the dark brotherhood, an american horror story fanfic

This one was also written for the AHS Exchange, except for the previous round. For some reason though, it was never posted here, so remedying it now.

This is very heavy AU, set in medieval times and a completely another world. If some of you are fans of video games like I am, and played with Skyrim (The Elder Scrolls V) already, then you've probably heard about the Dark Brotherhood. I do not own that, I merely borrowed the name and its concept, and I don't own American Horror Story either.

The story won Favorite AU.

5000 years ago, when the Devil fell from the graces of Heaven, right into the fiery pits of Hell, he vowed revenge against God and his soldiers and his people, the mankind. He climbed his way out of the burning hellfire, rose from his ashes and became stronger than ever. He was an angel still, but a dark, fallen angel, and it only seemed right to taint God's beloved humans the way God tainted him. He created the Dark Brotherhood, a group of trained assassins in the Kingdom of Eastburn, destroying the souls of those who joined and destroying the bodies of those they killed. Over the thousands of years, the Dark Brotherhood grew into the biggest, most feared guild of the world, the number of their victims unimaginable and uncountable. The members were a wild variety of races: humans, witches, werewolves and vampires, and even ghosts sometimes. In exchange for their services, the Devil gave them everything: money, shelter, luxurious life and unconditional protection from everything.

The Dark Brotherhood wasn't just a group, it was religion.

- 0 -

Tate Langdon has never been a good person - far from it, if the number of people he's murdered is any indication - but men who take sick satisfaction in abducting, raping and killing young, defenseless children and teenage girls, are, in his opinion, not only bad people, but disgusting, spineless scumbags as well.

So when an aging man with tired eyes offers them a thousand coins if only they kill those bastards who've violated his daughter, Tate volunteers to go along with a few of his comrades, not because of the money, but because he knows he'll enjoy killing each and every one of them just as much as they enjoyed torturing those girls.

The job is simple enough. Get in, kill them all, get out.

Everything goes according to plan. It's almost too easy, with how inexperienced those four, five men are. The first one dies while guarding the door to their headquarters and two of them die inside, battling for their lives. A fourth begs for mercy. A mercy he's not granted.

There's one left. He tries to run when he realizes he's doomed, but Tate and another assassin follow him to a small, dark room, and Tate stops just for a moment to look around. Girls, about six of them, locked in cages. Some of them don't look older than eight years old.

This is a new level of fucked up, even for me. His stomach churns unpleasantly but while he hesitates, the man makes a beeline for the single window in the room, just about to leap through it, and Tate knows he won't catch him in time when a hand reaches out from one of the cages and grabs his leg violently, sending the guy flying to the ground with a loud noise.

As one last act of revenge, he rolls around with a curse on his mouth and plunges his sword into the poor girl's stomach. She falls to her knees just as Tate's fellow soldier ends his life with a knife in his throat.

Now they're all dead.

Tate goes around the room, opening the cages, freeing the girls. The older ones flee immediately, the younger ones stay inside, too afraid to speak or move. When he gets to the last cage, he sees the girl who's stopped the rapist, kneeling on the ground, clutching at her stomach, staring at a cross on the floor in front of her. He snorts inwardly.

Religion, what a petty little thing.

Her blonde hair falls on her shoulders like a halo, hiding her face from view. The bright red blood pours from the wound, dripping to the floor, hypnotizing him. He hardly feels sympathy for the girl, for the sight is too beautiful.

The cage door opens with a rattling sound as it slams against the wall. He kicks the cross away from her, a hard stare on his face as he looks down at the crouching girl. "God won't save you, girl."

She looks up at him, brown eyes smoldering. "I wasn't praying," she whispers. Her voice is dead calm. "I was just fascinated by the way my blood flowed across the cross."

He sucks in a deep breath. Her face, it's angelic, her voice, the most beautiful sound he's ever heard, her words, music to his ears. She's fascinated by blood? Like he is. Looking at the expression she wears, it's easy to tell she has the same morbid view on the world as he does. There's no sadness in her eyes, even in the face of death, just cold hardness.

It's almost too good to be true.

She holds his unrelenting gaze, not looking away once, and he's unable to. He stares, she stares. For moments, this goes on, until...

"Tate!" He curses the guy interrupting their staring contest but turns around to face the assassin. "What are we gonna do with all these kids?" He gestures around the room, to the little girls still in the cages.

Tate shrugs. "Someone will take the time and bring them all home."

"What? Man, we're the Dark Brotherhood, not a charity foundation."

"They're just scared children." Tate gives him a meaningful look, at which he raises his hands in surrender and walks next to him, looking down at the mysterious, nameless girl in front of them.

"And what of her? She's dying."

There's a hint of glee in his voice and Tate understands what he's proposing. His eyes never leave her face as he nods. "The merciful thing would be killing her," he admits, watching her reaction. She doesn't falter for a second, doesn't flinch when the man raises his sword and points it at her throat. Tate reaches out and twists the weapon away from her direction, and her expression still doesn't change. "But we'll take her to the Sanctuary."

"The Sanctuary?"

"That's what I said, Bradford," he nods firmly, his tone of voice leaving no place for argument. Bradford has no choice but to agree, throwing a curious stare at Tate as he saunters away. Tate pays no mind to him as he crouches down to the girl's level and sweeps her into his arms with ease. She barely weighs anything and he wonders if it's because she's simply thin or these men have been starving her. Strangely, the thought of those rapists and her make his blood boil, barely concealable anger evident on his face. If she notices it, she doesn't say anything.

"The Dark Brotherhood, huh? I suspected as much."

Tate has gotten used to people being afraid of their guild, and of him if they found out who he was, and it takes him by surprise that he doesn't hear a trace of fear in her voice. On the contrary, she sounds... rather amazed. It makes him smile.

"I'm Tate."

"Violet."

She's unconscious when they arrive back at the Sanctuary and the stone wall functioning as a door with a huge skull on its surface, asks him the familiar question, the password. ("What is the music of life?" "Silence, my brother.") He's beginning to get worried until Dr. Montgomery, the wizard, takes a good look at her, murmurs his usual spells, does his magic and rituals, and she comes to her senses, good as new.

Well, apart from the nasty wound on her stomach. But she'll be fine, or at least Charles says so, and Tate trusts his word. She'll be fine and it weirdly relieves him.

He steps into his private chamber to see her admiring his weapon collection, hung proudly on the wall for every visitor to see. He smirks slowly as he watches her. She's his kind of girl, he's sure of that now. Violet Harmon, with her admiration for blood and all things dark, he's surprised she hasn't joined them yet.

