The Beauty In Love And Murder

Chapter One - Adrienne

My dagger glints in the moonlight, the silver shining like liquid as it moves. I crack a smile as I survey the ground before me from the rooftop where I crouch, the metal of the blades in my holster pressing cold against my thighs. 

I glance down at the balcony beneath me, the sheer, white curtains blowing out the open doors in the nighttime breeze. This kingdom of ours is on the coast, which makes for a lot of open doors and windows in the night. Ironic, since that simply makes my profession easier.

The man and woman sleeping in the bed are peaceful, and I can see the room to their baby's nursery sitting ajar across the hall. I stand in the doorway of the balcony for a moment, then cross to the bedside in eager strides. I always relish in the coming moment, watching someone's life seep out of them after my blades split their flesh. I rub my knife edge across my palm, warming it before I settle my gaze on the throat of the man I've been paid to dispose of.

Ten minutes later, I'm back out on the rooftops, running towards the safe house. The blood is settling into the edge of my black cloak where I cleaned my dagger, and it whips drops of liquid off the hem as I sprint. The baron's black seal ring swings heavily  on the chain around my neck, the proof I need to collect my payment for this commission. The man hadn't even thrashed around when I killed him, and his bedmate had stayed peacefully asleep as the life drained out of her partner. Her screams are going to echo off every wall on this block when she rolls over in the morning. 

The night is dark as ink tonight, and I smile in satisfaction under my hood. His skin parted so easily under my blade, it was a beautiful kill. It sounds bad, but I made sure he died quickly. I may be cruel and I may be a murderer, but I'm not a sadist.

It takes me a while to get back home, since it's hard to shake the feeling that someone might catch you after a job, even though you've been doing it for six years. I've never been caught, but there's a first time for everything. 

Soldiers and guards wander around the streets sometimes, so I tend to travel by rooftop whenever I want to get somewhere quickly. I prefer it, since it means I can keep my hood up and it eliminates the risk of anyone following me as easily as they could if I was on the street. Tarryn always said "You can never be too careful." after he got caught and I haven't felt the same about walking home after a commission since. 

Tarryn greets me at the end of the alleyway as I walk towards the hidden entrance, smirking as I approach. He's the keeper of the group of assassins who live under this roof, the one who coordinates our assignments with the upper class customers who frequently want someone dead. He gets a share of our payment, in exchange for food and a roof over our heads where we won't get arrested. 

He's tall, nothing short of six foot three, and his eyes and hair match in raven black. He's lean and muscled from his earlier days as an assassin, and you can see scars left by victims who were stupid enough to try and fight back before he killed them. He has one running white across his left temple, and another cutting through his lip from when he skipped out on the palace prisons a couple years ago. 

His skin is slightly paler than one would expect, and he wears black clothes with a splash of red in every outfit. Today he's dressed in a simple black tunic style top, tucked into dark pants that crease when he moves. He wears a ruby on his left ring finger— not a wedding ring, but he's never told me where he got it from. 

A lot of ladies from court will trip out to the slums here on their heeled shoes and silk dresses to giggle and stare at Tarryn and flirt as he winks at them when he passes by. Really, when he places his hand on their backs and runs his fingers down their arms, he's just pickpocketing their trinkets and gold and taking their reticules but somehow none of them notice. 

I've never blamed them, though. He's charming and it's hard to look away from his smile, but he's dangerous to get involved with. I've seen him in the middle of his rages— things and people rarely stay intact if they're within range of his throwing knives. 

Tarryn slouches against the door to the safe house, his long hair covering his eyes as his cigar puffs smoke into the night air. I twist away from his hand as I approach him, his fingers reaching teasingly to tug my hair. I slap his hand away and bat his cigar out of his mouth, stepping on it as I drop it on the ground. He smirks and slings an arm around my shoulders. 

"Come on Adri, don't be a killjoy. Rough night?" I look up at him and shake my head. "Of course not. I'm the best you've got, remember?" I shove his shoulder, tossing a smirk over my shoulder as I brush past, and push through the wooden door.  The blood on my cloak leaves marks on the floor in my wake, like rose petals being tossed behind a bride. 

My name is Adrienne Winger, and tonight marked my one hundred and thirty-seventh kill.