The midday sun beat down upon the back field, and Blaine paused in his work to wipe the sweat from his brow. His skin was hot and coated with dirt, and his muscles ached from hours of strenuous labor in this unforgiving heat. Drought had made the land arid and caused his crops to be scarce this season. He spent the time cursing his luck as he pulled up potatoes, the only thing he had to sell at the market, and that supply was barely keeping him alive. The little other that he managed to grow, he needed to feed himself. If it didn't rain soon, then he would have to rely on a different source of income. How had his life come to this, he wondered. Sometimes he felt like a slave to his own mortality.

It was as if some force was drawing him closer and closer, beckoning him to need to resort to murder, to contracts with the brotherhood to survive. These were desperate times. So were those times in which he first became involved. As he continued to dig the potatoes up from the hard earth, he thought back three years ago to when he was hard on his luck, and a fatal accident opened a door for him that was both terrifying and convenient.

Blaine had resided in the city across the river on the other side of the mountain. He wasn't a farmer then but a smith and an arms dealer. One unfortunate night brought him face to face with a bad deal. A group of men entered his shop requesting that he forge them full sets of armor and weaponry, but the deadline they gave him was impossible to meet. They wouldn't take no for an answer. The days passed, and he worked through day and night trying to complete this impossible task. He didn't want trouble. In fact, Blaine only aimed to please and never sought a fight with any man.

The day dawned when the men expected their order, but Blaine had yet to finish. They sent in one man, one much larger than Blaine in stature. Everything Blaine said was taken as an excuse. The situation soon became heated, and Blaine shut down and into himself. As soon as the man drew his weapon and advanced on Blaine, the rest became a blur, an out of body experience. When Blaine came to, and his brain fully registered the situation, he was on the floor, his chest heaving and his hands drenched in blood as he wrenched a dagger from out of the other man's chest. He panicked. Then he became violently ill, emptying the contents of his stomach onto the floor of the shop. It was an accident, merely self-defense, but he knew now that he needed to escape as he stumbled his way out of the shop with tears in his eyes, his head still swimming.

He packed up and left in the night. While riding swiftly down the road atop his horse, the wind whipped past his face, blood pounded in his ears, and only the clacking sound of metal on gravel and his heavy breathing could be heard echoing through the darkness. Suddenly, a stranger in a dark cloak seemed to materialize out of thin air, startling his horse. Blaine was nearly thrown off as he skidded to an abrupt stop, pulling up on the reins.

Fear immediately washed over him. His first thought was that they had found him, and he was soon to be a dead man. But, to his surprise, the stranger did not attack. The hooded figure did not speak but pulled a scroll from inside its robe and extended it towards Blaine who, confused, took it reluctantly. And almost as soon as he blinked, it was gone again. It was a letter, an invitation. Whoever this was, they had seen what he had done, the murder, what he was capable of. At the end of his rope and feeling like he had nothing left to lose, he heeded the call. That night, he was introduced to Santana and his new family, the brotherhood. He began his new life, the life of a cold-blooded killer. It was his curse.

So he disappeared, cut all ties, and changed his identity. The dagger was the only thing remaining from his old life, a family heirloom. When he arrived in the village, he bought a shack on the edge of town with the remainder of his wealth from his former life, the one he could never return to. He learned to live off the earth and created for himself a new persona, one of a farmer. It was a tired occupation that offered little or no reward, save keeping him alive. And that's all he could hope for.

-A-

The small shack connected to the back of the inn was homey enough. After all, it was just Kurt living there alone. The inn itself was rich in history, a business inherited from his father and passed down through generations. It was the last thing he had, the last connection to his father, something he would never rid from his life. Call him sentimental, but this was the only remaining thing he cared about.

Kurt had no family for years now, no close emotional ties with anyone, and this worked out for him. When he was a young child, his mother became ill and died not long after. Heartbroken, his father went on to run the inn on his own, taking Kurt as his apprentice to prepare him for the day he would eventually take over. He couldn't have imagined that that one day would come too soon.

It was a fairly quiet night, only a few patrons here and there, when a man entered the inn and demanded to see his father about unfinished business of some sort. Kurt couldn't really make out the man's face when it happened. The next thing he knew, an argument broke out between his father and the stranger. It became violent quickly, and Kurt, having no training in combat, could only stand and watch helplessly. His father told him to run, but he stood frozen and watched on in horror as the life left his father's face. Then the killer rose up and looked directly into Kurt's eyes before taking off.

