The Assassin Queen

Chapter One

Arcus grabbed me harshly by the chin, tilting my head upwards till I stood on my tip toes. Still I refused to look at him and I could practically feel the cool rage radiate off him in waves. "Look at me..." he said quietly, coolly, and it was this deathly tone which caused me to finally look up and into his empty, soulless eyes " Don't mess this up Dasha!" He snarled in my face, which was mere inches away.
His fingers dug into my skin painfully, but after years and years of practice I'm not even fazed.

"This is your purpose, and you'd be wise to remember that my little Nightmare." He smirked and with one last disgusted look on his features he shoved my face away, swiveled on his heel and walked away.

I hold my breathe through it all, counting the seconds, 1, 2, 3, 4....

Just as my counting has begun to distract me from my situation, Arcus throws one last victorious smirk over his shoulder at my frozen figure. Enjoying my disheveled expression before he opened the huge wooden doors that lead to his private office and heads inside.

I simply stare at the back of his head as something dark blossomed inside my chest, I'm so furious I'm shaking, my jaw clenching and unclenching as I glare daggers at the door. Not that it'll help though, it's not like I could get in. I should know too because I've tried getting in on my multiple attempts to kill him.

I've tried on so many occasions I've lost track.
He laughs every time, as though it's some sick daughter–father game we play, he's such a sick monster. Arcus is not my father–that I am sure of–although he likes to pretend he's a father figure, the King of the assassins is anything but a father.

But oh stars is he quick to remind me that he was the one that took me off the street after my parents had died, he was the only one who took pity on me. The one who gave me my name, gave me an identity...

Without him, I would have starved to death, or at least that's what he tells me. I have no memories before coming here except for blurs of sounds and colors...and blood. I turn abruptly and walk down the hallway of my house, or should I say prison? Most days I can't tell the difference.

I let my small and nimble fingers glide across the ancient wood walls of this mansion, it's really quite beautiful at least in a dark sort of way, I suppose it's reminds me of myself in some ways. Slowly I increasing my pace, footsteps soundless like that of a cat. I don't have to think of being soundless anymore, its just second nature. Occasionally I imagine I'm a shifter with heightened senses, but that's absurd because they no longer exist.

I arrive at the end of the hallway which holds the armory and slip in, and make my way towards the corner of the room where my tools and weapons are located, displayed on the wall like trophies.
My weapons were specifically designed for someone my size —5 "3"— to create the perfect balance so that in turn I could inflict the most damage.

To my right my dresser stands loomingly against the wall, holding most of the clothes I wear when going on "errands".

I open it and pick my favorite lightweight protective vest and pull it over my head and fasten it tight, then my black cloak. The process of preparing is a tedious one, involving a whole lot of strapping and tightening of weapons I'll need: The twin blades strapped at my back, the two small knives on both of my boots, the forearm leather gauntlets that have hidden blades— that when used always makes me think I'm a feline shifter.

This should be enough, it'll be an easy kill. I'm probably over-prepared as it is.

I turn on my heel and walk out of the armory and head towards the front door, theirs so many twists and turns and stairs in this house It'd be easy to get lost, but since I've lived here for over ten years I could walk this mansion blindfolded.

I run down the stairs and storm out the front door.

Arcus doesn't want mistakes does he? He thinks I'll fail huh, well I'll show him! If he wants a Nightmare that's what he'll get....