Aries Armed by Tricia Barr
1
ETHAN
Ethan holds very still, making himself at one with the foliage around him. A gentle breeze rustles the leaves and they brush his skin as he crouches on a branch high above the ground, flickering over his view of what’s happening below.
The group of Chardis’s assassins roam around the circle of scorched earth, lips curled and brows low. One mutters under his breath but even though Ethan strains to hear, he doesn’t catch it. He decides there and then, that’s his target. This one has something to say.
His hand tightens around the trunk as he does the math. He followed the two assassins to this patch of the forest, where they joined eighteen others. Twenty enemies to exterminate. Just him.
He likes those odds.
Slowly, intuitively matching the rhythm of his movements to the breath of the breeze, Ethan slips a knife out of his boot and up his sleeve. Then another from the other boot and up the other sleeve. His quiver rests across his back, a familiar and welcome weight.
The assassins stalk one way then the other, kicking up ash, a couple even toeing the scar at the center of the explosion, revealing unusually dry soil beneath it.
They know as much as Ethan does when it comes to what happened here. Actually, he suspects they know what self-destructed here or they wouldn’t be roaming the area like restless wolves. They might even know why. But they’re desperately trying to find some clue as to who did this.
And if the assassins are interested, then Ethan is, too.
He goes from still to lightning in a split-second, grabbing his bow where it was resting against the trunk and firing three arrows off in quick succession. They lodge in the furthest assassin’s throats, one after the other.
Three down.
One of them cries out in alarm just as Ethan drops to the ground, crouching to absorb the impact, then springing straight back up. He’s running before the shout of alarm has finished. In fact, he cuts it off when he flings one of the blades tucked up his sleeve with enough thrust that the assassin stumbles backward and crashes into a tree. The familiar flash of something to his right triggers the next reflexive flick. The assassin who was just drawing his gun from his jacket finds his hand pinned to his chest, the blade plowing straight through his sternum and dropping him.
Five down.
Ethan runs toward the center of the clearing as if the piece of scorched earth is his goal. He unclips his bow from his back, loads an arrow and releases it. Then another. And another. And another. A gunshot sounds and he drops into a roll, fires another mid-tumble, then continues to run.
Ten down.
“Get him!” someone shouts. “He’s got to be one of them!”
Yes, he is.
The Aries, in fact. Ethan almost feels sorry for the assassins.
They converge on him simultaneously, recognizing him for the threat he is. Ethan instantly changes direction, darting toward the forest surrounding the clearing. His acute hearing registers the assassin’s footfalls and breathing, cataloging how far away they are, the snapping of a twig when one gets a little closer than the others.
Ethan spins, fires another arrow, then continues running, not even bothering to see if the assassin goes down. The garbled grunt and thud tell him he has. As does the knowledge that he rarely misses. This is what he’s trained all his life for. Hunted assassins for years so he could hone his skills and fight Chardis while he searched for the other Zodiacs.
These twenty fools don’t stand a chance.
The line of trees fast approaches and Ethan angles for the closest one. The assassins will assume he’s making for the cover of forest, maybe preparing to play cat and mouse amongst the shadows. But he’s no cat, and certainly no mouse.
He doesn’t hide and he doesn’t stalk.
He meets everything head on.
The thick tree stands solidly and patiently, allowing Ethan to calculate trajectories, to make a mental note of the locations of the remaining assassins. Where they’ll be when he’s done. Where the one he wants is. Focusing every sense, he runs up the trunk and executes a flip, more arrows flying from his quiver to his bow to the chests and throats of the assassins.
By the time he’s landed, bodies are littered around him. Most are silent, one or two groan as they fight the inevitable leeching of their life.
Nineteen dead or dying.
The remaining assassin looks around, still trying to process what’s happened. Within the space of a few minutes, all his comrades have been taken out.
And he’s the last one standing.
The assassin stumbles, clearly getting ready to run, but Ethan shoots another arrow. The assassin jolts, then trips over a body and tumbles backward. He lands in the dirt, blinking as he realizes he’s still alive.
A few leaps and Ethan’s standing above him, a boot on his chest.
“You missed,” the assassin snarls.
“Did I?” Ethan challenges.
The assassin goes to move, growling when he discovers he’s pinned to the ground, the arrow that missed his chest impaled through his shirt and into the soil. “Hurry up and kill me, then.”
“You’re alive for a reason,” says Ethan, his voice hard. “What happened here?”
The assassin’s eyes glint, seeming to make the telltale silver ring around his irises flare. “Ah, you want to know about the pod.”
For the first time, Ethan’s laser focus breaks. A pod? Someone sent one to Earth? His pulse has barely accelerated the whole fight, but now, it jackknifes. Could it be her?
He puts more pressure on the man’s chest, relishing in the grimace it triggers. “Yes, I want to know about the pod.”
“The Zodiacs weren’t able to decipher the message before it self-destructed, either.” The assassin grins wickedly. “Chardis will be pleased to hear that.”
The fool obviously thinks Ethan is working alongside the other Zodiacs. He would be if he’d found them. The fact they were also here tells him they’re getting closer. It’s only a matter of time before the first mission he set himself the moment he landed on Earth is fulfilled.
Find the Zodiacs. Join them.
“Chardis will never know whether or not we received the message,” Ethan growls.
With one swift movement, he yanks the arrow out of the soil and slams it into the assassin’s chest. The man arches as his eyes fly wide open, then collapses a second later. Ethan makes sure his death is swift—a small token of thanks for being so forthcoming with the information.
Pushing to his feet, he stares at the scorched ground where the pod would’ve landed, then self-destructed. But not before a message was sent out. His breathing levels out as a new mission settles his very soul.
He needs to know what was on that recording.
He needs to know if it came from her.