He thinks, hopes that it's only a matter of time.

"Impressive, isn't it?" he speaks up, causing her to whirl around to face him. She runs her fingertip across the blade of an axe and nods. "I just spoke to our leader. It should be wiser if you stayed here for a couple of days, until you've fully recovered. Then you can leave."

"How generous of you." There's a lazy smirk on her face as she settles herself down on his bed, her expression soon changing as she looks at him with confusion, curiosity, eyeing him as if she's trying to decide if his intentions are good or bad. "Not that I'm not grateful but... why? Why didn't you kill me, why bother?"

He's expected this question and prepared an answer in his head for a hundred times but he couldn't remember it anymore. So he bites his lip and avoids her eyes and clears his throat, feeling awkward as he stands there. "I guess..." He sits down next to her. "I couldn't let you die. You know?"

Her eyes say that no, she doesn't. "You're a cold-hearted assassin."

Fair point, he admits, although it isn't really true. He's determined to prove her that, even if it means telling the story of his life to a near stranger he feels much more connected to than he should. "My father left us for another woman when I was only four," he latches onto the story without warning. "That's what my mother said, although I'm not sure, she might have killed him before he could really leave. After that, it was just us and my two other siblings. And she was a horrible mother." The old, familiar rage he feels for Constance Langdon bubbles up in his chest, even after all this time. It's funny, how some things never change. "When my father disappeared, we lost our money, our house, our title. Everything that was ever important to my mother. She spent her whole life trying to win it back. She used countless men, gave them... sexual favors in exchange. But there was only one man, one idiot who was stupid enough to give her what she wanted. And so I killed him." He gives her a proud smile, thinking about Lawrence Harvey and his brains splattered on the floor. Oh, what a beautiful sight it was.

"He was my first victim. I would have killed her too, but I wasn't of age yet, and if anything happened to Constance, me and my siblings would have been sent straight to orphanage. I couldn't afford that. You know, Addie and Beau... uhm, they weren't healthy. And she was so, so ashamed of them because of that. She blamed them. And she punished them, beat them... I tried to interfere, but I couldn't always be there, someone had to support our family, since my mother was unwilling to work. Addie's death was an accident." He tries to blink away the nasty tears springing into his eyes as he thinks about Addie, his poor sister. For so long, she was the only person he had in the world. Beauregard, as much as Tate loved him, was too sick to be a real company, but Addie was always there for him. When she died, he was truly alone.

Violet's hand unexpectedly intertwines with his, a comfort he's grateful for. She gives him the courage to continue. "But Beauregard... one day, I came home late. Constance was drunk and she took things too far... There was nothing I could do anymore. So I killed her, cut her up to pieces and fed her to the dogs, then I buried my brother next to Addie in the yard. We didn't have money for a proper funeral."

There's no remorse in his voice when he talks about killing his mother, and the sadness is tangible when he mentions his siblings. "The world is cruel, Violet," he shrugs nonchalantly. "People are cruel. That's how I know I did the right thing by joining the guild."

She's became completely enthralled in the story, he could tell. Horrified and understanding at the same time. She seems sad for him, but it's a genuine sadness, and not pity. "Why are you telling me this, to a stranger?"

His eyes meet hers for a moment, contemplating. There's no way to beat around the bush with this question, so he's honest with his answer. "So you would know, I am not completely heartless."

He shows her around the Sanctuary, tells her petty little gossips about the assassins, a means to pass the time.

(There's Moira, who wears her own set of uniform and takes pleasure in seducing her victims before the kill, men and women equally.

There's Charles, the doctor, who's a drug addict.

And Oliver Thredson, his kink is the human skin.)

He takes her to the garden, his favourite part of the Sanctuary.

"This place is special," he tells her as they walk around the lake, and between the rows of trees and roses. "Unless you can fly, there's only one way to come here, through the Sanctuary. I hear not even the King himself has such a garden like this."

"For a place as dark as your Sanctuary, this is beautiful," she agrees.

"Everybody here appreciates the occasional light sometimes," he tells her quietly, his attention drawn to the black roses next to them. His finger runs across the petals, then he grins and pulls out the blade he always keeps with himself, chopping off one of them. He hands it over to her and she accepts it with a smile matching his.

"You never told me your story," he murmurs as they resume walking. She smells her black rose, pretends she doesn't know what he's talking about.

"My story?"

"Yeah, your story."

"Well..." She begins playing with her flower, using that as an excuse to avoid looking at him. "My father has always been an abusive ass to my mother. He cheated on her with anyone who had boobs, and when things didn't go the way he wanted them to, he wasn't above hitting her. But then he met Hayden McClaine, one of the many prostitutes he payed for, and it was more than just a simple affair. They planned on killing my mother so Ben could marry Hayden." In her sudden anger, she plucks one of the petals on the rose, something she immediately regrets. The rose is too pretty, she doesn't want to take out her anger on it, so she lowers her arms and focuses on the beautiful garden around them. "But they weren't the brightest bulbs in the box, and one day my mother found them in her own bed. She got so angry that she attacked my father with a kitchen knife and ended up slicing his right arm off. Something he definitely deserved," she snickers with a mean smile.

"After that, Hayden didn't want him anymore and my father is now stuck with my mother. For a year, all they did was fight. No day went by without a row and I got tired of it. I ran away, but those bastards got me and then you rescued me." She throws him a sideways look, a soft smile replacing her cruel one. "So that's my story."

"Did they... did they..."

"What? Oh no," she shakes her head, a hard expression sitting on her face. "No, I was only there for a day or so, and they haven't... well, they haven't got to me yet." She winces at how awful and cruel that sounded.

"Good, good," he nods, relieved. For whatever reason, he didn't think he would have handled it well if any of those men had dared to touch her. He feels a strange possessiveness when it comes to Violet, a girl he barely knows but still feels more connected to than anyone else in his entire life. In only a few days, she's touched his heart, forced him to feel things he hasn't felt in years, and strangest of all, he didn't mind it one bit.

But as he looks at her now, sun beaming down on her ethereal form, illuminating her and making her the only light in his life, he can see clearly that she's getting better day by day, her wound slowly healing. That means one thing to Tate: soon, she would leave him.

And he isn't ready to let her go yet.

She leaves a week later, gripping a medallion in her hand as they stand outside of the Sanctuary, preparing to say goodbye. It's decorated with many small green stones and there's a circular hole in the middle, the edges made of copper. It's simple but elegant, nothing too fancy.

She lifts it and brings it around his neck, and he doesn't miss the way her fingers linger on his chest for a moment. "It's an amulet," she explains quietly. "For everything you've done for me. It might bring you some luck on your missions."

