Chapter 6

Chapter

Six

ALYX

S taring up at the stone ceiling, I frown at the small hole there. It hasn’t always been there—it only happened recently and was thanks to someone deciding that they wanted to be the top assassin in the Daggers. They thought they would gain that spot by taking me out, foolish male. I always sleep lightly. I presented his head to Crux’s people the very next day as proof of my victory.

It turns out that assassins are the targets of other assassins more often than you would think. None of Crux’s lot would dare take out a hit on me, not when they know they have no hope in completing it alive. We have a code. Even the underworld has rules. We don’t hunt our own, not unless they have broken that code. Besides, Crux would kill them if they so much as looked at me wrong. He’s very protective, that best friend of mine.

Nope, these are foreign assassins from other lands trying to take me out. The worst thing is, I have no idea who keeps putting out the hit because they all keep killing themselves with the cyanide pills clenched between their back teeth before I can interrogate them.

One hard bite down and they are dead.

Although, before one died, he decided to take a chunk out of my ceiling with a wayward dagger. If anything, I’m more annoyed by the damage than the attempt on my life. In this line of work, you’d be a fool to expect a long, comfortable life.

Looking around my room, I don’t bother to hold back the small, smug smile that tugs at my lips. My life might not end up being long, but it’s pretty damn comfortable. For someone living in the Lowers, I have it good. Although it’s set in the tunnels under the city, I managed to make it homey and warm. The room has a lock from one of the best locksmiths in the city, giving me some semblance of security. Sure, it wouldn’t keep Crux out, but no one else would even dare to try. My double bed takes up about a third of the space, while the rest of the room is richly furnished with polished wooden furniture and a couch made with exotic fabrics that cost more than double what the average worker in the Lowers would earn in a year. The stone walls have been covered in paintings and stolen tapestries, the curved walls reaching the peak where my stolen chandelier hangs.

Sure, there aren’t windows, but after years of living here, I’m used to being underground. I’ve worked my ass off for this, and I enjoy every exuberant moment of it.

The sun has risen, and I can feel my eyes drooping, tired from another night of stalking the city. As I lie back on my bed and stare at that damn hole, my eyes getting heavier by the second, my mind begins to wander. While it meanders through the events of last night, I keep getting stuck on one particular image—crystal-clear blue eyes staring up at me with shock and awe.

Why I keep coming back to this, I don’t know, and it’s driving me crazy. What do I care about some haughty noble who moronically walked into the wrong side of the city? The only reason I helped him in the first place was because I was bored and he intrigued me. It’s as simple as that. The. Only. Fucking. Reason.

Then why does the image of that damn noble’s eyes keep coming back to me? Every time I try not to think of them, there they are again just a second later, taunting me.

I finally realise that this isn’t going to work, so I give in and let myself think of the stumbler. He was handsome, from what I saw of his face, in a polished way you don’t see much of in the city. Even if it wasn’t for his poor excuse of a disguise, which did nothing to hide his wealth, a child could tell he wasn’t from our part of the city. He didn’t carry the hardened expression and distrust like the rest of us do. This kingdom would eat him up and spit him out. Only the tough survive. There’s no such thing as kindness here.

There was something about him though. I can’t put my finger on it, but he carried a na?ve sense of trust that drew me to him. Stumblers rarely come into the city, not the Lowers at least, and certainly not during the night, yet there he was, blindly stumbling into one of the roughest areas. Did he think he wasn’t in danger?

Snorting at the thought, I shake my head and let my eyes close. I need to get some sleep. I’m exhausted, and I have a job tomorrow. Forcing myself to relax into the mattress, I take a deep breath and allow fatigue to wash over me, pulling me into a deep sleep.

The last thing I think of are the noble’s blue eyes.

I have no idea how long I’ve been asleep for, but I don’t think it’s been long since my head is still thick with the fuzziness of sleep. My whole body protests at the very thought of getting up, aching from a night of fighting. Why am I even awake?

The bed shifts slightly, finally pulling me from my slumber, my body stiffening for a moment as I realise I’m no longer alone in my room. I force myself to relax into the mattress as various scenarios run through my mind. The best time to assassinate an assassin is when they are at their most vulnerable, and no one is more vulnerable than when they are asleep. By pretending to sleep, I gain a handful of precious seconds to make my plan. I’d been sleeping on my front, so I must have rolled over at some point, and my arms are wrapped around my pillow. As gently as I can, I slide a dagger from the hidden pocket in the mattress, conveniently placed under my pillow. Many people think I’m mad for sleeping with a dagger, but I’ve not survived this long without a reason. I’m always prepared.

