of saliva dripped off his muzzle. “That's a pretty sword, girl. Think you can use it?”
I hefted the sword, the weight of it comforting and for some reason, calming.
I always felt better with it in my hands.
I wondered what it said about me.
“Want to test me?”
One blink of an eye and he was off the ground.
I thought I had lost him.
And once you lose an enemy, you might as well say goodbye to your life.
But my vision grew dark for just an moment and I looked up, sword arching up over my head.
It was enough to keep him from raking the face off my head.
Barely. His left index finger, tipped by a five inch claw, raked down the right side of my face, missing my eye by just an inch.
I slid backwards, but somehow, the sword kept him away.
My face felt like it was on fire. But I had felt worse, and survived worse. “Paying me back?”
His laughter made things worse. How could a human's breath smell like he'd been eating garbage for half a day? Or maybe it was just one of those things that came with having claws and fur. “Maybe? Maybe not. Either way, you're not going to be so pretty anymore.”
And even though I felt Death's scythe resting softly on my neck, I managed a tight smile. This was what I lived for.
The fight. The battle. “Then it's a good thing I wasn't very pretty to begin with.”
With a low cry, I pushed up and out, enough to force Marcus off balance and giving myself enough breathing room to take the offensive.
I couldn't remember the last time the sword felt so light in my hands, adrenaline pulsing through my body, giving me a beat to time my swings and thrusts.
Marcus was not an alpha for nothing.
With mind-boggling athleticism, he dodged every strike I threw his way, all the way laughing at me.
“Maybe the sword is too much for you.”
Despite the freezing air that made my breath white, sweat dripped down my spine. “Hardly. Are you ready to stop playing?”
The cut on my face burned incessantly, while my forehead throbbed from the beating I'd received back at the Sanctuary.
A corpse would've looked better.
You'd make a hell of a corpse.
Pushing away that highly disconcerting thought out of my mind, I ducked and then felt a sting on my upper arm.
It had been a paltry pain, something barely felt, but the werewolf stepped back.
Surprising.
I looked at my left arm, saw the blood dripping like rain off my fingers.
Then it felt like fire had erupted inside my body.
The pain was bad enough to bring me down to my knees, and for the second time in an hour, coarse gravel ground almost straight through to my bones.
Marcus shook his head.
“I don't understand it,” he said quietly, and I watched my blood drip from those claws that could slit my throat as easily as shredding a sheet of paper. “In layman terms, I've got you against the ropes. Give me one good reason why I shouldn't kill you. Give me one good reason why I should spare you when my only child's life hangs by a thread.”
My left arm was completely useless and it dangled like a discarded marionette by my side as I levered myself back up to a standing position, the sword shaking precariously as the blade took my entire weight.
“I'm right handed,” I said.
“I know,” he replied and shook his head. “You just don't give up.”
“Can't. I made a promise.”
Ah, but how bitter that sentence tasted on my tongue. I hated everything, hated the fact that I had ever taken the contract for Noir's death.
The moment I met Jason, everything had changed.
I did not like change.
“Promises?” He laughed. “I thought promises werwe made to be broken.”
I hurt everywhere. Even talking hurt. I felt like a giant, walking bruise. “Not me. I never break a promise.”
“And you promised to keep that vampire of yours alive, didn't you?”
There seemed no point in lying. “Yes.”
He shook his head, almost mournfully, clucking under his breath. I hadn't known such a sound was possible with a snout, but it just goes to show that new things can be learned every day. “Your loyalty is to be commended. But this is the end of the line for you.”
The ground swam in front of my eyes. “I understand. I'm sorry, Marcus.”
It was the first time I ever called him by his name.
“Me too,” he said. “Me too.”
He charged, breath white in the frigid air.
I stood my