove his dagger into the man’s shoulder, pinning him to the ground. The assassin screamed, his hands scrabbling at the blade as blood pooled around him.

  Thorne turned, his chest heaving, and grabbed Thornfield, who was standing frozen, his eyes wide with shock. “Move!” he snapped, pushing the lord through the kitchen door. They stumbled into the dimly lit room, the smell of burnt wood and spilled liquor heavy in the air.

  Thorne leaned against the heavy wooden table, his chest heaving as he tried to catch his breath. The kitchen was a chaotic mess, pots and pans scattered on the floor, broken glass crunching underfoot, the air thick with the smell of burnt food and spilled wine. He could hear the fight raging outside, the clash of steel on steel, the shouts of the dying, the snarls of the attackers. It was getting worse, the sounds of battle closer, more desperate.

  Lord Thornfield stood near the hearth, trembling like a leaf in the wind, his face ashen. Thorne could see the man was barely holding it together, his eyes darting around the room as if expecting death to leap out at him from the shadows.

  “Where’s the way to the safe?” Thorne demanded, his voice sharp. He didn’t have time for the man’s fear, for his cowardice. They needed to move, now.

  Thornfield swallowed hard, pointing to a small door at the far end of the kitchen. “Through there,” he stammered. “It leads downstairs, to the basement.”

  Thorne nodded, his mind racing. The safe would be secure, but they couldn’t stay hidden down there forever. They needed to alert the Lost Ones, and there was still the matter of Lady Thornfield and Kellan. Were they even still alive? He couldn’t leave them to the mercy of the assassins, not if there was still a chance to save them.

  “Stay here,” he ordered, his voice low and firm. “Don’t move, don’t make a sound. I’ll be back.”

  Thornfield nodded frantically, sinking to his knees as if his legs had given out. Thorne spared him one last glance, then turned and slipped out of the kitchen, his eyes narrowing as he took in the scene before him.

  The entrance hall was a battlefield. More assassins had joined the fray, their dark forms moving with lethal precision, overwhelming the few remaining guards. Eliza and Tom were still holding the line, but just barely. The defense was buckling, the guards faltering under the relentless assault. They didn’t stand a chance.

  Thorne watched as Eliza, a blur of motion and fury, sliced her way through the mass of assassins. She fought with a desperate ferocity, her blades cutting through the chaos, but he could see her exhaustion. Every movement was slower than the last, her breath coming in ragged gasps. He knew she wouldn’t last much longer, not with the sheer number of enemies bearing down on them.

  Damn it, Eliza, move faster.

  The remaining guards were falling back, forming a ragged line of defense around the entrance to the kitchen. Their faces were pale, streaked with blood and sweat, their eyes wide with fear. Thorne felt a surge of anger, sharp and cold. They were scared. They should be.

  Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  Thorne’s eyes flicked to a guard struggling with an assassin, unaware of another figure sneaking up behind him. Without thinking, Thorne hurled his last spare dagger, the blade spinning through the air and embedding itself in the assassin’s neck. The man crumpled, blood spraying from the wound, but Thorne was already moving.

  He wove through the chaos, dodging blades and slipping past attackers, his movements quick and fluid. He kept his head down, using the confusion to his advantage, striking out when he could, but never lingering. His main goal was clear: reach Eliza and Tom.

  He ducked under a sword swing, his feet sliding on the blood-slicked floor, and came up behind an assassin, slashing his dagger across the man’s hamstring. The assassin screamed, dropping to his knees, and Thorne finished him with a swift stab to the back of the neck.

  He reached Eliza just as an assassin turned, his eyes widening in surprise at Thorne’s sudden appearance. Thorne didn’t give him a chance to react. He stepped forward, his dagger driving into the man’s eye with a sickening crunch.

  “Glad to see you alive,” Eliza grunted, wiping a smear of blood from her cheek. Her face was pale, her movements slower than usual. Exhaustion etched deep lines into her features, but her eyes were still sharp, defiant.

  “This is a clusterfuck,” Tom added, ducking under an attack and slicing his short sword across an assassin’s chest. His clothes were shredded, his body sporting numerous wounds, blood dripping from a gash on his forehead. He looked like hell, but he was still standing.

  “There are more coming,” Thorne said grimly, his eyes darting upstairs as more dark figures were rushing inside. Tom swore, his face tightening with frustration.

  “We can’t keep this up. We need reinforcements,” Thorne said, his voice tense. As if on cue, an arrow whistled through the air, piercing Tom’s shoulder. He let out a strangled cry, staggering back as blood blossomed around the wound.

  “Tom!” Eliza shouted, her voice filled with panic. She jumped in front of him, her daggers flashing as she blocked an attack aimed at his head, her movements a blur of desperation and fury. She struck back, her blade slicing through the assassin’s throat in a spray of crimson.

