Chapter 21. Homecoming and Dark Desire
The initiates clustered around Evie, their eyes alight with joy as she reappeared. Among them, a little girl with bouncing curls and a gap-toothed grin dashed forward, wrapping Evie in a tight hug. Evie's laughter mingled with the child's excitement as she bent down to return the embrace warmly. In the doorway, Henry watched with his gaze fixed on Evie. Without hesitation, he closed the distance between them, enfolding her in a loving hug. However, a shadow flitted across Evie's expression; her eyes filled with shame as she withdrew slightly. "I'm deeply sorry for what I've done," she whispered softly. "I fought with all my strength... but I couldn't break free. Please forgive me." Her eyes fell to the ground, unable to meet his.
Henry gently lifted her chin, his eyes meeting hers with unwavering warmth. "There is nothing to forgive, my love. You had no choice," he reassured her softly. Their gazes locked, finding solace and understanding in each other's eyes. Drawing closer, they shared a tender kiss that spoke volumes of love and unspoken promises. Suddenly, Jacob's voice boomed like a melodramatic actor on stage. "Children! Shield your innocent eyes from this ghastly sight!" he declared dramatically before turning his feigned shock toward the youngest initiates, who erupted into fits of giggles at his antics. Evie playfully groaned against Henry's lips, shooting Jacob an exaggerated look of exasperation while breaking into a bright smile herself. "Honestly, Jacob!" she exclaimed in mock annoyance as Henry chuckled along. "Come now, Henry; don't indulge him," she added teasingly, though her laughter betrayed her attempt at sternness. Amidst their shared laughter filling the air, they all headed inside where the warmth of Evie's presence wrapped around them like a comforting blanket.
Hunter returned to Greenhill Grove Manor under the moon's eerie glow, its light casting a haunting sheen over the sprawling estate. Inside, Annie's rage stormed through the elegant halls like a relentless tempest. The sound of breaking porcelain and shattering glass reverberated, with mirror shards glinting in the dimness and remnants of Templar insignias scattered on the floor. Hunter watched the chaos unfold, a twisted pleasure dancing in his eyes as he savoured her unbridled fury.
As Annie's stormy gaze fixated on him, her voice sliced through the tumultuous air like a sharp blade. "WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN?" Her words dripped with icy wrath, each syllable pulsing with seething disdain. "That BASTARD slipped past you and fled with what rightfully belongs to me! Your absence has inflicted a heavy toll! Your so-called 'Hunters' have proven to be nothing but a DISAPPOINTMENT!"
Hunter stood before her, a smirk dancing on his lips. His composed demeanour seemed to stoke Annie's smouldering anger. Trembling with fury, she moved to strike, but Hunter smoothly intercepted her hand mid-swing. "If you can rein in this outburst," he stated calmly, "I have crucial information to share." Annie wrested her arm from his grip, the fire in her eyes barely contained. "Speak," she demanded sharply, each word laced with venomous intent. "I've pinpointed their hideout," he revealed nonchalantly, noting the growing intensity in her icy stare. "Excellent," she murmured darkly, a lethal edge to her voice. "I shall unleash the full might of the Templars upon them and reclaim what is rightfully mine. And then," she added with a chilling whisper, "my devoted pet will mete out vengeance on her brother by gouging out his eyes and casting him into eternal darkness. That impudent rogue will learn a lesson he shan't soon forget for daring to defy me so boldly."
Hunter relished the moment, savouring it before delivering the crushing blow. "And therein lies your issue, Miss Starrick," he stated with calculated precision. "I witnessed Jacob Frye destroy your precious artefact." Her face flushed an intense shade of red as she erupted like a volcano, spewing directives left and right. "Get out there and RETURN with his HEAD! Make sure his sister breathes her last right in front of him - make it agonizingly slow! Use whatever means necessary: every resource, every weapon we possess... Just do it! KILL THEM ALL!"
Hunter dipped into an obedient bow, a feral grin spreading across his face. The hunger for violence surged through him like a tempest, coiled and ready to be unleashed at his new found freedom to wreak havoc. "Your wish is my command, Miss Starrick," he intoned with chilling precision, savouring the mantle of authority draped upon him. A rush of satisfaction flooded his veins as he stepped back, anticipation quickening his pulse for the impending pursuit.
Jacob Frye's bold defiance had foolishly painted a colossal target on his own back. The hunt stretched out before Hunter like a shadowy tapestry woven with strands of thrill, each passing moment deepening the malevolent craving stirring inside him. He didn't require help from anyone else; this hunt was his and his alone. Still, he couldn't shake the thought that a few explosives would be useful—after all, the more chaos he could create, the better.