Then before she looses her nerve, she stands on her tiptoes and presses a quick kiss to his cheek. "Will I see you again?"

He smiles slowly, as if he knows something she doesn't and nods. "You can count on it."

- 1 -

When Tate arrived in Violetview, - a soft smile on his name upon the name of the city - for an assignment, he didn't expect that someone else will beat him to killing the guy. Let alone that the person would be Violet herself.

Days later after he's arrived, he follows the man home from a bar, hiding behind trees and bushes as the drunken idiot stumbles in the dark. He's been watching him, learning his daily routine, and Tate knows for a fact that Frank, the butcher is a lazy man and he would rather take a detour home in a dark alley then walk through the bridge to the other side of the town. It's almost too easy.

But when the man reaches the alley and Tate steps out from behind a tree to get him, he's surprised to see that someone else was already waiting for him. A hand reaches out, wrapping around his mouth to muffle his shocked scream and pulls him into the dark alley, out of his sight. For a moment, he stops, staring in surprise. His hand instinctively pulls out his choice of weapon from its case, his favourite gun, one he got as a welcoming gift from the Sanctuary when he joined them, holding it tightly as he approaches the alley, simultaneously careful but curious.

At the sight greeting him, his breath catches in his throat, the gun in his hand lowering. He watches as a woman throws the butcher on the ground with unusual strength, towering above him menacingly while he gasps and stutters, crawling away from her until his back hits a wall. The moonlight illuminates her face and Tate is one-hundred percent sure that it's Violet. Here, in Violetview.

Ironic.

None of them notice him standing there in the shadows, and he decides against interfering because he's curious what she'll do to him, if she'll kill him like the blade glowing in her hand indicates that she wants to. He's not disappointed in the slightest when the next second she crouches down and with a firm movement, cuts his throat.

Although her reasons are lost on him, it couldn't have been a more beautiful, erotic sight. She's just like him, just as he always knew. He wants to weep with joy.

Instead, he claps, takes a few steps closer to her, grinning from ear to ear. She spins around immediately, blade raised high in self-defense but she drops it with a surprised gasp as soon as she sees who's standing in front of her. Tate hopes she can't see his raging hard on, all thanks to her and her blade using skills. Think unpleasant thoughts, come on.

Spiders, snails, Constance... And we have a winner.

She laughs lightly, matching his smile and confusion at seeing him here. "Tate. What are you doing here?"

He points to the dead body on the ground with a small smirk. "I was supposed to kill him, but you beat me to it. Why did you do it?"

"Buy me a drink and I'll tell you."

He takes her to the bar Frank, the butcher came from and grins. Poetic.

They find themselves a table in a dark corner and between drinking a glass of whiskey, she tells him that Frank, the butcher was a grade A prick and everyone in the town hated him. "He was an alcoholic. They say he beat his wife," she shrugs and takes a sip. "I guess it hit too close to home."

"So you live here? In Violetview?"

She rolls her eyes at the cheeky grin on his face and nods. "My parents aren't very creative people. Thank God, we don't live in Sunshineville or something."

He bursts out in laughter, earning himself a few stares from the people in the bar, but he ignores them all. "Well, Sunshine..." He plays with his glass, running his fingers across the edge in circles over and over again. "Since when do you kill people just like that?"

"Since I met you," she answers without missing a beat, giving him a pointed look. His heart skips, then picks up again, racing double times faster. She is the perfect girl, he realizes with absolute clarity, one hundred percent certainty. It's like a veil has been lifted from his eyes and he can see now, he's in love with her. "And not just like that. He wasn't my first victim..."

He gives her a small surprised, questioning look and she continues. "My father. It's been a long time coming." She finishes her drink with one long gulp, sets it aside and looks dead in his eye. "One day I just got tired of listening to my mom's screams and beat him to death with a candlestick in front of her. Then we dumped his body in the river." There's no trace of sadness in her eyes as she recalls the events, only a strange, dangerous gleam he's all too familiar with. "Of course, she doesn't know I kept my bad habit but she doesn't have to." There's a bitter smile on her lips, a sad expression on her face. His hand tentatively reaches out, covering hers in a small gesture of understanding, knowing. They're the same. He knows what it's like to be the abnormal one, the crazy one, the one society hates. What it's like when nobody gets you.

But he does.

Her faraway eyes follow the direction of their hands, and he's more than delighted to see the soft blush creeping up on her cheeks. He grins inwardly, high-fiving himself. It doesn't even bother him when she turns away, uncomfortable, and slowly slips her hand out from his. Her blush said everything he needed to know.

"How long are you staying?"

"I'm going back tomorrow morning," he confesses with a sigh, reality hitting him hard. Whatever his feelings were, whether or not she reciprocated them, he would have to go back to the Sanctuary tomorrow and leave her here. It's the cruel joke of the universe who always hated him, finding his perfect girl, knowing they don't stand a chance. Now it's his time to turn away, because it hurts too much to look at her.

Is this really love? Is this supposed to hurt this much? If it does, I don't want to feel this way anymore.

"Come home with me, you can stay in our guest room for the night," Violet offers quietly, sparing him a look. He wants to say yes, he really wants to, but he hesitates, contemplating. Sleep in the same house with her? So tempting to accept, and it'll be so tempting to take her...

"Are you sure?"

"Yes," she nods enthusiastically, a small, shy smile playing on her lips. "Mom won't mind, she's been lonely lately... I think she'll be glad for the company."

It's all the convincing he needs. He nods and they exit the bar together, side by side under the stars. On their way to Violet's house, they walk past the familiar dark alley and Tate smirks. He has a feeling that the memory of her killing that man will be the image he'll think about when he gets off for a long time.

At night, he tosses and turns, thoughts full of Violet and how easy it would be to slip out of bed, tiptoe to her door, make her scream out his name in the middle of the night.

In the morning, he leaves with a kiss lingering on his cheek and a quiet promise to visit her if he's around.

If he had his way, he'd be around her all the time.

- 2 -

Soft fingertips run across the skin of his forearm, feather light touches which might have been endearing, had it not been a prostitute's hands touching him. Under long blonde locks, deep brown eyes peer up at him with curiosity, - and he tries tell himself it was a mere coincidence that out of all the woman, he chose the one with blonde hair and brown eyes - her fingers pressing into the red V on his forearm, forever burnt into his skin.

"Who is she?"

He doesn't bother pretending he has no idea what she's talking about. "That's none of your business, Carola."

