The Seven (The Dark Kingdom, #1)

Chapter One

"Fuck!"

She hissed as she poured a generous amount of vodka on the nasty looking wound on her left shoulder. She ground her teeth together and started to pull the shattered pieces of glass out of the cut, but that wasn't an easy task since there was clotted blood all over her arm. With blood covered hands she reached for her boot, where a dagger was securely nestled in a holster. In one swift movement she pulled it out.

"I hate this part,"she muttered under her breath as she stared at the fishing line and the sewing needle that laid before her on the dewy grass. 

The first, faint sun-rays had appeared on the horizon, announcing the break of a new day. 

She sighed.

I've got to get on with this, I can't stay here in this damned forest. It's too close to the village.

She glanced longingly at the bottle of vodka standing invitingly in front of her, but grudgingly decided against it.

It's what got you in this position in the first place.

Without further ado she cut the fishing line in half and disinfected the needle. After she did so, she began stitching herself up and when the needle pierced her flesh she didn't even flinch. She was already too deep in thought by then.

If he hadn't made a scene nobody innocent would've been killed.

Her jaw clenched and unclenched.

It would have been a routine job; easy target, easy kill. Your typical low-life thug, but he had other plans, he hadn't wanted to die just yet.

With more force than was necessary she jammed the needle through her sensitive flesh.

She had known exactly where he'd be that night, in fact, she had known exactly where to find him every single night for all the years to come: 

in his favorite pub "The Black Jack", getting utterly wasted.

She snorted in disdain when she recalled how intoxicated he'd been when she first saw him; head like an overripe tomato, eyes bloodshot and the disgusting, bitter odor of alcohol mixed with sweat surrounding him.

Last night, she'd sought him out and waited patiently for him to enter the pub without drawing any unwanted attention to herself. Dressed in black, with a cloak and hood to hide her face from peering eyes.

One hour and several drinks later he finally showed up. She had smelled him before she saw him. When she found him with her eyes, she tracked his movements as he staggered to the bar. Not wanting to waste more of her precious time, she finished off her drink with one large gulp and immediately jumped into action. She crossed the distance between them, while he was busy pouring himself a shot of vodka. She went to stand directly behind him in such a way that, to outsiders, it would've seemed like she was whispering sweet-nothings into his ear, instead of a death-threat.

"Don't make any sudden movements or you're dead," she whispered into his ear and she subtly pressed the tip of her dagger against his back.

She felt him stiffen in front of her and smirked, enjoying how powerful she felt.

"Now, here's what's going to happen, bucko. You'll follow me outside, nice and easy, and once we're outside-"

She stopped mid-sentence when she saw him eyeing the bottle of vodka, which he was still holding in his hand. The alcohol that circulated through her system slowed down her reflexes and prevented her from dodging the bottle in time when he lunged it at her. 

The bottle shattered to pieces when it collided with her shoulder and warm blood started to ooze out of the wound.

She roared in anger and her eyes flared under her hood. Ignoring the screams that erupted from around her, she thrust the dagger into his chest, in an act of blind rage.