Those eyes were burned into Kurt's vision from that day on, and he would never forget it, what he saw. He vowed to find this man and make him pay for what he did. For the next two years, the word revenge sat always on the tip of Kurt's tongue and at the front of his mind. He trained in archery, practicing endlessly day and night, stopping at nothing until he was quite the sharpshooter.

He found that man. Conveniently, he was a furs dealer from the next town over who often hunted in a specific patch of woods, a familiar haunt for Kurt. One arrow. That's all it took. Kurt made it count. From his perch in a tree, he took that man down and watched him bleed out on the ground before him. It felt so good. But, somehow, it wasn't enough, wasn't fulfilling in the way he thought it would be, to finally take down the man who took what he cared most about in the world from him.

When he lay in bed that evening, Kurt was visited by a faceless stranger garbed in black who soundlessly broke into his home. Instinctively, he feared for his life. He was still shaken from the kill, was restless and angry, and believed someone had come for him.

But the stranger silently handed him a scroll and then turned on heel and leaped out through the window, disappearing just as quickly and quietly as he came. It was as if the writer of the letter could read his mind, had known everything he had been through and what he was capable of, what he now craved. He responded to the call, feeling like maybe it would sate the thirst he now felt, would fulfill him in a way that nothing else could. The following night, he was inducted and learned just how much more interesting his life could be. It was a sport, a game, and Kurt soon grew to love it, wearing the crest of the brotherhood with pride. It empowered him and gave him something he never felt before. He was no longer a helpless and afraid little boy, but a man in control of his own fate.

The only companion Kurt had was his apprentice, Finn Hudson. There were purely selfish reasons for taking the then boy under his wing. Although Finn wasn't much for conversation, he was nice to look at; Kurt often stood by and admired his tall, lean, muscular body. He enjoyed watching him work, liked having him around. It was his only weakness. But it was all strictly business, and the fantasies that Kurt had created in his head had to be forgotten before he took it a little too far. He wasn't lonely, but the nights he slept, he slept alone, his hand the only thing he knew to relieve his frustrations.

Kurt sighed heavily and leaned the broom up against the corner of the room. "Finn, can you go out back and bring in some firewood for tonight?" Kurt asked, brushing his hands off on his apron.

"Of course," Finn replied with a grin.

"I'll probably be out again tonight tending to some business, so I'll need you to look after the patrons and the inn," Kurt explained.

"No problem."

Kurt watched as Finn exited and made his way out towards the hutch behind the inn where the logs were stored. He carried wood over to a nearby stump, and, setting it on end, lifted the ax and brought it down, cleaving the log in two. Almost immediately, Finn broke out into a sweat as he carried on the task in the glaring sun. Kurt bit his bottom lip as he watched on shamelessly, his hands running to rest against his thighs. Although Kurt was capable of handling men much larger than himself with ease, something about the possibility that someone might be capable of overpowering him really turned him on. He was always up for a challenge.

But Finn soon finished the task, and Kurt turned away now feeling a pit in his stomach. He knew that Finn messed around with the women in town, and he would never look twice at Kurt. He had gotten used to being lonely, but, sometimes he thought about how his life could have been different - if he still had a family, if he hadn't begun this secret life, if he didn't have these feelings for men. But, he wondered, if that were the case, was this just his lot in life, and would he really be himself otherwise?

-A-

Two weeks passed before Blaine was called for another contract. The days dragged on, and Blaine's body, morale, and hope were all wearing thin; however, the new summons finally arrived, and, for once, he welcomed it. This time, there was no chance he would make a mistake. He was determined to make Santana believe in him again.

Kurt handed his duties over to Finn and suited up for the night. It had been two weeks since he had murdered that woman, and he was about ready for another contract. It kept life interesting. He pulled his hood up and slipped out the back door.

-A-

Blaine acted quickly, careful not to waste any time. He circled the house making sure that no one was around and then located his access point. It was a fairly large manor, and he decided he would go in through the cellar. Once he broke the lock and was inside, he inched his way up the stone steps to the door that would open into the main section of the house. But when he reached the door, he noticed candlelight flickering through the cracks. It was very possible that this person was still awake, and that could makes things just a little more complicated.