"I would have liked to know who it was you were thinking about when you were fucking me, but..." She lets out a quiet sigh, falling back onto the bed next to Tate, holding her head like she's just realized that it was her own fault for choosing the job she did, where men only used her. "We're finished, you should leave. Unless you want to pay for another round."

He shakes his head wordlessly, more than happy to get out of here. When Commander Thredson, after a successful group assignment in Verthall, decided to pay everyone a girl in a brothel, Tate did not see anything wrong with it. It wasn't the first time, wouldn't be the last. Or so he thought.

Now in hindsight, he should have declined the offer.

His clothes lay scattered on the floor and he's quick to snatch them up, pulling them on hurriedly. He feels disgusted with himself for no apparent reason. Alright, sleeping with a prostitute isn't the most noble thing to do, but he's never been a nobleman. He's never cared about what is wrong and what is right.

But this, this feels wrong. No woman after Violet...

He stops his train of thoughts there, willing himself to snap out of it. Thinking about her is a painful experience for him, because their relationship will never be, and he doesn't particularly feel like brooding right now. Not right now.

But he knows, with great clarity, that she's the reason such a simple act as sleeping with another woman feels wrong.

He leaves Carola and her blonde hair and brown eyes without looking back at her, already knowing that soon she'll be forgotten, not even a distant memory floating around in his brain.

He needs some air, he decides, to stop thinking about Violet and stop feeling such disgust for himself. Fresh air will help him clear his mind.

It's around one o'clock, darkness enveloping everything around him as he struts down the stairs, into the foyer and heading towards the exit door when he almost collides with... Violet?

A surprised gasp leaves his lips as his wide eyes meet hers, running along her body, her face, a confirmation that it's really her. Well, fuck. The happiness bubbling in his chest at the shock of seeing her again is almost immediately crushed when he remembers where they are. In a brothel, of all places.

"Violet, Jesus..." What is she doing in a brothel, so far away from her city, in the middle of the night?

She seems to be wondering the same thing about him, a fair question, her lips forming three words only ("What are you...") before trailing off, reality sinking in. It's clear on her face, the moment she realizes what he's doing in a place like this, because her chocolate brown eyes shrink into tiny slits, glazing furiously, her lips pressed into a thin line. Hurt is so clearly written all over her face, looking at him like he'd physically harmed her. He might as well have. Tate knows, this is exactly why he felt bad earlier.

And attempting to explain doesn't get the best reaction out of her. "Violet, listen..." Before he could utter another world, she's out and fleeing away from him fast. He runs after her without thinking, questions of what she's doing here still running through his mind, but he suppresses them for now as he chases after her. The streets are dark and deserted, the city and the people sleeping. His shout of her name cuts through the thick silence but she ignores him all together, and when he sees her heading towards a carriage, he speeds up.

He's a trained assassin of the Dark Brotherhood, has been for years, and sometimes, in tricky situations, all you can do is run. That's why he's able to catch up with her. He grabs her arm with enough force to pull her back but her eyes are flashing dangerously when she turns around to face him, an outrageous hiss leaving her lips and he lets go, partly in surprise, partly in awe of how desirable she looks when she's acting like a wild animal. He lets her climb into her carriage, following after her quickly, and then it's just silence and darkness.

She sits next to him, eerily quiet, looking down at her hands carefully folded in her lap, and he sits, mirroring her silence, sneaking glances at her every now and then. A few minutes, but to him it feels like hours, go by like this, until he can't take it anymore. Let her scream at him if she wants to, it would be better than this.

"I'm sorry..."

As soon as the words escape his mouth, she replies, cutting him off. "It's okay." Her words and body language are saying two completely different things. She's still looking at down, fumbling with her hands, she seems to be too uncomfortable to face his smoldering stare. Her voice is cold, emotionless. "I've got no claim on you."

The truth of her words hits them both and then she's looking up at him with eyes wondering why she's not his, and he wants to tell her that the girl didn't mean anything and he regrets it already, even knowing it won't change a thing. "I was on a group assignment. Commander Thredson was feeling generous I guess, invited us all... well, you know. He does this sometimes." She snorts under her breath, eyes avoiding his, hands tightening into fists, and he winces, going over his explanation making him realize how much of a jerkface he was being. Time to change the subject. "What are you doing here? You're not..." He trails off meaningfully, an unpleasant shudder raking through his body just at the thought of Violet with all those men... No, if that's true, he'll have his own private list on who to kill next.

Her head snaps to his face in the speed of lightening and her eyes go wide in disgust, bewilderment, resentment that he'd think she is a prostitute. She hasn't stooped so low yet, no. "God, no, what do you take me for?" she spits out the words with renewed poison, truly offended. He averts his eyes immediately in the face of her anger, directed at him again. "I've been searching... the woman, my father's mistress, Hayden. She deserves death just as much as he did. She works here, I finally found her, I was going to kill her when I ran into you. Oh god..." She trails off suddenly and at the absolute repulse in her voice, he chances a look at her. She's watching him, completely horrified, the same way anyone would look at him if they found out what it was he did for a living. Her tongue darts out, following the curve of her lips nervously as she chokes on her words, and even in the situation he can't help but stare.

She's beautiful, he muses internally.

"She wasn't the girl you... slept with, right?"

She? What? He's confused for a second, trying to remember what they were talking about just now. Oh, right. Hayden, the brothel... Oh. "No. No, no." He's quick to reassure her once he figures out what she was asking, shaking his head rapidly. God, that would be fucked up. "No, her name was Carola."

Relief is evident on her face and her hand suddenly reaches out, as if on instinct, moving on its own accord, going for his face and stopping just inches away from his cheek. She withdraws her outstretched arm the moment she realizes she shouldn't make things harder for the both of them, but she does it with a heavy heart.

He's disappointed too, that much is clear. She can tell by his expression, his downcast eyes and small sigh. And it's these things which gets her going.

So screw making things harder. Screw it all.

"How long are you staying?" she wonders quietly, her eyes seeking his. With that one question and the way she's staring at him so intensely, the air between them changes, charged with electricity.

He stutters for a moment, wondering what she's playing at. Confusion is written on his face as he answers. "We're leaving tomorrow morning."

And that's all she needed to hear. "Spend the night with me?"

He can't really identify what he feels at her proposition, the emotions all a jumbled mess, but something inside his chest explodes with joy and happiness. And excitement. Her offer leaves him unable to speak properly, but can you really blame him? He's been waiting, craving this second since the moment his eyes crossed hers for the first time, years ago. He longed for her for so long, spending countless sleepless nights thinking about her and imagining his hands were her hands, her heat enveloping him.

