Pulling the gun from behind my back, I set it down on the seat beside me. I unstrap the vest and take a deep breath as I place it next to my firearm. Cillian does the same where he’s seated across from me.
“Are you sure, poppet?” he asks.
Our eyes meet, and knowing it’s useless trying to hide my feelings from him, I say, “Even though I’m terrified of the unknown, I have to do it.”
“I’ll be right outside St. Monarch’s,” he assures me again. Our guards aren’t allowed on the premises. I guess it’s to ensure everyone’s safety.
This time a genuine smile tugs at my mouth. “Yeah, at least I’ll have you there.”
As the jet begins to move, I lean my head back and stare out the window.
It’s just two years, Winter. You have to do this for your family.
DAMIEN
Standing in my personal quarters, I cross my arms over my chest as I watch everyone arrive at the academy.
St. Monarch’s has been my home for the past twenty-two months. As the best protector in training, I will be paired with the top assassin when I graduate. I won’t settle for anyone else but Carson. It’s my only goal. The bidding date hasn’t been announced yet, though, and I’m growing impatient to be free of this place.
I watch as Adrian Vincent climbs out of his armored jeep. He’s Carson’s competition and probably the first one I’ll kill the instant we step outside the gates of St. Monarch’s. There are four assassins in training right now, and they’re taught to live by a code – don’t kill for sport.
But Adrian’s different. I see the thirst for blood in his eyes. It’s not about the money for him. Once he starts killing, it will be for pleasure, and he’ll try to take out the competition first. He’s arrogant enough to believe he could actually succeed in killing Carson.
Another armored jeep pulls up, and I watch as an older man climbs out of the driver’s side. He walks around the vehicle to open the passenger door for someone. A flash of red draws my attention, and then my gaze locks on the woman getting out of the jeep. St. Monarch’s only allows you to attend once you’re over twenty-one, so she must be of age even though she looks younger.
When the woman turns around and stares up at the windows, my gaze narrows. Winter Hemsley. She’s even more beautiful than I heard.
The man, who’s probably her personal guard, says something to her, and it makes her smile. I watch as they hug each other, and then she takes a couple of steps away from the jeep as her guard climbs back in the vehicle to leave.
Winter moves with grace, and my eyes take in her petite curves, clearly visible under the tight-fitting black pants and shirt, before settling on her face again.
Her gaze sweeps over the buildings and grounds, on guard and ready to defend herself should a threat appear.
The sight of her makes my heartbeat speed up a little, and it has the corner of my mouth curving up. Not many women manage to elicit any kind of emotion in me. Then again, Winter Hemsley is no ordinary woman. She’s the Blood Princess. One of the heirs to the Hemsley’s smuggling empire. Her grandfather orchestrated the massacre of many villages in Africa. Ruthlessness runs in her veins.
A merciless beauty radiates from her, designed to bring men to their knees for her to walk over, using them as stepping stones in her climb to the top.
Another car pulls up, which belongs to Vince Blanco. I tilt my head as I watch the two enemies come face to face. The Blanco family had Rose Hemsley, Winter’s mother, assassinated. Winter was also shot during the attack, and the Hemsley family has lived in hiding ever since.
But still, here she is. The breathtakingly beautiful Blood Princess who survived an assassination attempt. It’s a rare sight indeed.
Winter and Vince lock eyes, and I’m surprised when Vince is the first to walk away. It looks like he’s chuckling.
Winter's gaze follows Vince until he enters the building, and the hatred turning her face to stone makes a smile form around my lips. She’s got fire. I’ll give her that.
I keep watching as one armored jeep after the other pulls up. Hours later, when the last attendee has arrived, I turn away from the window, not happy that twenty-one people will be attending St. Monarch’s. I’m going to miss the peace and quiet from when it was just nine of us. Hopefully, I won’t be here for much longer.
There’s still three hours until Madame Keller, the architect of St. Monarch’s, gives the welcome speech at dinner. Grabbing my hand tape, I walk out of my room and start to wrap the fabric around my fingers, palms, and wrists. I don’t look up as I make my way to the gym.
Soft murmurs fill the hallways as all the new attendees make their way to their assigned quarters. St. Monarch’s Academy used to be a castle built in the late seventeen hundreds. It’s situated right outside Geneva, and although the furnishings have been renovated, the wooden floors creak with every step.
I walk to the back of the academy and enter the last sparring studio at the end of the hallway. There are a couple so we can have privacy when we train. Growing up, I’ve learned every fighting style known to mankind. I’ve spent the past eighteen months creating my own combination, taking moves from Muay Thai, Krav Maga, Kung Fu, and wrestling.
Removing my earphones from my pocket, I’m just about to put them in when I feel eyes on me. Glancing over my shoulder, my gaze connects with Paulie’s. Paul Connor will probably end up working with Winter Hemsley, seeing as they’re both Irish.
“Did you even go home?” Paulie asks as he steps into the room.
“No.” After my uncle joined Demitri in America, there’s nothing to go home to.
I watch as he wraps his hands, then he grins at me. “Take it easy on me.”
I turn my body to face him. “There’s no such thing as easy in our world.”
Paulie lets out a chuckle. “Fine. Just don’t break anything.”
“You should fight Hugo,” I say. I actually like the Irishman.
“He’s not here yet.” Paulie begins to circle me. “Come on. Teach me something.”
Slowly, I shake my head. “You know that’s not how it works.” Paulie starts to jump lightly, and it has me adding, “Take the out I’m giving you, Paulie.”
“I’ll fight,” a woman’s voice comes from behind us, and it has our heads snapping in the direction of the door.
“As I live and breathe,” Paulie chuckles. “The Blood Princess in the flesh.”
She’s even smaller and more stunning up close. Her creamy white skin makes her red hair look dark, and the fierce expression in her eyes has them sparkling like emeralds.
With the full intention of finding another empty studio where I can train, I begin to walk toward her.
“You’re leaving?” Paulie asks.
“It’s crowded,” I mutter as the side of my body bumps against Winter’s when I pass by her. To my surprise, she doesn’t stagger backward, and a spark jumps between us.
“Or just afraid to get your ass kicked by a woman,” she says, an edge to her voice making it sound like a warning.
Stopping in the hallway, I take a deep breath before I glance over my shoulder. Our eyes lock, and for a moment, heat sizzles between us.