The Blood Gift

DedicationTo my wonderful readers who’ve shown so much enthusiasm for Ikenna’s journey and who’ve connected with our favorite Murder Girl; to anybody and everybody who needs to rightfully rage at injustices; and to those who dare to dream big when the world tells us we shouldn’t Contents CoverTitle PageDedicationMap12345678910111213141516171819202122232425262728293031323334EpilogueDramatis PersonaeAcknowledgmentsAbout the AuthorAlso by N. E. DavenportCopyrightAbout the Publisher Map 1I sit in a mountainside cafe, sipping a godsawful microstate whiskey, and watch my targets across the room. There’s twelve in total—eight women and four men. They’re in a reserved section roped off from the public, having a party. An ebony-skinned woman in her mid-fifties with flawless, gene-manipulated beauty and striking gray eyes that remind me ruthlessly of a certain other bitch I’ve been trying not to think about raises her glass and starts the speech for a toast. I mark the subtle elegance about Edryssa Cyphir—my desired target—and also the gruffness that makes it clear she could handle herself in most fights. Probably any fight. Just not a fight with me.Lady Edryssa keeps her oration short and sweet. I thank the Pantheon for the boon because it means less time I have to sit in a far corner of the cafe, imbibing disgusting liquor, and waiting to make my move. The speech ends; glasses clink; sparkling wine is guzzled. Drink more, I urge everyone, and make this a cherry walk. There’s a moment where I swear I see emptiness in one of the partygoer’s eyes, and I get excited. Did that really just pseudo-work?But the tan-skinned man that’s built like an armored transport places his empty flute on a table nearby and turns to the spread of food beside it. I guess not. Damn! What’s the use of having a stockpile of power if you don’t know how to make it work every time you want it to? Whatever extra boost the goddess gave me in Khanai only worked unerringly long enough to get my team out. Almost immediately after it fizzled, though, and now it’s wholly erratic. Sometimes it barrels into me with enough force that it literally knocks me on my butt, and other times it’s lukewarm, stubbornly remaining at its old, usual—and unuseful—levels. Right now, it’s the latter. I shake my head. Guess things are getting done the tougher way.I remain at my cramped table, continuing to drink whiskey that had no business being barreled in the first place and looking as if I’d been simply people-watching—as one often does when they’re dining alone—until the fanfare of the party stole my attention and now I’m ensnared with watching them have a good time. I could make my move right in the eatery. I could stand up, walk over to the group’s private section, and do what needs to be done. But the cafe is full of people, and it probably wouldn’t be a good look to commit a slaughter, in a foreign nation, in front of a slew of witnesses. And while I don’t give a shit about how it looks, I have others around me who insist we at least try to do things right. So I gotta wait.And wait.And fucking wait some more.Irked, I slip out of character for a second and allow myself a quick, cathartic scowl.I stay out of character longer than I should when low laughter floats into my ear.“Go to hell,” I mutter to Caiman through my nanomic.“Patience is a virtue, Amari.” He chuckles.“This cafe is propped on a cliff,” I remind the jackass. “I technically still owe you a push.”That shuts him up. For now. I swear the gods specifically crafted Caiman to get under my skin—even when we’re in a truce and aligned to the same side. “Focus. Everyone. This is serious.” The new voice that hisses into my ear is, of course, Reed’s.I roll my eyes. “I can multitask.”“Amari.” My name is a reprimand. A censure handed down from a commanding officer. I bristle, and if the op at hand wasn’t so important, I’d blow it. “Fuck you,” I snarl quietly into the mic. “I’m not your subordinate anymore so get your tone together when you talk to me.” “This isn’t the place for your ego,” Reed snaps back. A beat passes then he curses. “Your point is valid, however. I guess. So, my apologies.” I try to remain irritated, but my mouth twitches, a thing I know the bastard can see because he hacked the establishment’s vidcams and routed their live feed to his and the rest of our rogue cohort’s Comm Units. “It is your bad,” I say, keeping my voice hard. Lots of things are your bad. Darius Reed and I still have offenses to air out after what happened in Khanai, and until we do, it’s actually him I want to shove off a cliff, not Caiman. “Party’s ending,” Dannica chirps in her forever-present, supremely unnatural, peppy tone.“Time for our bash to begin.” I can practically hear the eager grin on Haynes’s face as he says it. I refocus on the party and watch good-byes breeze off lips and air kisses be passed in Lusian fashion. Gray-eyed Edryssa Cyphir, who gave the toast, leaves first. I track her as she slips out a narrow door along a wall inside the private section. Like I said, she’s the person I’m after, but to get to Lady Edryssa, I’ve gotta go through her cronies first. Those cronies, the other seven women and four men in the room, begin leaving via the back entrance precisely five minutes after Edryssa departs. I swipe my Comm Unit over the mini monitor embedded in a corner of my table to pay for my subpar whiskey, stand, and head out the front entrance of the cafe. “Let’s see if they leave together or all go separate ways,” I say into my mic.“Let’s hope it’s the former so this’ll be a piece of pie,” Greysen says.“From your lips to the cosmos’s ears,” I mutter. Otherwise, my crew will have to break off