The man held his blade to my throat, and I could hardly breathe.
I had seen him only once in my entire life.
Back home in the moonlight pack, he had been one of my father's most prized assassins.
I was only about seven years old and scrubbing the library floors when my father came in.
I had gone to hide quickly because I knew my father did not like seeing me even though I was doing my duties.
A man, almost like a shadow, appeared before me.
He had rich olive skin, skin, and his eyes, I could remember, were hazel.
He was dressed in clothing like something a desert wolf would wear.
"Have you been discreet?" My father had asked.
There was no one else in the room.
The spy nodded.
All through the conversation, I hadn't seen him talk.
He only bows or shakes his head, never uttering a single word.
His entire being scared me.
