Chapter 7

AN: I apologize beforehand that this chapter is somewhat uneventful. I lost my groove because of some personal crap going on.

Walking back into the den of my apartment in Inferno, I see that Miranda Lawson is indeed still waiting patiently in the chair I left her in. Her position is the same as when I left her. She is leaning back in her chair with her arms crossed. Her head lies against the back of the chair and her eyes are closed. I quietly stalk over to where Miranda is and lean down to where my mouth is even with her ear.

"I know you didn't fall asleep on me," I murmur, intentionally making my voice silkier than normal.

Miranda's body subtly jerks and her eyes snap open. Her blue eyes are a stormy blue instead of their typical icy hue.

"Don't do that!" Miranda exclaims, her voice cracking slightly.

I chuckle as I wander behind my desk and take my seat.

"What, did I interrupt a good dream?" I ask innocently.

Miranda narrows her eyes, which have returned to their original color. "Why did you want me to stay? How about you answer that? Because your behavior just now, by dragging that woman out of here, makes me very suspicious."

"What makes you think I'll give you an answer?" I retort.

"Look, you asked me to stay here, saying that we'll both be better off if I did. I didn't have to—"

"Yet you did," I interrupt. "You stayed. Plan on trying to kill me again, even after you just attacked my face with yours?"

"Do you realize we're arguing as though we're married?" Miranda runs a hand through her coffee brown hair. An action I sluggishly think that I want to do for her. I banish that wretched thought from my head.

"No we aren't," I snap, glaring at her.

Miranda just arches a thin eyebrow.

A sharp, stabbing pain pierces my left arm. I look down to see dark red fluid flowing from a gash in the skin. Realization sinks in and I rush to the bay window. I look out to see a drunken fool tossing stones at the colossal wolf fountain.

Thane.

"Fuck me hard," I seethe.

Without a second thought, I wrap myself up in a thick aura of dark, pulsing energy and prepare to jump out of the window. The muscles in my legs coil and spring as I launch myself out of the building. The glass shatters into thousands of sparkling fragments that glitter in the afternoon sunlight.

The impact with the ground four stories below my window jars me to the bone. The pavement crunches beneath my weight and a web of cracks spread out from where I land. Without a moment more of hesitation, I sprint over to the drunken fool that's vandalizing the only thing that can harm me. When I near him, I reach out for the back of his thick neck and pull it into a vice grip. He begins to flail and shout for help. Using my forward momentum, I slam him into the ground with all of the force of Darkness fueling me. The man, wearing a tattered, tan tunic and trousers, lands face first into the cobblestone surface of the plaza. Small cracks fan out from his head. I flip the bastard over and begin to throw blow after Darkness-powered blow at his face, not stopping until it's a broken, bloody mess. Almost every bone in his face is cracked and his face is already swelling and bruising. Somehow, the man is still breathing. I need to remedy that. I grip his bulging throat again and drag him from the ground, his feet dangling a span from the earth. I summon up more energy and prepare to fling him clear across the plaza.

Before I can, I spot a figure running at me. They seem to have come out of Inferno. I make out the flowing, deep brown tresses and white, leather armor. Miranda.

"Aria!" Miranda cries. "Stop it! Put that man down!"

I squeeze his neck tighter. His grubby paws feebly attempt to peel my hand away.

"Or what, Miranda?" I bellow back at her. "What will you do, kill me?"

By now, she's within three feet of me.

"If you murder that man, then I will." Her expression is gravely solemn.

"We've been over this already," I sneer at her. "You can't kill me and you never will."

Miranda's eyebrows come together in an expression of determination and a hint of sadness.

"I know now," she says quietly. "That statue right there is your only weakness. If I pierce the area where its heart should be, then your heart will be pierced as well. As much as I want to kill you, I can't because as of now, you're the only one that can help me. But if you kill this man, I'll be forced to do the same to you, Aria." She places her hand on the arm that holds the drunken bastard. An intense shock runs through me as our skin meets.

"When the fuck did you become so soft?" I ask harshly.

"Since I received word that my father is trying to kill my sister." Her steady gaze is wrought with grief.

"Why should I care about your sister?"

"If you still want me and my loyalty because of the skills I own, then you'll help me. This is the only thing I ask for. It's why I came to you earlier today. Kissing you just happened to be an unintended occurrence."

I feel Darkness flare in my eyes and blacken my vision as I contemplate what to do. This woman would still be an excellent asset to my forces. She's a well-trained assassin, good enough to infiltrate not only my building but my apartment. She seems to have an endless supply of weapons and she has a strong sense of determination, along with morals. I also enjoy looking at her. Eye candy, as some people would say. But she knows how to kill me. Though that would be yet another reason to keep her close. I do not need her spreading that secret. She is the only person besides Thane and myself that knows. I need to keep it that way.

"Fine." I toss the unconscious body in my hand onto the pavement, none too gently. "I'll help you. But give me a minute. I need to take care of something."

