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For Vanessa.

My better half in every sense of the word.

Thank you.

Prologue

Soissons, France. 1414.

Rumours of how the French had murdered their own people reached me long before I’d arrived at Soissons. Even as an Englishman, and despite the never-ending conflicts between our countries, I couldn't accept that the French would do such a thing. But when I walked through the city's open gates and saw the multitude of bodies lying side by side, I believed.

The town had been ripped asunder in an act of exceptional brutality, the inhabitants torn to pieces—men murdered as they defended their families, women brutalised and raped until their captors tired of them and left them to die. Not even children were spared, killed alongside their friends and families. The carrion took over, desecrating the remains even further. A city of a few thousand people, reduced to food for crows and rats.

It soon became apparent that there would be no survivors to the massacre. My search of the city only brought more dead, and even more questions, but few answers. Most had obvious sword and axe wounds, or heads crushed by hammer, but some had claw marks across the throat and torso. Something far worse than simple armed soldiers stalked the city.

I stopped by a partially eaten body. The man's sword had fallen onto the path beside him. His stomach was covered in bite marks. Whatever had attacked him had devoured his internal organs. The bite marks could have belonged to a large wolf, but I knew I wasn't going to be that lucky.

Dusk was beginning to settle. Birds flew home for the night, a brilliant red sky lighting their way. A low growl resonated from the end of a row of houses close by. I placed my hand on the hilt of my Jian, drawing the Chinese sword a few inches out of its sheath as I continued toward the noise.

I reached the end of the houses and peered around the corner. The stench of death had hung in the air from the moment I entered the city. But it mixed with something else, something more animal than human.

In the centre of a large courtyard, a beast sat on its muscular legs. Its maw was deep inside the stomach of a dead man, feasting loudly. Intestines had spilled out of the wound and now rested beside the body on the blood slick ground. Several more dead men were littered around, none of whom appeared to have been devoured.

I looked up at the sky. "It's shit like this that makes me hate you."

I stepped into view. The beast immediately stopped feeding and looked up at me. "Live food," it growled.

A sigh escaped my lips. "You don't have to do this."

The beast stood on two legs, stretching to its full height. It was over a head taller than me, and its muscular frame was covered in dark fur, now matted with blood. The beast's hands consisted of an elongated palm with long fingers, each tipped with a razor sharp claw. I should know how sharp the bastards were—I'd fought enough werewolves in my time.

The werewolf lifted its nose and sniffed the air. "I can smell your blood, little man." It stepped forward and opened its mouth, showing me the dozens of wickedly dangerous teeth dripping with gore.

"That's very impressive," I said. "You know what I’ve got? This." I tapped the Guan Dao strapped to my back. A Chinese halberd, consisting of a one and a half meter long wooden pole with a curved sword edge on one end and a sharp spike on the other.

The werewolf shrugged. "You're just a human. I can kill you before you even draw it."

"Maybe." I hurled a silver dagger into the throat of the beast. It dropped to its knees, desperately trying to remove the dagger as panic set in. Its long fingers were unable to get a good grip on the slick hilt, and it started to choke as blood built up in its windpipe. The werewolf raised its eyes back to me, utterly afraid, as I covered the distance between us and drove my silver-laced Jian into its chest, piercing the heart, instantly killing it.

I held onto the Jian's hilt and placed one boot on the werewolf's chest, dragging the blade from the dead beast with a sucking sound. A loud thud accompanied it a second later as the sword came free and the corpse hit the ground. I retrieved and cleaned my dagger before checking on the five dead men lying about the courtyard. The huge muscles in their shoulders and arms made them appear almost deformed, and each one was missing his middle and index fingers. Deep claw gouges sat in their flesh and one of them had lost his entire face when the werewolf had struck. Their uniforms showed that they’d been English archers, and they'd died in a horrific manner.

Then one of them opened his eyes. And screamed.

Chapter 1

Southampton, England. Now.

I love this part.
The thought rattled around my brain. The first few minutes of a new job always started the same—excitement built in my fingers and toes, moved to my arms and legs and then settled in my stomach just long enough to give me butterflies.