He held his breath and gently pushed the door open. He let out a heavy sigh of relief. The coast was clear. That meant that they were probably asleep after all, so the bedroom was his next destination. Careful not to make a sound, he crept along through the shadows until he reached the stairs and ascended them. The first room he checked was empty, but the second door he opened led him to his goal. He flicked his eyes side to side as he scoped out his surroundings. Then he heard soft laughter coming from somewhere in the room, his stomach dropped, and he jumped slightly at the sound. He drew his dagger and ducked down, prepared to take on whatever was in store for him. Then his eyes locked on the man.

"Well, well, well," the thin-faced, brunette said as he stared at Blaine from his seat in the corner of the room. A smile played on his lips. This wasn't the first time that Blaine had come face to face with his next victim while they were conscious, but he knew he must act quickly before he sounded the alarm.

Blaine rushed forward, pressing his blade against the man's neck. However, it was strange how this man was surprisingly relaxed even with Blaine's dagger held to his throat. "You aren't going to kill me now, are you? That's a shame. A dark, mysterious man comes into my home - my bedroom even - at an odd hour of the night, and I don't even get to enjoy him." He pouted.

Blaine stood there, blade still in position, but something was holding him in place and making him incapable of going through with the act. Was this man serious? He stared into the man's green eyes and wondered what was going through his head. He was going to die. Didn't he understand that? But Blaine was still immobilized, distracted by the man's odd manner.

"How about a proper introduction? My name's Sebastian. You don't have to tell me yours if you don't want to. Besides, name's aren't important and are easily forgotten the morning after," he said with an air of confidence. Or maybe it was just arrogance.

Cocky son of a bitch, Blaine thought. He grabbed Sebastian by the hair and yanked his head back, the dagger still poised at his throat, coming closer and closer to his exposed flesh. He thinks he's going to charm his way out of this one, Blaine thought. But Blaine was fighting something inside himself that was nagging at him and clouding his thoughts. This man knew what he was capable of. Damn it, he was attractive, Blaine thought, and his words were affecting Blaine in a way he wanted so badly to ignore, but none of that was going to save him. Then Sebastian emitted a soft groan which stirred Blaine from his thoughts.

"Is that how you like it? You want to be rough with me? I can't remember the last time I let a man pull on my hair like that. I think I like tha - "

With the hand still tightly gripping the dagger, Blaine slammed his fist into the side of Sebastian's face. His head jerked to the side and then whipped back around, blood trickling down from where his skin had split open. Blaine poised the blade by his throat again.

"Not much of a conversationalist, I see. Well, then why don't we take this somewhere more - intimate. I promise you, no talking is necessary," he said, his voice still calm but a bit strained. His cocky smirk soon turned into a toothy grin. The way he was acting was unfathomable to Blaine. Blaine glanced at the man's muscled chest visible through his thin night clothes before pulling the dagger to rest now against his skin. He watched the man lick his lips. Blaine felt his pants grow tighter, and he began to sweat.

"Fuck - I don't know who you think you are," Blaine growled, now mere inches from Sebastian's face, "but you can forget whatever sick fantasies you have in your head - that's not how this night's going to play out. Someone wants you dead, and I'm here to make sure that happens."

"I guess I'm out of luck. Such a shame and a waste. I would have loved to see what those dark robes are concealing."

"Never. You sick bastard." And with that, Blaine slashed his dagger quickly across the man's throat, cutting through flesh and tendon. Now, only the sound of the man choking on his own blood could be heard as he quickly bled out. This was definitely a messier method than he usually preferred, but he wanted to silence this man immediately. His words were making Blaine uncomfortable, and they were conjuring thoughts that would never bring any good in this situation. He felt his half-hard cock pressing against his pants, and he knew he needed to get out of there quickly.

Once outside, Blaine stepped lightly and with great precision because he was acutely aware that there was a chance he was being followed. A twig snapped under his foot, and he internally cursed the noise it made because he knew that even the minutest sound could give him away.

Thud. His whole body was thrown down onto the ground as he tumbled a few feet before coming to a stop, his head slammed down into the hard earth. A searing pain rushed through his head, and the wind had been completely knocked out of him. He desperately tried to refill his lungs with a sharp intake of air. He was pinned, caught under the weight of a larger man, a figure he recognized all too well. This was his chance. With a burst of adrenaline, Blaine pushed the larger man off of him and quickly stood up, drawing his dagger.

For as small a build the other man was, his strength caught Kurt off-guard, and he was pleasantly surprised. Then he leaped backwards and was just as quick on the draw, his bow now at the ready, his hand prepared to quickly pull an arrow from its casing and send it the other man's way.

