Page 42 of Sweet Venom Of Time (Blade of Shadows #6)

Chapter Sixteen

AMIR

T he morning light filtered through the shutters’ slats, casting angular patterns across the study floor. I sat there, elbows braced against the desk, head cradled in my hands, trying to piece together the chaos of the past few days.

Elizabeth’s pale-blue gaze haunted me—a maddening contradiction of fragility and determination—a woman too delicate for my world yet too relentless to be ignored.

I had spent years moving through the shadows, unburdened by attachments, but now she lingered in my thoughts like an ember refusing to die.

How could I reconcile her with the mission at hand? How could I protect her and still do what needed to be done?

It seemed impossible.

I exhaled, shaking my head to dispel her image. There was no time for distractions. Five Timeborne and Timebound prisoners languished in the depths of Alexander’s estate—a miracle they had survived this long—a complication I could not afford to ignore.

The path before me was clear. I had to save them.

“Shadow Falcons,” I called, my voice slicing through the hushed stillness of the townhouse.

They entered without hesitation—grim-faced, battle-hardened, ready for orders.

“Alexander holds five prisoners,” I began, wasting no time. “Timebornes and Timebounds.”

A ripple of unease passed through them. It wasn’t just their status that set them on edge—it was who held them captive.

Thomas Alexander’s name inspired fear among the most ruthless. The man did not grant mercy.

“I will get them out,” I said firmly.

One of my men stepped forward, his voice tight with concern. “Pasha Hassan, this is a trap waiting to happen.”

He wasn’t wrong.

I met their gazes, reading the same hesitation in each set of eyes. They knew what I was walking into.

“I am the only trusted man within that household,” I reminded them, my voice unwavering. “I will exploit that trust, set them up, and walk through their doors, not as myself—” I let the words settle before finishing,

“—but as the Black Wraith.”

A beat of silence.

“Too risky,” one of them countered. “You’re walking straight into the lion’s den.”

They were right, of course. But hesitation was a luxury we couldn’t afford—not with lives hanging in the balance.

“Risky, yes,” I conceded, my tone brooking no argument. “But necessary. I can move through the shadows, slip in and out unnoticed. Get the prisoners to safety before Alexander suspects treachery.”

Their expressions remained grim, concern carving lines into their hardened faces. But beneath the weight of what I was asking, I saw something else—trust.

Trust in me.

Trust in the Black Wraith.

Trust in the cause.

Finally, the first man exhaled and nodded, “Alright.” The others followed suit, one by one.

“Good,” I said, forcing steel into my voice. “Prepare yourselves. Once I have the prisoners, I will signal. Be ready to move quickly.”

As they dispersed themselves, I turned toward the window. The light had shifted, spilling fully into the room, illuminating everything in stark contrast—the dawn of a new day.

But this was no ordinary morning. It was a day edged with danger, its promise tainted by the ever-present weight of fate. Even the best-laid plans could shatter like glass in an instant.

My fingers tightened around the quill as I brought it to parchment. Every stroke of ink was a calculated deception, a carefully placed lie.

“Meet me at the Sable Mare Tavern,” I wrote, the words precise, despite the duplicity bleeding into them.

“I am the Black Wraith. I’ve heard you’re looking for me.”

Instead of wax, I sealed the missive with a smudge of soot and shadow—a mark that would be understood by those who needed to see it.

I turned to the boy waiting in the corner, his wide eyes betraying fear and understanding. He was young but had long since learned the weight of the world he moved in.

“Deliver this,” I instructed, pressing the note into his palm. “Do not linger. Do not speak. You were never here.”

He swallowed hard and nodded, vanishing into the corridor as swiftly as he had come.

As nightfall draped its ebony cloak over the city, I slipped through the secret passageways of Alexander’s estate with practiced ease.

The corridors were familiar, their shadows wrapping around me like old companions.

Outside, my men—phantoms in their own right—waited along the perimeter, poised for the strike.

The plan was simple—free the prisoners, signal my men, and extract swiftly.

But my mind—my mind wasn’t on the mission.

It was with her.

Elizabeth.

The enemy’s daughter. The woman I should’ve never touched, never trusted. And yet, last night, I had done both. I let my guard down. I let her in not just to my bed, but into the locked vault of my past.

I told her things no one else knew—about the scars no one saw, the army I lost in Solaris, the man I used to be before this war hollowed me out.

And then she said something no one ever dared.