I turn and face the immense statue of Thane Krios, the animalistic part of myself. I quickly spot the gash in the stone on his leg and soundlessly mutter a spell to fix it. The stone glows midnight blue for a moment, then returns to normal. I say another spell for enhanced strength and resilience. I acutely feel the drain on my energy as I use the incantations. I face Miranda once more and feel my eyebrows knit together in a stern expression. One thing that's always annoyed me is that she and I are the same height.

"I'll let you know now that I won't be an easy companion to help you and your sister," I tell the woman.

"That's fine," Miranda responds. I would never admit it to a soul, but I will never get tired of hearing her Anadian accent and how it warps certain sounds. "You'll learn I'm not the easiest person to get along with."

"I already know that from the numerous times you've tried to kill me. Before we go, however, I need to alert Bray with what's going on."

"No, you can't do that," Miranda says quickly. "No one can know that we're going to save my sister."

"Give it a rest. I'm not telling him where we're going or what we're doing. I'll only say that I'll be gone for a while. Any idea on exactly how long?"

"Anywhere from a week to half a year."

"Fuck, that sure is accurate."

"You can quit with the sarcasm, Aria. I'm not in the mood."

"You were sure in the mood for something earlier."

That comment earns me a solid punch in my right arm.

"Let's just find Bray, yeah?"

After meeting up with Bray, who looked like he'd just gotten out of bed with yet another man, and telling him that I'll be gone for an indefinite amount of time, Miranda and I head up to my apartment so I can grab a few articles of clothing, such as a heavy cloak and two spare changes of clothes. I try to get plain colors, which are brown, black, and a light tan. I find a burlap bag that has two straps to fit on my shoulders. I stuff the clothing I've picked out into the bag and head out of my room. I impatiently rush down to my favorite room in the Fringe, the Armory.

I whip open the large double doors and am pleasantly assaulted with the smell of metal.

"Holy hell," Miranda says from behind me.

"This is one big reason why you don't fuck with someone like me," I tell her. "You see those tables over there?" I point to a collection of three tables on the far side of the room. "Those are reserved for torturing people who won't give me answers."

I hear her swallow quietly.

I smirk, then say, "They're also for the ones that enjoy things being a bit kinkier than usual."

I walk over to one of the wooden mannequins that holds a bulky set of metal and leather armor. The ebony metal pauldrons are etched with ornate designs, swirling lines filled with gold and crimson. The matching vambraces and greaves are hammered out of the same pitch black metal and have a smaller version of the golden and blood red engravings. The chest guard that fits over the entire torso is the only part that looks remotely feminine. It's fashioned to fit over a woman's breasts, specifically mine. A thick layer of hardened leather is worn under that, and the final layer is a worn down layer of softened leather. I carefully remove the metal pieces, setting them down onto the stone table that stands next to the mannequin. I unclip the various buckles on the outer layer of leather and set it atop the pauldrons and other metal pieces. I remove my own clothing and replace it with the innermost leather coating. As I shrug on the tunic and pants, I enjoy the feel of its suppleness. The thicker layer comes on next. Stepping into the greaves and slipping the vambraces on my forearms, I tighten the straps on both. I pick up the surprisingly light chest piece and fit it onto my torso with care.

"If you don't mind, Miranda" I say, my voice carrying across the vast room. "I require some help with this."

When I see what she's doing, I shake my head. She's inspecting the tables I pointed our earlier.

"Miranda!" I shout. She jumps, startled. "Get over here and help me with this, dammit!"

The woman rolls her eyes but comes over to me nonetheless. I lift my arms and she tightens the thin straps on the sides of my torso.

"Not too tight," I warn, just as Miranda yanks a strap, making it difficult for me to breathe.

"Oh, I'm sorry," she says, faked innocence in her smooth voice. "Does that hurt?"

I flash my eyes at her. "What do you think, you shit? Now will you loosen that up?"

Miranda grudgingly slackens the tension in the leather cords.

I shrug my shoulders, letting the metal plating settle more comfortably onto my body. I slip on the pauldrons, a long, segmented piece of ebony that covers my entire left arm, shoulders, and the upper part of my right arm. The edges are etched in gold and crimson, matching the rest of the armor. I walk to another section of the Armory, one that holds personalized swords, pistols, knives, shields, and bows, along with their sheathes. I pick up a matching pair of swords. The blades are solid black and slightly curved with a wicked edge near the tip. The cross guards bow outward around the leather-wrapped hilt. I grab some straps off of the table and wrap them around my waist. I shove the swords in between the straps and armor. I pick up a belt with two pistol holsters and buckle it around my waist. I push a pair of golden captain's pistols in the holsters. Another belt goes diagonally across my chest. Grabbing another set of pistols, I fit them in the open holes. I retrieve a pouch of small musket balls, the ammunition. I tie the extra string to the bands around my waist.

"Get everything you think you'll need," I tell Miranda. "It doesn't matter how much you take. I can always get more weapons made."

As Miranda picks up various items, she asks, "Just how much money are you in charge of?"

"More than your employer's dreams can imagine," I say apathetically.

Miranda gives a low whistle. "That's quite a lot."

"You really have no idea."

A silence settles over the Armory. Aside from the occasional clink of steel, the only sounds are our heartbeats and breathing.

After a few minutes, Miranda announces that she's finished.

"All right," I say. "Let's go."