As Hunter stalked away from Greenhill Grove, his mind sharpened into focus, conjuring images of the inevitable confrontation. He envisioned Jacob's bravado crumbling beneath his prowess; how sweet it would be to see that arrogant grin falter, replaced by shock and despair. Hunter's breath quickened, his heart mirroring the rapid rhythm of a horse in full gallop. He knew he had to steady his mind, to find focus amidst the exhilaration that threatened to drown his senses. The surge of emotions threatened to overpower him, signalling the familiar need for release. It was the tension, the anticipation of a life slipping away beneath his grasp that demanded an outlet. Venturing deeper into the heart of London, he located his destination and smoothly infiltrated the lavish establishment. While he could have sought his desires in the grimy alleys, here, he knew the women were of a higher standard, and the discretion of the owners was assured whenever Hunter had fulfilled his dark desires. Selecting the first young woman he encountered upon stepping inside, he guided her upstairs to the familiar room always awaiting his dark indulgences. Fear flickered across her features as Hunter pushed her towards the bed, a detail that didn't escape his predatory gaze. "Undress, and get on the bed" he commanded with a low growl. She trembled as she reluctantly obeyed. Hunter was Indifferent to her fear, she held no value beyond serving his purpose; she was as insignificant to him as the dirt beneath his boots.
Hunter approached the bed with a calculated stride; his belt swiftly undone. Without bothering to remove any additional garments, he positioned himself over the woman. Touch held no allure for him—he shunned the intimacy that came with it, avoiding hands on his skin that had grazed numerous others. Yet, he found solace in other pleasures she offered as he thrust into her with unyielding force, asserting his dominance without hesitation. Indulging in his long-suppressed cravings, his mind drifted to the impending showdown. The anguished cries of the woman beneath him, meant to signify pleasure but tainted with pain, fuelled Hunter's anticipation of triumph. The scene brought back memories of his previous run-in with Peter. He vividly recalled Peter's frantic justifications for his shortcomings, blaming the tavern woman for standing up for the Assassin and insinuating she was likely "Having a tumble with the bloke." Hunter's thoughts twisted like a tangled knot, consumed by the woman who had managed to outsmart him—the little tavern whore who had turned her back on her late husband by aligning herself with a man who mirrored the very principles of those who had stripped her of everything she held dear. Hunter thrust's became more violent and wild as his thoughts intensified; his hands glided to the woman's neck as he felt his pleasure build. The taste of his upcoming victory would be even more gratifying with that little tavern slut present—her grief a fine sauce to accompany the main course of intoxicating violence that he would unleash upon Jacob Frye. With a sinister grin, Hunter imagined a horrific scenario where he would push Jacob to the brink of death before brutally violating his lovely little crow.
A fierce need for dominance surged within him. His fingers constricted around the woman's throat below him, a dark desire he planned to fulfil on Jacob's whore by taking her life in this very manner, ensuring that the Assassin would witness it in utter helplessness. Hunter aimed to show her the brutal reality of a genuine "Tumble." With a primal roar escaping his lips, he arched his head back as his pleasure released into the body beneath him. The woman struggled frantically against his grasp, her desperate fight for air evident in her futile resistance. Hunter's intense stare bore into hers, his eyes piercing through into her soul. Beads of sweat glistened on his furrowed brow, evidence of his passion-fuelled fervour. Despite her weakening struggles, he maintained an unwavering grip, refusing to release her. As her desperation seeped from her gaze, a chilling resolve settled in his features; he watched with cold detachment as the life faded from her eyes.
Leaving the establishment, Hunter melded seamlessly into the night's shadows, enveloped by the dense fog embracing the cobblestone streets. Every stride he took resonated with a sense of determination, each movement purposeful and shrouded in his ominous intent. With his emotions now sated, his mind sharpened to a laser focus. The thrill of the hunt surged through him, electrifying his senses as he pictured the turmoil he would unleash among the Assassins. Hunter could almost feel the weight of Jacob's wrist in his palm as he claimed the final prize of their deadly game. As he traversed familiar alleyways, images flashed before him—a mural of countless encounters with those who dared to oppose him. Each face was a reminder of his prowess, every defeat a stepping-stone to this moment. But it was Jacob Frye who stoked a unique flame within him—a fixation that surpassed mere rivalry; it evolved into an all-consuming urge to subjugate in every conceivable way, to crush that defiant spirit definitively and without mercy. Once and for all.
