CHAPTER three: De-Assassination
The night was dark and not even a crescent of moon shone down, this was a night for a perfect execution and assassination and Amelia Whittaker won’t be deterred from the one mission she had trained for half her life by the assassin’s leader of the creed.
To kill Alpha king Lucas Conroy, the Lycan king of the Valerian hybrid werewolves.
The lack of moon made the stretch of land lying ahead and a particular castle that stood tall and proud on the ground shadowed. The cream stone craving of the castle’s walls almost seemed grey due to the darkness letting the others know it’s time to be in a peaceful slumber, not Amelia Whittaker though.
The eyelids of the sole warrior guarding the gates of the castle fluttered ever so slightly and she reached into her side pocket and brought a long wooden pipe made from bamboo. It had holes on both side and a poisoned pine broken from orange trees laid inside, Amelia brought it to her mouth and blew sharply in it, her harsh breath pushing out the poison stick with the pointed tip. It stuck inside the neck of the wolf guarding the gate and few seconds later, he slumped quietly to the ground.
Her lips twisted in a wry grin.
Her rubber soled shoe slammed soundlessly on the grassy floor of ‘Alpha Conroy’s pack house’ as she scaled over the tall brick fence that divided the castle—pack house—from the rest of the village.
She looked up into the still midnight sky and she could almost make out the watery smile on her mother’s face peering down at her as she breathed her last. Tears stung her eyes and she willed herself not to shed those tears.
‘Tears are a show of weaknesses, tears are for coward’
The mantra kept repeating itself in her head and she paused in her tracks to suck in a deep shaky breath to calm her frayed nerves. She wasn’t scared, no, that wasn’t it. Amelia had never been scared ever since her parents died at the hands of werewolves who came to attack her village, murdering her clansmen.
She was simply over excited.
Suddenly, just the sole of her boots touched the grassy path that led to the castle, her head whipped to the side and she saw a group of the werewolves patrolling about the castle. She quickly hid behind a cluster of tall foliages that provided enough cover for the time being, she knew she didn’t have long till they would circle round the castle to where she hid. Her heart thudded in her chest as she thought of what next to do. Then she smiled, carefully and noiselessly pulling out her tiny pocket knife from her suede boots. She slit her palm and started running anticlockwise, towards the back gate of the fortress. Her blood made a trail behind her and she squeezed the ripped skin, splattering more blood in her wake.
Just like she had predicted, the wolves stilled, sniffing the air. They began pawing-running—through the path, following the blood trail. They were faster than Amelia had expected and although they could not see her yet, they were gaining on her. She increased her speed, running out of the castle through the back gate and then fortunately, she saw a live squirrel resting on the trees. She quickly grabbed it and broke it hind legs. She made sure it bled enough, mixing her blood with its blood before she dropped the poor animal and hurriedly ran away to hide.
Her plan worked and the wolves soon appeared, surrounding the squirrel. While they sniffed at it, trying to decipher if the blood they smelt was truly the animals, Amelia like the ghost she was trained to be disappeared back into the castles and locked the gates. That would fetch her enough time to assassinate the stupid king.
Her blank and unemotional mask pulled over her features and she resumed her quiet sneaking into the castle. She pictured the map lying back on the jagged table in the mission house, it showed the map of the castle and the easiest point of entry and exit.
Slithering against the wall, she used her hands to pat the hardness. At last she found her way in the darkness to the back door and she wrapped her fist around the handle.
As expected, it was unlocked.
Fury found its way to her calm exterior and she didn’t bother trying to get rid of her anger. The audacity and boldness of the fucking werewolves, to leave their doors open. They were so arrogant that they think no one can dare to touch them. ‘Ah well, I wonder how arrogant they’d be when they discover their alpha dead and headless in his own bed the next morning.’ She thought with a hideous sneer.
Anger was good, but too much anger blinded a person and might hinder a perfectly laid out plan. Amelia knew this fact but she was far too gone in her rage to care.
Closing the door as silently as possible, she walked further into the fortress, willing her eyes to acclimatize with the dark interior of the castle. Finally it did and she noticed the stairwell to her left.
But to get there, she has to step over the hunk of a wolf, lying asleep in the passage next to the stairwell.
Amelia Whittaker stood still weighing her options. She could just turn around and leave, forsaking the mission or she could be very careful while walking by the sleeping creature standing guard at the foot of the stairs. She chose the latter.
She started moving towards him very slowly, the sole of her shoes moving silently on the marbled floor, her eyes riveted to the wolf on the floor. He looked dead to the world but she knew better than to trust werewolves and their animalistic instincts and their bizarrely strong senses. Her hands never left the silver blade attached to her hip and she was almost past him as she raised her leg to step over his tail, her hand brushed a vase placed carefully on a table and it started a descent to the floor. Her eyes widen in horror as the vase almost made contact with the marbled floor, she was sure that even a ghost would awaken if the vase lands on the floor and splinters into pieces. She acted quickly and caught the vase just as it almost brushed the floor. A small gasp left her as she sighed in relief just then the wolf lying on the floor growled awake.