The feeling bubbled away as I passed my party invitation to one of three huge bouncers at the mansion's front door. It was an official invite, so I was unconcerned about being denied entrance. For the amount of money I'd bribed a staff member to get hold of the damn thing, it should have come in a solid gold envelope. A friend of mine had given me the job a few weeks earlier. Initially I’d been reluctant to accept. Most jobs went through my partner, Holly, and she recommended the best ones to undertake. I was a thief, and a good one at that, but I'd stayed off most law enforcement radars because I never had any contact with my clients. It was all done electronically via Holly.

Saying yes to the job brought a whole new set of problems to deal with. My friend needed me to steal something from a house, despite the fact that he was fully aware of how much I hated breaking into homes. For a start, the occupants were much more likely to call the police and freak out to the media, but mostly I hated them because the variables for a home break-in are astronomical. Anything can go wrong. There are neighbours and pets to consider. Will the inhabitants wake up in the night for a drink? Does one of them work shifts and get home, or get ready for work, just as I'm beginning to do my own? Even after researching the owners, I considered them a damn minefield of crap, so avoided home jobs like the plague. But my client was a good friend, and the pay was excellent. Besides I owed him. And he's the sort of man who collected on his debts.

The bouncer waved me through, and a waiter offered me a glass of champagne. Personally, I’ve always hated the stuff, but as everyone in the huge room beyond had a glass of champagne in hand, I decided that blending in would make life easier, so I accepted the drink.

The hosts lived in one of Southampton's high-class neighbourhoods, frequented by footballers and people with too much money and not enough taste. Case in point, the massive foyer I found myself in had a large zebra skin rug on the marble floor. It lay miserably between two ornate staircases leading to an empty landing above. More bouncers stood at the top of each set of stairs, turning people away when they tried to get to the upper floor. I'd have put money that the owners of the house would use that area to address the crowd below, thanking everyone and looking down at them all from their lofty perch.

I walked through the house and noticed several small mahogany display cabinets. Each one contained a collection of bronzed statues of ancient Greek warriors, and the occasional vase from the same time period. People congregated around them, pointing and talking about the house owners' acquisitions.

"Nice suit."

I turned to see a young woman, champagne flute in hand, running one perfectly manicured finger gently down the crystal stem. It was either a subconscious gesture of nerves or a conscious gesture of seduction. I hadn't decided.

"I've not seen you before," she continued. Her eyes were large and deep brown, with thick lashes and her full red lips looked moist and inviting. A golden dress clung to her voluptuous body, leaving little to the imagination. She licked her bottom lip slowly, never taking her gaze from me. Okay, she knew exactly what she was doing.

"I haven't seen you either," I said.

"You know the birthday boy well?" She moved forward ever so slightly and brushed my shirt cuff. "A bit of fluff," she lied, using the distraction as an excuse to get a good look at my wedding ring finger.

"Thank you," I said with a smile, ignoring her question. "I'm Nate."

"Jasmine." She moved again and her golden dress rode up perfectly toned thighs. Just a small amount, but it was enough to gain my attention. She caught me watching as she readjusted herself, and smiled. "So what do you do to afford such beautiful clothes? Footballer?"

If I'd been drinking the champagne, I probably would have ruined the moment by spraying it all over her immaculately made up face. Instead I just chuckled. "I've never kicked a football in my life. I'm a thief."

Jasmine raised her hand in front of her mouth to hide her smile. "And what do you steal? Women's hearts? Their virginity?" Most people would rather hear a reasonable lie than the fantastical truth.

It was my turn to smile. "It's been a long time since I've stolen a woman's virginity. I was under the impression that virginal women no longer exist."

"And hearts?"

"You can't steal what is given freely."

Jasmine smiled again. It was a beautiful smile, and I regretted that I would never see it again once the job was over. I glanced past her at a clock hung high on the wall. Almost ten, the party had only been going on for a few hours and it would be a while before it hit full swing.

"A lot of women turned to watch you as you walked in. As did their boyfriends. They don't like it when a new man enters the equation, especially one who turns their dates' heads."

I'd noticed a few of them moving between me and their girlfriends or wives. "So where's your boyfriend?"

"My boyfriend is an asshole who thinks that playing football gives him an excuse to cheat on me with that bitch in the corner over there."

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