They circled each other, pacing around as they stared each other down. It was obvious that Kurt had the upper hand here, but there were answers he needed before he disposed of this nuisance. It seemed the other man had the same idea.

"Who are you? What is your business here?" Blaine asked, staring into the shadowed features of the other man's face.

"It doesn't matter who I am, and I believe you just took my business," Kurt said.

"Funny. I'm pretty sure that you stole my kill not too long before - "

"I knew someone was there," Kurt interrupted, swearing under his breath. "Well, you must be really bad at your job," he mocked. "You made no attempt to come after me."

"I'm not going to entertain you. If anything, you should be dead at my hands right now," Blaine growled.

"But I'm not. You can't kill me," Kurt sneered.

"Watch me." Blaine suddenly leaped forward and thrust the dagger in Kurt's direction. Kurt shuffled to the side, dodging Blaine's attempt, and managed to grab Blaine by the arms, spinning him around and restraining him.

"Nice try. I always win," Kurt said by his ear, pushing his arms up against his body, his bow pressing into Blaine's spine.

Blaine swung his leg around, catching his foot behind Kurt's knee, and sent him toppling over onto the ground. He escaped Kurt's grasp and regained his footing. He turned to face down his opponent, his heart now pounding in his chest.

"Smooth one. I see you do have some training. How about we settle this with our hands and nothing else," Kurt said, rising up and dropping his weapons to the ground.

"No," Blaine said simply, and he lunged for Kurt, slicing into his forearm. Kurt grabbed the stinging, bloody flesh, sucking in air between his clenched teeth, and winced as he applied pressure.

"You fucker," he hissed. "I'm unarmed, and you choose to play dirty. I'll break your fucking skull open."

Kurt swung at Blaine and missed as Blaine rolled out of the way. Then Kurt lunged for Blaine and swung again. Crack. A fist came into contact with Blaine's jaw and his head turned sharply to the side, his vision going blank for a split second. Kurt laughed, and Blaine reached up to massage his jaw.

"I'm not doing this now. One death was enough for tonight," Blaine said before turning on his heel and dashing off away from where Kurt was still standing, breathless and gripping his wounded arm.

Kurt stood and stared on, mouth agape. "You bloody coward!" he shouted after him. But Blaine was already gone, swallowed up by the darkness. This was unreal, he thought. So, there was another assassin sent on the same contract? While they were fighting, Kurt took notice of the crest on his cloak and knew that this must be a rival brotherhood. There was something way too fishy about this situation, he thought, as he pieced together the little he could gather from the encounter.

-A-

Upon entering the base, Kurt immediately went to work cleaning and dressing his arm. While it wasn't that bad, the gash was still a significant injury that he would have trouble hiding. He would fight through the pain anyway. It was rare that he obtained injuries on the job, but he managed to remain focused and not let them affect his work.

Noah noticed the urgency in Kurt's behavior and offered his aid which Kurt immediately refused. He was too proud, and Noah knew it.

"Don't worry about it. I've got it," Kurt mumbled as he wrapped the cloth bandage tightly around his arm.

"How did this happen?"

"We have competition," Kurt explained bitterly.

"What do you mean?" Noah asked, confused.

"When I arrived on the scene, there was already an assassin from a rival brotherhood inside, and he beat me to the kill." Kurt fastened the bandage and stood up straight again. Although he was facing Noah, his gaze was transfixed on the floor by his feet.

"That's impossible."

"It's not. It happened, but I managed to get a good look at him - although his face was concealed. We had a bit of a struggle before he ran off like a coward." Kurt paused and clenched his fist by his side. "I was prepared to kill him. He - he told me that I wasn't alone on my hunt last time either."

"Kurt," Noah began, pausing to contemplate. "Don't waste him yet. I wanna know more about who sent him and why. This could be dangerous for us, or it could just be a bizarre coincidence, but I want answers first."

"But -" Kurt began angrily, his wound still fresh and the responsible party still fresh in his mind, but then he relaxed and nodded. "I understand."

"Good. Now go home and rest for a while. That cut looked pretty nasty. We need you in top shape before I send you out again. I can't risk losing you. I'll let you know when I want you back out there."

As much as Kurt wanted to argue with Noah about this one, he knew he was right. But extended time at home meant that Kurt would have time to stew, to become consumed with the anger he was now feeling toward this stranger. It would give him too much time to think, to plot, and to decide, for when the time came, just how he was going to destroy this man. And he would make him suffer.