Is this a dream too, a mere fantasy?

"Even after tonight?"

"I guess I'm pretty crazy," she laughs quietly and tries to play it cool, but he can see the nervousness in her eyes, the fear he'll reject her. As if.

His lips on her mouth tell her what he doesn't say with words, that he has no intention of rejecting her, not now, not ever.

After that everything happens in a blur, the only thing clearer than the stars in the sky is Violet, Violet, Violet. She leads him to an inn, to her room where he undresses her slowly, taking his time and smiling in amusement when she twitches impatiently. The favor is returned soon enough and he learns that she can be just as much of a tease as he is.

Her small hands run all over his smooth chest, reaching lower, caressing his thigh with a sly grin. It gets him hard for her and she loves it.

There's a momentarily pause in their teasing foreplay when she discovers the branding on his forearm, the red V in complete contrast to his white skin, burning brightly. He doesn't miss the tears welling up in her eyes, and although she blinks them away quickly, she can't hide them from her voice when she whispers his name, too caught up in her feelings to say anything else for a long moment. Her fingers trace the letter almost timidly, her eyes shining with something he can't quite identify.

"Did it hurt?"

Yes. But loving you hurts more. "I've had worse."

She seems to accept his answer, or maybe she just forgets about it completely as his fingers wander up her chest and his head disappears between her legs, and soon he's inside her, making her moan and cry out his name just like he's always wanted to.

After they're finished, she lays on top of his chest, marveling how right being with him feels, playing with his medallion absentmindedly, the same medallion she gave to him after they parted for the first time. The memory brings up new problems for her, like what she will do when he has to go in the morning, but she pushes those thoughts away, for now.

"You kept it," she mumbles, staring at the rusty old thing, fingers running over the green stones in the middle.

"Of course. You gave it to me." His voice is deep, rich, music to her ears. He yawns quietly, trying to muffle it with his hand and giving her a sweet apologetic smile, but when she leans down to press a kiss to his lips, he reciprocates it happily, no signs of exhaustion anymore. He rolls her around on the bed, both of them tangled in the sheets and in each other, his knee gently but insistently pushing her legs apart. Time for round two.

Early morning, he slips out of bed, gives her a long, slow kiss, then walks out the door without a word because he's unable to say goodbye to her again. She watches him and his team leave through the window, a hand pressed to the glass as if she's trying to reach out to him, touch him, sad eyes following his every move until he disappears from sight.

Later that day, a woman's loud piercing scream cuts through the air in the brothel as she discovers the bloody beaten bodies of Hayden McClaine and Carola Waters.

- 3 -

It's not usual that it happens, not an everyday occurrence, but sometimes even the best of the bests fall. Tate always knew the risks of this contract, but he couldn't bear to decline it because he was good and if anyone could get away with killing the Duke of Southlyn and his wife, the Duchess, probably the most influential family in the land of Eastburn, then it was him.

His love for challenges would be the death of him now.

There were too many guards, too many. Perhaps the whole contract was a setup, it didn't matter now.

He could barely get away with the huge gaping hole in his stomach, but he was lucky enough to reach the woods, hiding in the bushes and dead fallen leaves, and the guards eventually lost track of him. They didn't bother continuing searching for him because they knew, just as Tate knew, that he wouldn't make it far before the blood loss would be too much and he'd die.

So this is the end, he muses as he lays on the cold ground underneath the stars and the moon, the only light in the dark forest. He thinks he should be more upset that it's his time, reluctant to go, thinking about all the regrets and mistakes he's made and all the things he wishes he's done but he didn't. He's too occupied with the agonizing pain in his lower stomach when the world starts closing in and he looses consciousness.

He welcomes the darkness.

He wakes to blonde hair tickling his cheek, deep brown eyes gazing at him in concern. Did I die?, he wonders as he blinks up at Violet. Is this Heaven?

"No, you didn't die, Tate, and this is not Heaven. We're in Violetview," she whispers softly, eyes clouded with worry. He must have spoken his thoughts aloud without meaning to. "How are you feeling?"

Disoriented, he attempts to sit up slowly, observing with a pleasant surprise that the pain he felt in his lower stomach was more or less gone. "I'm good, I..." He furrows his eyebrows as he stares at Violet, confusion seeping in. What the hell happened? How did she find him? Maybe he's missing some key information here, but his brain feels like mush and thinking requires a level of energy he doesn't possess right now. "Where are we?"

He looks around, countless of herbs, potions, elixirs, old books everywhere his eyes could see. This isn't Violet's house. The room is small and unfamiliar, and when he looks outside the window, all he can see is the green and brown colors of the trees. She said they were in Violetview, didn't she?

"We're in the middle of the forest. This is my refuge."

His fingers run over his wound absentmindedly, marveling how smooth it felt, and just then, a strange thought occurs to him. "Are you a witch?"

"No," she laughs quietly. "But close. My grandmother was a witch. This," she gestures around the place. "Used to be hers. I have no real power like she did, but with her books, I can make potions and learn how to use different kinds of herbs. It's how I healed you." Her eyes follow the movements of his hand, reaching out. Her touch sends shivers up and down his spine, and it doesn't escape her attention. She hides her proud smirk and meets his eyes, gauging his reaction.

His eyes are hazed over, intense and inviting, pulling her in. He's now disoriented for a whole new reason.

"Is that how you found me?" He attempts to pull himself back together, shaking his head to make those thoughts and images of Violet in all kinds of different positions disappear. For now, anyway. Parts of the story are still unclear to him.

"It was the amulet." She reaches into her gown and he almost has a small heart attack, seeing her hand disappear in her blouse, all those thoughts racing back, invading his brain. She pulls out another medallion, identical to his, fingers running over its surface. "My grandmother used a spell on it so when one of us is in trouble, it alerts the other. It took me to you, Tate. It saved you."

"Useful," he mutters, his own hand instinctively grabbing the amulet.

"Not anymore," she shakes her head with a sigh, dropping the amulet, letting it fall just between her breasts, and he has to bite down on his lip to hold back a small groan. God, is she doing this on purpose? "The spell wore out. If I had any magic, I could recast it, but now it's just a simple jewelry piece." She leans closer to him, her eyes seeking out his. Her expression changes, from annoyance to concern, worry. "What happened?"

"It was a trap, I think. Someone's making a move against the guild." He thinks back to that night, the mansion, and all those guards everywhere. He usually preferred eliminating his victims outside of their house, perhaps in a dark alley in the middle of the night, but these targets were different. They didn't leave their home without bodyguards and they always remained among people. A public murder would have been near suicidal, not to mention against the rules of the Dark Brotherhood. Whatever you did, whoever you killed, you did it in secret. "Either that, or the Duke and Duchess of Southlyn are very, very paranoid people."