“You would have been a wonderful father,” she’d whispered.

The words continued to hit me like a blade to the chest, carving through the walls I had spent years fortifying—a father. The thought had never crossed my mind. Duty was always my priority—loyalty to Lazarus, the mission, the war. There had never been room for such dreams.

And now, here I was, crawling through corridors with her still in my head. I had made a mistake.

I allowed myself to want.

Approaching the dungeon, every nerve in my body sharpened, attuned to the slightest sound. Something was off.

The door was ajar.

An ill omen.

A shiver crawled up my spine. My pulse quickened—not with fear, but with the thrumming pull of anticipation. Something had gone wrong.

I stepped inside. The torches blazed, casting flickering light against the damp stone walls. Chains dangled from their iron clasps, swaying slightly, empty.

Not a soul stirred.

I exhaled slowly, the sound barely more than a whisper in the suffocating stillness.

“Too late.”

The words charred as they left my lips. A bitter taste coated my tongue. I had come for five lives; instead, I found only silence.

Anger simmered within me, a slow-building fire. The room was too clean, too empty. They hadn’t merely taken the prisoners. They had erased them. A cold, methodical execution.

I moved deeper into the labyrinthine corridors, my every step echoing against the stone. And then?—

I found them.

A chamber deeper within, their bodies strewn across the cold floor like discarded remnants of a life that no longer mattered. The Timeborne prisoners—silent, unmoving, their last breaths stolen before I could reach them.

A slow exhale escaped me, controlled—because if I let the rage take over, it would consume everything.

I knelt beside the nearest fallen man, his face frozen in the stillness of death. Reaching out, I closed his sightless eyes with a gentle touch.

“Forgive me,” I murmured, the words falling like ash.

“I was too late.”

A door loomed at the far end of the chamber, slightly ajar—a silent, ominous invitation—a maw of darkness beckoning.

My pulse hammered as I strode toward it, rage thick in my veins. With one swift motion, I thrust it open.

Smoke.

A thick, choking cloud billowed out, swallowing me whole. My vision blurred, my throat ached, and my eyes stung with the acrid sting of something unnatural. Poison.

Coughing, I staggered forward—just as the door slammed shut behind me.

Click.

A lock. A trap.

“Fuck—” The curse barely left my lips before realization struck.

Belladonna.

A slow-burning assassin’s toxin, crafted for cruelty. It was designed to paralyze, incapacitate, and leave its victim aware just long enough to savor their impending doom.

And now it was in my blood.

I reached inward, grasping for the shadows that had always been mine to command—but they were distant, slipping through my fingers like mist.

Laughter—low, mocking—echoed from the smoke-filled abyss. A voice thick with malice, one I knew far too well.

“The famous Black Wraith.”

Mathias.

I forced my body to move, but every limb felt heavier than the last. The air thickened, and the walls closed in.

“Did you truly believe you could outsmart us?” His voice slithered through the darkness, close now, a whisper against my fading senses.

I tried to respond, summon some rebelliousness, but the words collapsed on my tongue?—

—as did my body.

I hit the cold stone floor, breath ragged, limbs failing.

The shadows that had always been my refuge—gone.

And I knew then, with sickening clarity, that I was no longer the hunter.

I was the prey.

Mathias’ silhouette emerged through the acrid smoke; a phantom conjured from my worst nightmares. The cloth covering his nose and mouth shielded him from the poison, a cruel reminder of how thoroughly I had been outplayed.

“You thought you could destroy us?” His voice slithered through the thick air, low and mocking. “You’re a fucking fool.”

The Belladonna surged through my veins, a relentless riptide dragging me away from consciousness. I fought against it, clinging to lucidity, but it was like thrashing in quicksand—every struggle only hastened my descent.

“Did you think you could waltz in here and save those filthy fucking Timebornes and Timebounds?” Mathias continued, his form shifting at the edges of my blurring vision.

I gritted my teeth and tried to move, to force my body to obey me. Rise. Fight. Anything.

But my limbs had turned to lead.

Mathias advanced, his movements slow, deliberate, savoring his victory. With infuriating ease, he gripped my collar and hauled me upright, my body no more than a marionette with cut strings.

The cold bite of steel snapped around my wrists.

Chains rattled, locking me in place against the harsh stone wall.

Footsteps.

More intruders.

My vision swam, narrowing to slits as two figures stepped into view.

Lord Alexander. Lord Winston.