impact producing a flash of electrical light that surrounds him. They bounce off with those sharp pings.
The hail of bullets ceases. The flashes of light stop, the energy pulses gone from his fists. Ponyboy tosses the useless pistol aside.
“Va’halzoret’s dog has come to play,” he snarls.
“What in the Dark One’s name are you doing here, Champion?” the bearded one spits out. He makes the word Champion a curse. “Shouldn’t you be off licking her boots, traitor?”
“Are you going to talk my ear off, or are you going to fight?” The Man In Black rumbles.
“Down to business then.” Ponyboy’s hand gives a strange flourish in the air as the other three rush The Man In Black. Maybe it’s just too dark to see right, but knives appear in the hands of the other three as if from nowhere.
The sword flashes into The Man In Black’s grip with a pulse of light. He charges.
The sword swings, and Ponyboy’s arm thuds to the ground. His scream shatters the night. My stomach convulses.
The vigilante slices the air with his sword, and Ponyboy’s head wings off. It’s barely rolled to the ground when The Man In Black whirls to meet the other attackers.
He swirls and spins through the air, his movements a deadly sort of dance. The sword swipes and slashes. Heads roll and bodies drop. Blood sprays, covering the grass in crimson.
Blank eyes stare up at me from the grass. My breathing rasps harshly in my ears. White-hot hatred mixes with violent revulsion.
Those men were criminals, but he slaughtered them like animals.
Movement out of the corner of my eye. The guy who shot Ricky races straight at me.
The Man In Black sprints toward me. Instead of grabbing me, Mullet draws a knife from somewhere and rounds on him.
“Knife!” I scream, exactly the way cops are trained to do with guns.
Mullet’s arm swings out, and the knife spins through the air, end over end. It thunks right into the Man In Black’s chest.
With a low roar of pain, he fists the knife and drops to his knees on the grass. His sword winks out of existence. His eyes flash up to me. They’re filled with so much pain that my chest tightens for him.
Mullet’s eyes dart from The Man In Black to me and back again. He flees into the tress and is gone.
The Man In Black crashes onto his back.
I race to his side, drop to my knees, and pull him into my lap. Dark, almost-black blood spills down his chest and onto the folds of his cloak. His teeth are bared, a guttural, pained sound coming from deep in his chest. His fist is still around the knife’s hilt.
“Oh my god.” I try to pull his hand from the blade. “No, don’t pull it out.”
“Have… have to… p… poison.”
“If you pull that knife out, you’ll die,” I snap, trying again to yank his hand away.
He opens his mouth as if to speak, but lets out a snarl of pain.
I rip off my jacket, yank off my shirt, and tear it into strips. “We have to get you to a hospital.” Bunching the cloth, I wrap it around the blade and press it to the wound hard.
His hand drops from the knife. His blood quickly soaks my leather gloves.
Those red eyes like crimson flames trap mine. His hood has dropped back. Thick black hair frames that inhuman face in waves. Cracks still mar his bluish-gray skin like dark veins, all flashing with firelight. The hard, concrete-like flesh makes him look like a giant stone warrior.
“No doctors,” he rumbles. “They won’t know what to do.”
“Well then, what—”
“You have… have to remove the knife.”
“Do you want to die?” I bite out.
His hand reaches up and cups my jaw, a strong, astoundingly commanding grip. His fingers aren’t cold like stone, but warm, almost hot. “Now. Or I will die.”
There is so much sureness, so much urgency in his voice that it scares me. I’m dealing with forces I don’t understand. I have to listen to him. He’s everything I should be against, but the urge to save him is overpowering.
I remove the makeshift compress on his wound and grip the knife’s hilt. His eyes hold mine. Jaw clenched, he gives a nod.
I yank the knife out. He bucks and lets out a roar that cuts like glass. Blood gushes from his chest like a geyser.
“Fucking goddammit.” Tossing the knife with its strange black blade aside, I press the shirt against the wound, staunching the blood.
Chest heaving, his