Page 17 of His Ruthless Match (Below #3)

JARETH

M y new client was a werewolf named Kramath with sharp teeth and an even sharper tongue.

He was seated across from me at a dimly lit table in one of The Below’s more discreet meeting spots.

The room reeked of sulfur and old magic, and the flickering light from a single enchanted orb cast ominous shadows across his leathery face.

He tapped his claws on the table with an irritating rhythm, his grin a little too wide, a little too full of teeth.

“Five targets,” he said, sliding a parchment toward me. The enchanted ink shimmered, shifting from crimson to black as the names rearranged themselves to obscure their details to anyone but me. “You handle them quietly, efficiently, and we’ll triple your usual rate.”

I drummed my fingers on the table. “Five’s a big number, Kramath. What’s the catch?”

Kramath’s grin widened, showing even more teeth, if that was even possible. “No catch. Just some individuals who’ve grown... inconvenient to our business. Their contracts are void, and they’ve outlived their usefulness.”

I scanned the names. Three were unknown to me, likely low-level pawns who’d gotten too ambitious. The other two, though, rang a bell. Known smugglers who’d been making a name for themselves in the blood artifact trade.

“I’ll take it,” I said, sliding the parchment into my jacket. Then, I thought of Eva. “But just be aware that I have a pressing assignment right now that seems to be growing in importance, so I’ll have to fit these hits in whenever I can.”

Kramath nodded. “Fine by me. As long as you take them out quietly and with no witnesses, you can take a few months to complete the job.”

“I expect payment up front.”

Kramath’s eyes gleamed. He reached into his cloak and pulled out a heavy pouch, the clink of coins inside echoing faintly. “Half now, half when the job’s done. As usual.”

I pocketed the payment as I got to my feet. “Pleasure doing business with you.”

“Always,” Kramath replied in that oily voice of his. “Do keep in touch.”

I stepped out into the chaotic streets. The Below was alive with its usual frenzy—crowds of supernatural creatures bustling through the narrow alleyways, their voices blending into an incomprehensible cacophony.

A demon hissed at a merchant over the price of enchanted pearls, while a towering troll lumbered past, his massive frame forcing others to scramble out of his way.

My boots scuffed against the cobblestones, slick with something I didn’t care to identify.

Neon signs buzzed overhead, advertising everything from potion shops to discreet problem resolution services—a euphemism for assassins like me.

The scent of roasted meat mingled with the acrid tang of spell residue, creating a concoction that was unique to The Below.

My phone buzzed in my pocket, jolting me from my thoughts. I pulled it out. The Shadow. Of course.

“Boss,” I answered, ducking into an alley to avoid the din of the street.

“How’s Eva?” His voice was as smooth and cold as ever, but I could hear the hint of concern in it.

“Your sister is alive, breathing, and just as insufferable as you. I deserve a raise.”

“Noted,” The Shadow replied dryly. “If things are stable on that front, I need you to head to the Crimson Dominion for a check-in.”

“Seriously?”

“There’s a rebel faction stirring up trouble. The last thing I need is a turf war jeopardizing my operations there.”

I stifled a groan. “Fine. But you owe me. Those Crimson Dominion guys are a creepy bunch.”

“I’ll have Izo meet you there and fill you in on the situation.”

And there it was—the kicker. I pinched the bridge of my nose as my annoyance flared. “Izo? For fuck’s sake. Why not just stab me in the eye and call it even?”

Izo was the absolute fucking worst. After what he’d put Vivian through, I wanted him dead. And so did The Shadow, but he wanted to use him first.

“Izo’s useful,” he said. “For now.”

“Yeah, sure,” I muttered. “Fine. I’m only fifteen minutes out anyway. I’ll meet him.”

The call ended abruptly.

I pocketed my phone, irritation coursing through my veins. Izo. Of all people. I wanted to rip his fucking throat out. But The Shadow had other plans for him, so my hands were tied. For now.

The outskirts of the Crimson Dominion were a stark contrast to the buzzing streets of The Below. The air here was heavier, tinged with the tang of dark alchemy. Crimson banners fluttered from the skeletal remains of ancient towers, their edges frayed and singed.

I spotted Izo standing near a decrepit fountain that oozed black water, his back stiff. He was no longer the imposing figure he’d been before. The Shadow’s mark encircled his neck like a dark, serpentine brand, reminding everyone of his fall from power.

“Jareth,” he greeted, his voice somewhat strained. “Glad you could make it.”

“Don’t get used to it. What’s the situation?”