  Thorne’s hands itched to use his aetheric skills, to unleash the power simmering beneath his skin. He knew he could turn the tide, but he couldn’t risk it. The Lost Ones didn’t know the full extent of his abilities, and he wasn’t ready to reveal the truth—not yet. Not in front of them.

  But if they weren’t there...

  The thought was a whisper in the back of his mind, seductive and dangerous. He could use his power, just for a moment, just enough to drive the assassins back. Then he’d be able to save them all. But no, he couldn’t. Not while they were watching.

  “Thorne, what are we going to do?” Eliza shouted over the din, her eyes wild with fear and anger. She was holding her ground, but just barely, her movements slowing, her breath coming in ragged gasps.

  Thorne made his decision in a heartbeat. “Eliza, disengage!” he ordered, his voice firm. “Go to the kitchen, find Lord Thornfield, and take him to the safe. He’ll show you the way.”

  She gave him a glare in response but then she turned around as a group of assassins closed in on her. Eliza jumped, her form arching gracefully through the air, drawing her bow in one smooth motion. Her eyes were blazing, her face a mask of grim determination.

  “Do it, Eliza,” Thorne muttered under his breath, his heart pounding. She didn’t hesitate. She activated her skill, and an arrow appeared on the bowstring, glowing with a faint, ethereal light. With a slight tug, she released it, and Thorne watched in amazement as the arrow multiplied, duplicating again and again, until a rain of spectral arrows filled the air.

  The arrows fell like a storm, whistling through the room and striking down the attackers. Pained screams echoed around them as the assassins were hit, clutching at the wounds, but Thorne’s heart sank as he realized none of the arrows were fatal. They were powerful, but they lacked the deadly force needed to end the fight.

  “Damn it,” he hissed, his eyes narrowing as he watched Eliza land gracefully, her bow discarded as she pulled out her daggers. She turned to him, her eyes wide with frustration.

  “What about you?” she asked, disbelief in her eyes.

  “I’ll deal with this mess,” he said, his voice hard. He turned to Tom, who was clutching his shoulder, the arrow still lodged in the wound. “Tom, go to the guild. We’re not getting out of this alive without help. Do it quick.”

  Tom hesitated, pain and uncertainty warring on his face. Eliza’s eyes darted between Thorne and the horde of assassins, her face set in a stubborn frown. “Thorne, this is insane! You can’t...” she yelled, blocking a strike aimed at her side. Her eyes were fierce, determined, and Thorne felt a surge of frustration. She wasn’t going to leave. She was too stubborn.

  “Shut it, Eliza!” Thorne snapped, his voice harsh. “We don’t have time for this. It’s the best way, and you know it. Now move!”

  Tom shared a look with Eliza, his face drawn and pale, then nodded. “Fine,” he muttered, grimacing as he pulled the arrow free from his shoulder with a sharp cry of pain. He clenched his teeth, his eyes flashing with determination. “But you better be alive when I get back, you bastard.”

  “Go!” Thorne barked, watching as Tom’s body shimmered and began to blend into the surroundings. He could still see the faint outline of his form as he moved through the chaos, but it would take a trained eye to notice him. Thorne’s shoulders relaxed slightly as he saw Tom slip through the melee, his figure fading into the shadows.

  He turned back to Eliza, his eyes fierce. “You too. Go.”

  She hesitated, her eyes darting to the horde of assassins surrounding them. Thorne could see the conflict in her gaze. For a moment, he thought she might refuse, might stand her ground and fight, but then she nodded, a reluctant acceptance in her eyes.

  “Don’t you dare die,” she muttered, her voice thick with emotion.

  “I won’t,” Thorne promised, his voice low and steady. He watched as she took a deep breath and turned, making her way through the throng of assassins. She moved with deadly grace, her daggers flashing as she fought her way to the kitchen door. Thorne watched her back, his heart in his throat. He couldn’t help himself. He activated Invisible Threads, weaving the ethereal strands through the air, tripping attackers and diverting their strikes just enough to give her an opening. She didn’t notice, her focus solely on reaching the door.

  Thorne held his breath as she slipped through the last line of attackers and dove into the kitchen, the door slamming shut behind her. Relief washed over him, so sudden and intense that it almost knocked him off his feet. He took a shaky breath, his hands trembling as he clenched his daggers.

  He was alone now, surrounded by a dozen assassins and a handful of battered, bleeding guards. His heart hammered in his chest, his blood singing with anticipation. This was it. No more hiding. No more holding back.

  It was time to unleash himself.

  Thorne took a deep breath, feeling the aether stir within him, a dark, potent force waiting to be released. His eyes narrowed, his lips curling into a feral grin as he stepped forward, his body thrumming with raw power.

  “Alright,” he murmured, his voice low and dangerous, his eyes blazing with a cold, deadly light. “Let’s see what you bastards are made of.”

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