"I don't suppose you want to stay here for a while, instead of going back to the Sanctuary and reporting to your leader?" she wonders, her voice quiet but hopeful.

There's truth in her words, he admits. He really should go back and report things. But...

Oh, screw it.

His mouth smashes against hers as an answer, pulling her closer and closer until there's no more space between them and they can both barely breathe, but neither of them care. He loses himself in her over and over again, and he has no regrets. The Dark Brotherhood can wait.

They spend the whole day together, in the small house in the middle of the forest, outside on the green grass, undisturbed. It's great, more than that, it's perfect, but all good things come to an end. Duty calls and he has to go.

As Tate walks away and Violet watches, they both feel the pull, the pull towards one another, begging, screaming at them, that this isn't right, they shouldn't be apart, separated.

They both ignore it, for now.

- 4 -

The loud music, chattering of the people, clinking of glasses as everyone drinks the night away are most likely his least favourite sounds in the world. All these people in one place, playing their part in society, pretending to care about others and their problems when all that matters is the money and the title you have.

It's all a carefully constructed act, a lie. People trying to climb their way up the social ladder or maintaining the rank they had. This is what life at the Royal Court is all about, he snorts inwardly as he watches the people around him with immense disgust from his safe place against the wall. This is why I hate doing contracts in the capital city.

But the man he'd kill would most likely deserve it and the money he'll get for it will be quite a pretty penny, so he accepted the job. He spent a few days, as always, just observing from afar, getting to know the guy's routine and planning the best way to kill him, the when, the where, the how. Today finally, when he makes his way home at night from Court, he'll strike. Today is the last day he has to waste time in this worthless hole of a city and that's the only thing keeping his spirits up.

After tonight, it's goodbye, castle, goodbye, Court and welcome, home.

In the midst of his musings, he hears a loud trumpeting noise echoing around the room which draws his attention back to the present, but he quickly grows bored again when a page walks into the room, announcing loud and clear to everyone. "Make way, make way for the King!"

Tate has never seen the King upfront before, although his mother had a brief affair with him a few years ago, back when they were living in Northurst, the capital city, and she was determined to regain the title they'd lost when his father ran away. The knowledge that this man had slept with his mother didn't help Tate's opinion on him, and when he walks by in the rows of people, all admiring and trying to catch a glimpse at the King, he isn't in the slightest interested by the man.

He is, however, all the more interested by the woman walking next to him.

The lone cup of wine in his hand is set aside as he leans forward to get a better look, moving away from his spot against the wall for the first time in hours.

Is it? No, it can't be... Violet?

He watches with wild, surprised eyes as she walks alongside the King with a small scowl visible on her lips, - yes, it's definitely her - taking her seat next to him at the table, looking positively bored, but annoyed at all the attention they got.

Well, isn't this a shocking turn of events?

He has no idea what to think now, why she's here, what she's doing, but he wisely decides not to read too much into it until he talks to her. It would be for the best if he didn't start making up theories, for everyone's sake.

Close an hour later, the opportunity to talk to her privately arises. She's left her seating to wander around aimlessly, not participating in the dancing or the drinking or the carousing. Once again, she looks thoroughly bored out of her mind and he hopes to change that.

She hasn't seen him yet, he doesn't think so. He approaches her quietly, standing a few inches behind her, admiring her slender body beneath her gown for a moment, a body he knows all too well. Images of their encounter two years ago and another two years before that pop up in his mind - her naked sweaty body, trembling beneath his touch, beneath him, writhing and begging for more - but he pushes them away, at least for now. Now is the time to talk to her.

"Lady Violet." There's humor hiding in his tone at the formal title he addresses her with, like the situation is so funny to him. He revels in the way she gasps and her eyes light up when she spins around to face him, revels in her genuine smile and the joy in her voice when she speaks his name. With her eyes on him now, he even does a little playful bow, combined with a sly smirk on his lips, not missing the chance to tease her.

"What are you doing at Court?" The happiness she radiates could both kill him and resurrect him from death.

"I have a contract here," he explains in a low voice, always careful to be quiet when he talks about his job. Stepping next to her and determinedly ignoring the jump of his pulse at her closeness, he points to the man he's been watching for days now. "Him."

"Why?" she wonders, matching his tone, but there's only curiosity in her words, no judgement or displeasure.

"Didn't bother to ask," he shrugs and turns to face her in the eyes. "The question is, what are you doing here?"

He doesn't think it's a good sign that she physically reels back from the question, as if slapped. She bites down on her lip, shuffles on her feet and avoids his eyes, all telltales that she feels incredibly uncomfortable around him all of the sudden, for no apparent reason. It unnerves him. What could be so bad that...

"Let's talk about this outside," she offers quietly, pointing to one of the balconies.

... that she wants to talk to me on the balcony?

He follows after her with a bad feeling in the pit of his stomach which he dutifully tries to ignore, not even batting an eyelash when she promptly tells the two men standing outside to leave. They obey without a word, it's strange.

She breathes out a heavy sigh, leans against the railing, looking down at the world below them with lost, faraway eyes. Nothing could have prepared him for her next words. "I'm engaged to the King."

It takes less then a second for him to realize what she's just said and another for him to think she was only joking. What a cruel, heartless joke. A small, disbelieving laugh leaves his lips, searching her face, waiting to see eyes which tell him she wasn't being serious but seeing eyes which tell him the opposite. Eyes full of pain, regret and guilt.

It doesn't make sense...

"H-how?"

It's a question he needs to know, although he doesn't want to. She launches into her sad tale of how her mother got married again and how they had to move here so she could be with her new husband and how the King had taken fancy to her when they met at a ball. He persuaded her and her mother pushed her and she had no choice. What the King wants, the King gets.

"I killed that abusing bastard for her and this is what I get in return," she snorts under her breath, the distaste so obvious in her voice. "Pushing me into a marriage with a man I don't love." She finishes her story with those words and turns to look for his reaction, waiting for him to say something, picking at her nails nervously in fear he'll explode on her.

He doesn't disappoint.

He's been quiet the whole time she was talking, awfully, eerily quiet, like the calm before the storm, foreshadowing a huge merciless hurricane which destroys everything. And now it's arrived.

"So you just let yourself be pushed around." His voice is colder, harder than she's ever heard it, almost hateful. It sends shivers up and down on her spine. His eyes are raging, undisguised anger in those dark brown orbs, his lips turning into an ugly scowl. Now she gets to experience what it's like when Tate Langdon is mad at you, and it's not a pleasant feeling. Quite scary, actually, even for the girl who's supposedly not afraid of anything. (Yeah, right.)

