When Ash Falls (London Fairy Tales #4)(6)
Author: Rachel Van Dyken

“And if the diagnosis is the same?” Ash swallowed. He did not fear death; after all, he was death’s deliverer. A gun for hire. An assassin. No, he had already cheated death once. He knew he could not do it again, no matter what Pierce said.

Thankfully, Pierce said nothing; instead, he walked to the table and poured himself a healthy glass of whiskey. He threw back the contents and slammed the glass down with a resounding thunk. “Then I’ll pray for your soul.”

Ash smirked, knowing full well that Pierce believed just as he did, that one couldn’t embark on the life both of them had led without having to justify their actions to the Almighty. And Ash knew there was no justification. No excuse that would save him from the fires of hell.

“We leave in the morning?” Pierce interrupted Ash’s dark thoughts. He leaned against the wall, his head tilted to the side as if examining Ash and his mental state. Infuriating friend. He was always concerned Ash would somehow get so depressed that he’d turn his pistol on himself again.

“Yes. Now, go to sleep.”

“If you promise me not to shoot yourself, I’ll go to sleep.”

Ash groaned into his hands. “The only man I intend on shooting is you. Now, go to bed.”

With a grunt, Pierce pushed away from the wall and quit the room.

The silence was deafening.

Ash watched the flames lick into the air, felt the heat of the fire against his skin as he took a seat near the fireplace.

Months. He’d been told he had months before the pieces of metal reached his heart. Of course, the doctor had no way of knowing, not unless he operated. But what was the point? It wasn’t as if he had anything to live for.

No. That had been taken from him a long time ago.

And it seemed that God was just cruel enough to save his life when he wanted more than anything to be dead. Yes. God was cruel, for Ash had been saved a quick death, and, in turn, given a slow one.

One that made him think back on every decision, every job, and every moment he’d pulled that trigger.

With a sigh, he pulled off his gloves and touched the skin just below his chin. A nervous habit — something he did when he needed to be reminded of why he was being punished.

A life for a life.

And he was still living.

Which meant it was only a matter of time before he breathed his last breath. Then, and only then, could he atone for his sins.

Then, and only then, would he find peace.

CHAPTER SIX

If I have to spend more than one more day with this woman, she will break everything I’ve worked hard to build. I lack the strength to admit my weakness aloud, but in my journal I can state the truth. She makes me want. And want is a very dangerous emotion indeed, because where there is want, there is desire; where there is desire, there is lust, and, God forbid, love. —The Grimm Reaper

WIDE-EYED AND UNABLE TO sleep, Sofia stared up at the ceiling of the small cottage. In just a few hours she would be on her way to London.

The start of a new life. She turned to her side, trying a different position to gain comfort. But the type of comfort she needed wasn’t going to come easily by simply tossing and turning in bed. It was more than a new life or fresh start. It was life or death.

Her stomach rumbled as if to agree. She truly should have eaten more at dinner, but her blasted nerves were getting the best of her. Unable to do anything but attempt to stab Ash with a fork, she’d all but ignored her food.

“Well, this is just ridiculous,” she mumbled aloud, throwing the covers off her body and grabbing a wrapper.

Sofia lit a candle and opened her door.

“Princess.” Dunlin nodded. “Do you need aid?” Pistol raised, his eyes narrowed as he looked from right to left before elbowing her in the side. “Shh. I think I hear a noise.”

“Breathing. I’m breathing.”

“Well done, Princess. Stay alive, that’s what I always say.”

“Dunlin.” Truly, he would try the patience of a saint. “I do not need aid, and the noise is my breathing. See?” She demonstrated inhaling and exhaling.

His eyes narrowed into tiny slits before he finally answered. “Must you do it so loudly?”

“Yes,” she ground out.

“Carry on, then.” He straightened to his height of six feet and stood near her door, on guard for would-be assassins and, apparently, anyone who breathed too loudly.

She rolled her eyes and continued down the hall, nearly bumping into Cornelius.

“Princess? Are you harmed?” He braced her shoulders with both hands and peered closely into her eyes.

“Cornelius!” Dunlin called out from behind her in what she assumed was his inside voice. All things considered, she’d be surprised if he didn’t wake those in England. “The princess is fine. She is merely breathing!”

“Breathing,” Cornelius repeated, his smile nearly taking over his entire face. “What a relief, and here I thought you were a ghost.” With a sly smile, he let her pass and then whispered behind her, “Will you not take one of the guards with you on your walk about the cottage?”

Sofia paused and answered without turning around. “Afraid I’ll fall into a crack in the floor, Cornelius?”

His silence was answer enough as she made her way into the kitchen.

Sometimes it was difficult to remember how much danger she was in, especially with seven of the most ridiculous types of men around her. Most of them were outcasts, just as she. All, at one point, had worked for the Crown before her stepmother had gone insane. And all were loyal to Sofia.

However, that did not mean she wasn’t hanging on to her sanity by a thread.

“Princess?”

Groaning into her hands, she muffled out a, “Yes?”

“Cornelius sent me.”

She peeked through her fingers to see Serafano standing near the door, pistol in hand, ready to shoot… what? She didn’t know. Perhaps an escaped rat. Lucky bastard.

“Fine.” She pointed to the seat.

Serafano yawned and sat.

With a wicked smile, she yawned along with him. “I am finally feeling sleepy. What about you?”

Serafano was the eldest of all the guard and known to fall asleep at the without warning. He raised his arms above his head and yawned along with her. “I could sleep.”

“Warm milk?” She went to the stove and began heating up what was left of their milk.

“Oh, I shouldn’t.” Serafano rubbed his white beard in thought. “It is the last of our milk, purchased just this morning. Surely you need it more than I.”