Izo gestured toward the shadowy streets beyond.

“The rebels are disregarding orders, rioting over the new regulations. They’re used to smuggling blood artifacts and alchemical contraband out of here without oversight.

The Shadow’s new requirement for documentation is not exactly sitting well with them. ”

“Shocking. Who are the key players?”

He shook his head. “That’s the problem. They’ve rallied around a faceless leader. No one knows who it is.”

“And what exactly are you doing about it, aside from standing around looking useless?”

Izo’s jaw tightened, but he kept his composure. “I’m trying to maintain order, but without my powers…” He gestured to the dark mark around his neck. “I can only do so much.”

“Convenient excuse. How’s the Ashen Faction holding up without you?”

Izo bristled. “It’s running like a well-oiled machine. The magistrate oversees commerce, and I handle the less savory tasks. It works because we know our roles. The Crimson Dominion, however, is a different beast. The dark alchemy trade complicates everything.”

“Let me guess,” I said, my voice dripping with sarcasm. “The magistrate’s involved but keeping their hands clean?”

Izo nodded grimly. “Exactly. If the people knew the magistrate was profiting from the dark alchemy trade, their credibility would crumble. Politics.”

I scoffed. “Politics, my ass. They’re just another gang with better PR.”

“You’re not wrong. But it’s a delicate balance. If their hand in this gets exposed, it could destabilize the entire region.”

I narrowed my eyes. “Think they’re behind the uprisings?”

“They’re usually involved in everything, one way or another.”

Typical. I ran a hand through my hair in frustration. “Fine. Lead me to the troublemakers.”

Izo smirked faintly. “Eager, aren’t we?”

“Not eager. Efficient. Let’s get this over with.”

Izo led the way. The man—if he could still be called that—had an uncanny ability to act like everything was under control, even when it clearly wasn’t. His voice cut through the oppressive quiet of the streets.

“See that pile of rubble?” Izo gestured toward what had once been a grand, fortified building. Now, it was a leveled wreck of broken stone and charred metal. “That was the main documentation office for the blood artifact trade. The rebels hit it with a cursed blood bomb. No survivors.”

I scanned the ruins, noting the dark stains marring the ground. The coppery scent of blood lingered, even after the Dominion’s infamous red mist had thinned.

“You didn’t think to mention it in advance?” I said.

Izo glanced back at me, his dark eyes gleaming with irritation. “You didn’t ask.”

Asshole.

We continued deeper into the Dominion. The air grew thicker with the acrid stench of burning substances—failed experiments, cursed concoctions, and who the fuck knew what else.

The alchemical market on the edge of the Dominion sprawled before us, a labyrinth of shadowed alleyways and precariously stacked stalls.

The flickering wards above shimmered with unstable energy, casting eerie patterns on the jagged stone walls.

The place was alive with tension. Traders shouted over each other, hawking everything from powdered phoenix feathers to illicit blood alchemy tools.

Sigils etched into the ground pulsed faintly, their energy thrumming beneath my boots.

Loyalists conducted business with sharp eyes darting around, while rebels loitered on the fringes, like they were waiting for a storm cloud to break.

And then it did.

A scuffle broke out near the edge of the market.

The crack of glass hitting stone echoed through the air like a gunshot.

The explosion that followed sent a blast of unnatural heat toward us.

A blood bomb. Traders screamed as the blast incinerated part of the market.

Cursed flames licked across the stalls and spread.

“Fucking hell,” I muttered. The rebels were tearing this place apart.

Izo pulled a blade from his coat. Its edges glinted with enchantments. “Looks like the party’s starting early. You gonna sit there gawking, or are you jumping in?”

Instead of replying, I shifted. My body stretched and contorted, bones snapping and realigning until my sleek, deadly cougar form emerged, golden eyes scanning the chaos.

Izo would hold his own. My focus was on the rebels. The smell of cursed blood thickened as I weaved through the panicked crowd, my powerful limbs propelling me toward the epicenter of the chaos.

A hooded figure stood at the heart of it, another blood bomb in hand. I lunged, my claws tearing through his robe. He fell with a scream, the bomb clattering uselessly to the ground. I crushed it beneath my paw, the cursed liquid sizzling against the cobblestones.

Another rebel—a bloodcaster—raised her hand, a vial of viscous red liquid glowing in her palm. The curse was halfway out of her mouth when I leapt, my claws raking over her arm. The vial shattered, and she ignited like dry tinder. Her screams were lost in the din.