A Question of Will by Alex Albrinck Read Free Book Online Page B

or whatever it is you’re planning to do. We’ll take care of Stark when he arrives.” The man seemed unsure of himself about the last part.
    The Assassin glared at him with his blood-red eyes, showing no sign that anything Porthos had said was of any interest. Porthos took the hint and moved away. The Assassin took the opportunity to approach Athos, who was the only one of the three with whom he ever willingly conversed. Athos was a man of few words, at least around The Assassin, and the Hunter reached into his backpack and pulled out a large can that resembled an aerosol spray. He presented the item to The Assassin, and simply said, “Good luck.”
    The Assassin took the can and did not respond. He didn’t need luck.
    Hope Stark needed luck.
    Actually, it was Will Stark who needed luck. Hope would simply die, quickly and painlessly. The rules said that Hunters were to conclude a Hunt with the least possible injury to the fugitive. Given the history between this trio and their Hunted target, it didn’t take a genius to figure out that even Aramis was going to make this day one of pure agony for Will Stark. They’d ask for forgiveness later, and they’d get their request. Everyone wanted Will Stark apprehended.
    Well, not everyone, not those in the Alliance. They didn’t count, though, being Oath-breakers themselves.
    The Assassin moved silently out of the small forest and into the Starks’ back yard, heading for the back door. A small bit of Energy was sufficient to unlock the sliding glass door from the inside. He slid the door open, smiling in a manner that contorted his horribly scarred face, in anticipation of the final kill of the day. He pulled the sword from the sheath on his belt, in case the woman interrupted his preparations for the gift he was planning for Will Stark, and felt a slight sense of sadness.
    It was a shame it all had to end so quickly. He was just getting warmed up.
     
     
     
    Hope heard the back door open as the alarm chime sounded. She held the gun in her right hand, and moved toward the kitchen in silence. The killer would need to move through the kitchen to reach her, and she had no interest in waiting around for him to come to her with that horrible, bloodied sword. She intended to fight him as best she could, rather than going quietly.
    Hope heard the floor squeak and could verify where the killer was based on the noise. The noise was unnecessary, for the sensation of evil emanating from the man was so intense that she could orient on his location without using her senses of sight and hearing. Taking a deep breath, she leaped into the kitchen and started to pull the trigger.
    An unseen force ripped the gun from her hands, leaving her defenseless. The gun moved straight into the outstretched hand of the man she’d seen in her earlier nightmare. In her dream, his appearance had been terrifying. In person, that same look was incapacitating. The soulless blood-red eyes looked at her, hungry to see the light of life in her eyes extinguished in death. His heavily-scarred face showed the untold tale of horror the man had created with his life. The short sword held in his right hand was red with the dried blood of previous victims, most likely including Mark, the security guard.
    The man glanced at the gun, and the clip of bullets dropped out of it, disarming the weapon. The killer threw the weapon to the ground. “You won’t need that, Mrs. Stark.” The man’s voice was like ice, and Hope felt the temperature in the house drop as he spoke. The man glanced at the bullets lying on the ground, and Hope watched them shrivel into flattened pieces of metal. “You won’t need those, either.”
    Hope found her voice, at least for the moment. “Who are you? Why are you in my house? I’m calling the police.”
    “You’ll do nothing of the sort.” It wasn’t a suggestion; it was a command. Though she tried to reach the mobile phone clipped to her belt, the force previously used to pull the