Evie's transformation was nothing short of remarkable. Overnight, the weariness in her eyes gave way to a resolute gleam that mirrored the determination radiating from those gathered around the weathered oak dining table. The table top bore the marks of numerous meetings, a silent witness to their shared struggles and triumphs. Bathed in the gentle glow of a single pendant light above, shifting shadows played over their faces as they delved into discussions about their upcoming plans.
"We strike at the heart of it all," Evie declared, her voice cutting through the murmurs like a sharpened blade. "Annie Starrick must be brought down, and with her fall, their entire foundation crumbles." Her bold statement lingered in the air, drawing every eye to her. Jacob recognized the fierce determination shining in his sister's gaze and felt an immediate surge of solidarity with her cause without needing any words spoken. A ripple of discussion spread among their companions; uncertainty flitting across their expressions as they absorbed Evie's unwavering resolve.
George, seated across from Evie, leaned forward, his expression etched with scepticism. "Are you absolutely certain?" he probed. "Rarely do things proceed as smoothly as anticipated." Evie met his gaze unwaveringly, her eyes a mirror of determination. "I've had my share of experiences, George," she replied, her voice carrying the weight of her encounters. "Annie's grip on the organization is tenuous at best. Though she believes she holds power firmly, it pales in comparison to Crawford's control. Her focus lies in hosting extravagant gatherings, a feeble attempt to emulate the lavish life her brother led—a world she, being illegitimate and deprived of such luxuries, can only yearn for." As Evie spoke, her tone exuded certainty, each word a testament to her conviction. "The recent elimination of several Templar figures within the district barely registers with her," she continued with unwavering resolve. "The Rooks teeter on the brink of disarray; their structure weakening without strong leadership. Her erratic decisions sow discord even among loyal adherents of the Templar ideology." Her gaze remained steady, reflecting unshakable determination. "Her removal will undeniably rattle their hold on London to its core," she asserted confidently. "With their leader gone, the remaining Templars will scatter—vulnerable and lost. This creates an opportunity for us to seize control over London once more."
The room fell into a profound silence, each of Evie's words lingering in the air, heavy with the weight of her harrowing ordeal under Annie's control. Her story not only presented challenges but also offered invaluable insights to all who listened. "Well, that settles it," Jacob broke the stillness with a confident grin, his voice filled with unwavering determination. George's agreement came through his steely gaze, revealing nothing but resolute resolve. Henry's quiet support added gravitas to their decision, underscoring his unyielding commitment to their shared mission. "What do you suggest we do next, Evie?" Henry asked, his eyes locked on her with a focus that mirrored his dedication.
"We must act tonight," Evie's voice sliced through the air, charged with a fierce resolve. "I know this is sudden, but Annie's relentless pursuit of the new precursor artefact demands our attention. She dismissed the Shroud after Crawford's fall, deeming it worthless. Yet now, she fixates on a staff, convinced it holds unparalleled power. We must reach her before she acquires it and departs. The station will be swarming with guards, and Hunter will surely be skulking nearby in the shadows. Our unity is paramount for success in this mission."
George's brow creased with worry as he voiced his concern, "What about the youngest initiates?" Evie turned to Lilly, her gaze seeking reassurance, "Could you keep an eye on them tonight? Agnes will be here to assist." Lilly's response was resolute and unwavering, "Certainly. The sooner we address this, the sooner I can begin healing and perhaps find my way back to Martha." In that moment, Jacob's eyes met Lilly's; a fleeting yet profound sorrow shadowed his features, hinting at a storm of emotions raging within him. "Alright," Evie's voice cut through the chaos in Jacob's mind like a keen blade, capturing his focus. "A select group of seasoned initiates will stand guard at the perimeter. Our sanctuary is so expertly hidden that even Hunter remains unaware of its location; this should offer an added layer of comfort."
Jacob's doubt fell like an unyielding mist. The formidable reputation of Hunter weighed heavily on his thoughts, casting shadows of uncertainty over Evie's nonchalant dismissal of the danger he posed. Her unrelenting thirst for revenge against Annie seemed to cloud her judgment—a dangerous path that Jacob feared she might be treading too eagerly. Perhaps it was understandable, he reflected; if their positions were reversed, he certainly would have been drawn down the same vengeful road... or was it the chilling notion of Annie obtaining this new artefact? The idea of another Starrick wielding anything resembling the shroud was a haunting scenario they couldn't risk reliving.
George's sudden movement snapped Jacob back to reality. His voice sliced through the thick tension, reminiscent of a general preparing troops for battle. "The decision is made," George declared, his gaze mirroring unyielding determination akin to forged metal. "This evening marks our ultimate confrontation with our enemies. May the creed be our guide," he intoned gravely, infusing each word with solemn purpose that emphasized the weight of their shared cause.