Elemental Assassin 03 - Venom

leaves under his face muffled the sharp sound. Since I wanted to keep it that way, I straddled the fallen giant and put my knees on hisback, pinning him on the cold, mossy ground. I dug one hand into his hair, pulling back his head. Phil gulped in a grateful breath, getting ready to scream again.
    Too little, too late.
    With my other hand, I sliced my silverstone knife across his exposed throat, slashing open his thick neck. Phil moaned and gurgled. With one hand, he flailed back, trying to dislodge me. His other hand went to his throat, trying to stem the steady pump of blood. I paused a second, listening. But Phil’s cries didn’t appear to have been loud enough to attract immediate attention.
    So I climbed off the dying giant’s back and went over to Henry, his fallen comrade, who wasn’t in much better shape. The giant writhed back and forth, softly moaning in pain. I kicked him over so that he lay on his back, dropped to one knee, and slit his throat, putting him out of his misery. He didn’t even try to fight back.
    In less than a minute, it was over. Gin 2, giants 0. Just the way I liked it.
    But my job wasn’t done yet. While the giants bled out, I slid over into the shadows, watching and waiting. But no footsteps sounded, and I didn’t hear anyone rustling through the underbrush. I’d taken care of them quietly enough not to attract attention. Good.
    I pulled my knife out of Phil’s back and made sure both giants were dead before I slipped off into the woods back the way that I’d come. The looking and listening were over. It was time to get on with things—and take care of Elliot Slater once and for all.

26

    I walked back through the woods to my previous spot and grabbed my duffel bag. I slipped the scabbard that I’d taken from Owen Grayson’s house over my shoulders. The black leather straps crisscrossed over my chest, and I slid the two long swords into their anointed slots. Once that was done, I grabbed a few more small supplies and left the bag where it was.
    I headed to the left, keeping inside the tree line and circling to the far, opposite side of the patio until I faced the very back of the mansion. Only one giant guard remained outside next to the pool, since the others had been pulled away to take care of Finn. Like it or not, Finn’s plan had worked.
    Since it looked like the shooting was over, the guard had once again lit up a cigarette. He faced away from me, out toward the woods where Finn had been, and I watched while he tucked his gun into the small of hisback. The other man that had been sitting just inside the glass doors was nowhere to be found. He was probably somewhere farther inside the mountain mansion, helping Elliot Slater secure Finn for the torture that lay ahead. I wouldn’t get a better chance than this.
    So I took it.
    I hopscotched my way down the slope, skipping from one tree to another. The landscape hadn’t been as well cleared on the back side of the house as it had on the front, which gave me plenty of cover to work with. I moved quicker than I had before, but I took care to make as little noise as possible. I still needed every bit of surprise that I could muster. Because now Finn’s life depended on it, along with Roslyn’s.
    Two minutes later, I’d worked my way to the edge of the stone patio, which was set about four feet off the ground. I eased up, letting my head rise just above the surface of the rim. All around me, the stones whispered of wind and water. They also reverberated faintly with the sharp crack of gunshots that had just been fired. But those notes of alarm had already started to fade away. That bit of violence had been too brief and the majority of it too far away for the action to permanently sink into the patio. As for what I was about to do to the man in front of me, well, that kind of violence would probably linger in the stone for quite some time to come.
    The guard stubbed out one cigarette with his foot and reached into his suit jacket for another. I wouldn’t get a better opportunity—so I took it.
    I pulled myself up, rolled over, and came up into a crouch behind some heavy, wrought-iron patio furniture.The guard drew a lighter out of his pocket and clicked it a couple of times, trying to get more than mere sparks out of the cheap plastic. I rose to my feet and tiptoed forward, a silverstone knife in either hand.
    The lighter flared, illuminating the guard’s profile. He turned to face me, one hand pressing down on the