The need to stand up for herself flares up in her chest, making her cross her arms protectively, trying her best to stare him down. "What am I supposed to do? Run away?"

"Yeah, why not?"

She wants to laugh at that. As if she doesn't want to, hasn't thought about it a million times already. Anything, she'd give anything if she could run away safely, straight into his arms. "It's not that simple, Tate. I can't be the little girl anymore who says she's not afraid of anything, I have responsibilities. Believe it or not, I don't want the King to have my head."

He can't contain the booming laughter bubbling up from his chest, cold, cruel laughter with no trace of genuine joy. Does she hear herself? Does she recognize how she sounds? Is she even the same Violet?

"That's bullshit," he spats the words at her, glaring. "Since when does the Violet I know care about those things? No, I think you're just weak. And a coward." No sooner than those spiteful words leave his mouth, he gives her a painful, bitter smirk, taking a few steps backwards and leaving her no time to truly digest his insults and let the hurt sink in. "It's a shame."

As he leaves, he does another small bow in her direction, but this one is different. It's scathing, hateful, mocking her. Mocking that soon she'll be the new Queen. Mocking, because that's easier than dealing with the true pain he really feels deep down inside.

He's gone before she could utter a word.

He kills his victim that day with an unusual brutality, even for him, then heads back to the Sanctuary. He doesn't bother to seek her out again.

The news come days later: the King's bride ran away and is nowhere to be found ever since. The King offers a thousand gold coins to anyone who helps him find Violet Harmon.

The others laugh at King Gabriel's expense and Tate just smirks. She is still his fierce girl after all.

- 5 -

The sound of the door slamming shut behind him with a loud bang doesn't register in his brain as he stares at the dark hooded figure sitting on his bed. Shock curses through his veins, a sense of curiosity and challenge. Over the years of killing and maiming, he's gained himself quite a lot of enemies and some of those enemies weren't above of acting against him. It was nothing he, a member of the Dark Brotherhood, couldn't handle, and if he wasn't in the Sanctuary, he wouldn't have been surprised.

But no one ever has been able to find and break into their Sanctuary, get inside one of their rooms unscathed. It's completely unheard of and talks about a man of impressive skills, so of course his interest is piqued.

The man doesn't move, and while he finds that strange, he draws his blade and presses it against the intruder's throat without thinking, holding it there as a warning. Move and you die.

His face is hiding in the long black hood he's wearing and Tate searches for his eyes to determine who he's up against - if he knows him, met him before, if he's dangerous - when he finally decides to speak up.

"I know we haven't left things on a good note." Then the hood is off and she's smirking at him, her voice humorous and lighthearted. "But are you really going to kill me?"

At the shock of seeing Violet's beautiful face behind the edge of his word, he drops the weapon in disgust, letting it fall to the ground with a loud clattering noise. Violet is the intruder. Of course, he should have known.

Tate doesn't doubt that the girl most certainly has the skills to sneak into the Sanctuary of the Dark Brotherhood, no, but the matter of why she's here confuses him. He knows she's ran away from the King, opposed to marrying him. Everybody knows that. But after the things he's said the last time they met, part of him thought he wouldn't see her again.

Just thinking about that memory, the Court, the balcony, and his own cruel accusations, he takes a step back from her. No, he didn't regret saying those things because it opened her eyes, made her see that the Violet he knew had willpower and wouldn't let herself be told what to do. She wouldn't care about the expectations.

And, if he's being honest, he is mad still. There's a thorn stuck inside his heart ever since that night, unable, unwilling to heal without her tending hands.
"How did you get in here?"

She picks up on his hostility right away but decides not to make a comment. "I sneaked in." All those years ago when she was here, when Tate carried her inside the Sanctuary, thinking she was unconscious, she wasn't. She was awake and she heard the password loud and clear, storing it away in her mind for later purposes. After that, it was only a matter of finding the location.

"It was easier than I thought." She gives him a sneaky smile, the sight of her lips curved like that making him want to scream, for what reason, he has no idea. It wasn't a field day, getting past all those professional assassins until she reached his room, or even finding the location of the Sanctuary, but she would let him think she had no problems whatsoever. Bragging, she's good at that.

She pushes herself off from the bed slowly, her arms crossed as she stares at him inquiringly. "Aren't you happy to see me?" The question is simple enough, but she prays she sounds self-confident instead of self-conscious like she really feels.

The way he looks away almost immediately and ignores her question all together, hurts. "Why are you here?"

And although cracks in her armor are beginning to show, she steps closer to him, headstrong as always. She came here for a reason and she's glad he asked. It was her time to prove something to him. "I came to join the Dark Brotherhood."

Her words have immediate effect. His head snaps back to her face, the disbelief he feels crushed by the glaring honesty he sees in her eyes. But he won't, can't let himself hope.

Protection, she's probably here for protection. The King put a bloodwit on her head, everybody knows it. As clever as she is, she wouldn't last for long out there and with the Dark Brotherhood, she'll be safe

These thoughts play over in his mind no longer than a second, and the wonder on his face is quickly replaced by a scowl and a roll of his eyes. But she's determined to make him see reason, pushing on. "I belong here, I want to be here." She pauses, hesitating only for a moment. "With you." His cold, penetrating stare softens only a little at hearing those words and she takes it as a smaller victory. With a heavy sigh, she prepares herself for the speech she's practiced so many times, a speech she struggles to remember now that it's time to perform it.

"You were right. I was a coward. So many times I could have sliced his throat at night, but I always refrained." Her eyes are looking far, far away, a disgusted snort bubbling up in her throat and Tate has the strange feeling she's more aggravated at herself than King Gabriel. "Seeing you at Court was like a harsh wake up call I needed, that it was time to act." Without even meaning to or stopping to realize what she's doing, her hands slide up his chest, up to his neck, her palms rubbing his exposed skin, as fascinated by him as a little kid by their presents on their birthday. "That I love you." And here they were, those magical three words, words he's always longed to hear but never thought he actually would.

His breathing hitches in the most pleasant way, his eyes impossibly wide as he stares and stares at her, in joy, in wonder, in amazement. His wildest dream come true, that's what she's doing to him, with those words, with her hands on his body and suddenly her lips on his neck. She presses a kiss to the skin, murmuring quiet words against him, her breath tickling him, sending shivers through his body. His earlier resentment is a distant memory, now it's just her and him, and everything he's ever wanted.