Wrapping my fist around the hilt, I prepare to spring up, attempting to work out the position of the stranger crawling up my bed. Any second now, they’ll practically be straddling me—a position that, while not impossible to get out of, will put me at a further disadvantage.

If I’m going to act, it has to be now.

I spring into action, twisting like a pinwheel and raising my dagger in an upward motion. It’s only in that moment that I realise who is climbing into my bed—Crux.

Gasping, I attempt to yank my arm away, but my aim was too true and is still heading straight for his jugular.

Thankfully for my best friend, he has lightning-quick reflexes and manages to pull back before being caught by the blade. Raising a brow, he looks at my shocked expression and then the blade in my hand.

“Whoa. Calm down, Red.” His crooked grin only ignites my anger. “Are you trying to kill me so you can take my throne?”

He makes no mention of the fact that I’m sleeping with a blade, but I’m sure he probably has several dotted about his bedside. You can’t be too careful in this industry.

His familiar drawl has me relaxing, my heartbeat slowing even as adrenaline still pumps through me. His dark eyes watch me carefully while his plump pink lips smile lazily. His right brow arches, making the scar that cuts through it more visible. As usual, his dark, shoulder-length hair is scruffy, and he has day-old stubble marking his jaw. He tries to hide it, but he’s handsome in a rough way. His once noble nose is crooked thanks to one too many fights, and I have to stop myself from reaching out to trace the line of it.

“You shouldn’t sneak up on an assassin when they are sleeping,” I scold, hitting him across the head with a pillow.

Of course, Crux just laughs and steals it from me, climbing farther up the bed. Throwing the pillow back down, he lies on his side, resting his head on his hand as he looks up at me, that stupid grin still splitting his face.

“I’m serious.” I know it’s pointless arguing with him, but I can’t seem to stop myself. “I could have killed you.”

“Probably, but I’d have made you work for it.” Shrugging as if we aren’t talking about his death, he drops his smile, but I still see humour in his eyes. “I didn’t want to wake you.”

“Well, you did.”

Snorting a laugh, he makes himself comfortable, pulling the discarded blanket over himself and lifting one of his arms in invitation. “Alright, grumpy. Come back to sleep.”

Blinking at how blasé he is about this whole situation, I shake my head after a moment. “You really think I can sleep after you just scared the crap out of me?”

“Alyx, lie down and go to sleep.” There’s an order in his voice devoid of humour.

As it has started to recently, my body hums to life at his dark tone, and I do as he instructs.

His arms wrap around me, and my body comes alive as he breathes in my scent. I’m not sure when things started to change between us. We’ve always been friends, and he’s had my back through everything. However, in the last year or so, I’ve started to notice the way he watches me when he thinks I’m not paying attention, not to mention these little cuddles we’ve been having.

They seemed to start out of nowhere, but now I miss him when he’s not crawling in my bed to wrap his arms around me. It’s easy to think that he’s got feelings for me, but things have always stayed friendly between us, and I have to think that is intentional on his part. Sure, I flirt with him, kissing his cheek and making suggestive jokes, but nothing has ever gone any further. I don’t know when I started thinking of him as more than my friend and how my breath is literally taken away when I watch him spar, his movements so smooth and fluid. When we’re pressed against each other like this, I want more of him against me, more skin, more of him .

Of course, nothing ever can or will happen between us. In his mind, I’m sure I will always be the young girl he helped when she was in danger and that I’m imagining any looks he might send my way. There are no illusions that he’s remained celibate while waiting for me, and even just the thought makes my eyes roll. He’s fucked more women than either of us could ever count.

Besides, he’s the king of the underworld down here, and his kingdom means everything to him. He built this sanctuary, and he’s not about to give it all up for me.

“I can practically hear your mind turning,” he comments sluggishly, his arms tightening around my middle. “Whatever it is, worry about it tomorrow.”

He’s asking for the impossible, but as I allow myself to relax against his warm body, his tight embrace and his rhythmic breathing start to lull me to sleep.

This time it’s not blue eyes I fall asleep thinking of, but his dark ones.