"I don't know why it took me so long to realize it, but I'm tired of running around in circles, Tate."

Those are her final words as she steps back from him, his disappointed groan dying in his throat as he watches her reach up to her hood, untying the knot with quick hands, letting it fall to the ground without ever looking away from him. It's a shame, she's wearing clothes underneath, is his first thought, but then she falls backwards on the bed, on his bed, pulling her knees up, spreading her legs wide open, looking at him with hungry eyes. It's a clear invitation.

It's the way her pale skin hypnotizes him, the way her dark eyes are alive with raw lust and want, the way her breathing is already shaky as he walks over to her in slow, measured steps. She makes him go crazy, absolutely out of his fucking mind with the things she does. She knows exactly just how to play him right, and if all his anger wouldn't have already evaporated the moment she confessed to loving him, he would have stood no chance against her power now.

She shakes as he descends down on top of her in a pace which kills them both, frustration growing as his hands caress her cheek so softly, so gently she wants to scream. She waits for him to make the first move, waits for him to kiss her first, lets him have his moment of silence and absolute peace when they're both just gazing into each other's eyes. He knows what she's offering to him, a lifetime by her side, no more separating, no more tears and lonely nights, longing for the other. This is it.

Then he kisses her and the world ceases to exist.

She sits with her back against the wall, her mouth curling around a cigarette while he plays with her hands and arms, drawing shapes on the skin absentmindedly. It's the aftermath glow and things have never been better.

"I want to join," she reminds him quietly, needing him to know that she's serious. He says nothing, just hums and spells out his name on her arm. "Think I can?"

"Our leader will decide that," he tells her, still distracted by everything that is Violet and that he has her here now, in his arms. "She's been running this Sanctuary for thousands of years. She probably formed the guild."

"What is she?" she wonders aloud, not all that curious until his drawing and doodling stop and he turns to look her in the eye, dead serious as he says.

"The Devil."

They're having breakfast the next day in the common room together, when Violet meets the leader of the Dark Brotherhood for the first time.

It's clear when the woman steps in that she's no ordinary woman. The conversation halts, the air stills, the degree in the room drops a few notches. The people in the room respect her and fear her, and for good reason, Violet suspects. She's their leader, it's obvious.

She's wearing a nun uniform, Violet notes with confusion. How strange.

The woman walks through the tables and rows of people, a few of them bowing or muttering pleasantries, but she ignores them all as her eyes land on Violet. She blinks once and she's standing there in front of her, a pleasant and incredibly creepy smile plastered on her face. "So you're Tate's girl. Violet, right? It's a pleasure to finally meet you." The smile remains as she sticks out her hand. It's cold as ice and her handshake is firm. "Mary Eunice, leader of the Dark Brotherhood."

Staring at the woman, she can see that Tate wasn't fucking around earlier. She really is the goddamn Devil. She could certainly pull off the look.

Violet forces a fake smile on her face and nods. "I'd like to join your guild."

"Follow me." She gives the girl a beckoning motion, not bothering to wait until Violet stands up as she turns around, heading back to the direction she's came from. Tate gets up as well and although Violet tries to tell him to stay, she's secretly glad he's not willing to leave her side.

Walking a few steps behind Mary Eunice, she ignores the curious stares they get and turns her attention to Tate, whispering as quietly as she can. "Why is she wearing a nun uniform?"

He snorts under his breath. "It's a joke to her, a spiteful jab at God. She thinks it's funny."

In a way, it is funny, Violet thinks. She could see the irony at least. "Well, I guess there's a certain challenge in trying to be seductive in a nun uniform," she snickers. In Violet's opinion, the woman gives off a funny vibe. There's a strange sense of sexuality in the way she moves, so in contrast to her choice of clothes.

She leads them through a dark hallway, several dark hallways until they reach a huge brown door, the symbol of the Brotherhood, the familiar skull you can see on the front door, carved into the wood.

Inside, Mary Eunice sits down in front of a table packed with several large stacks of files, while Violet shuffles on her feet, putting up her brave facade. The Devil's cold eyes seem to try to penetrate her brain for several moments before she speaks.

"So you want to join the Dark Brotherhood, huh?" Just as quickly as she sat down, she's up on her feet again, stepping closer to the blonde girl. "Why? For protection? For Tate?"

"No."

"Oh, don't be modest," the Devil grins wickedly. Her eyes turn to Tate, patting his cheek. "He's quite the charmer."

Despite wanting to rip the woman's hands off for daring to touch her man, - she wonders when she became so possessive - she takes control of herself, breathing in and out evenly for a few seconds. She wants this, she wants to join them, so she has to play her cards right.

She decides to go with the explanation she gave to Tate as well. "I belong here."

"We'll see," she smirks, walks past the both of them and opens the door wide, telling them to get out without saying the actual words. "I'll arrange your first contract, a test to see if you fit in. You have a week, get ready. And Tate!" she calls after them just as they walk out the door. "Between losing yourself in your girlfriend's legs, try to remember that you have a group assignment tomorrow."

With that, the door slams shut behind them.

Violet watches with a small but visible scowl as Tate gets out of bed, puts on clothes - what a shame - and takes down a small but sharp axe from his weapon collection.

"I'll be back before you know it," he promises her, speaking against her pink lips after he's given her a long, lingering kiss. "I love you."

She doesn't want to let him go but she forces a smile and mirrors his words, her hand raised in a small wave as he steps out the door. He'll be back before I know it, she tells herself, rolling to the other side of the bed with a sleepy sigh. I should go back to sleep.

But before her eyes close, she catches sight of something on the wall, three words, symbols, painted in red, a language which is most definitely not English. Hebrew, maybe? Strange, she muses as her fingers run over the painting, eyes heavy with sleep. I don't recall seeing that before.

A few days later, Violet wakes to the sound of commotion.

She stumbles out of her room, Tate's room, rubbing the sleep from her eyes as she makes her way to the common room. It's an awful sigh which greets her, assassins laying on the floor with bleeding or missing body parts, moaning in pain, a few of them passed out, while the doctor treats them. The others stand around them in a circle, most of them looking horrified or not even looking at all, talking to each other in quiet, hurried whispers, and Mary Eunice stands in the middle of the circle, demanding to know what happened.

The soldiers of the group assignment arrived home.

Violet's heart starts hammering in her chest as she looks around wildly, eyes only searching for Tate in the crowd, but he's nowhere to be seen. Maybe he's left to go look for her as well? Maybe they accidentally evaded each other.

"Are there any losses?"

"Tate Langdon is dead."

And the world falls apart.