Before he'd had time even to regain his fighting position, that sword whistled through the air once more. Pain seared his chest. Blood dripped from a shallow gash.
Fuck, this creature is fast. Gourlav had been sandbagging in other rounds. The pre-demon's body might be old, but it was deadly honed.
And Trehan couldn't fight back. I only get one shot at this, one shot with this weapon. He began half-tracing, making himself like air; at once, Gourlav ceased his advances, conserving all energy.
We'll be weeks like this. Trehan needed to make the demon complacent. Which means I'll be taking a beating. He clenched his jaw and materialized fully.
Gourlav charged once more, his sword nearly catching the staff before Trehan yanked it behind him. Gourlav's yellow eyes flickered with interest. Sensing that Trehan was protecting the staff?
Another charge.
Chapter 41
Gods damn it! Now the demon was targeting it. Have to defend myself-while defending it. Or I'll never leave this ring alive.
Gourlav feinted with his sword. Trehan dodged-just as the demon launched his anvil fist right at Trehan's chest, connecting. His sternum fractured as his body hurtled through the air.
Trace! Too disoriented. Up? No, down! Plummeting. Never had he taken such a hit.
His back crashed into the side of the cage; a line of iron spikes gored holes into the back of his neck and torso before his body recoiled from the impact. Launched into the air once more, he poured blood from a pierced lung.
The second landing was like a punch from the earth. All breath left his good lung. Black dots swarmed in his vision. Rouse yourself!
Wait. Hands empty? Where was the staff?
The demon seized his body with two hands, sinking its claws into Trehan's skin. Trehan thrashed but couldn't get free; the primordial's grip made it impossible to trace. In one practiced movement, Gourlav dropped to a knee, raised the other, and lifted Trehan over his head.
To crack my spine. Trehan gritted his teeth just as the demon hurled his body, back first, down across that raised knee.
Broken? Not yet. Can't get free; can't trace.
Staff . . . where's the f**king-
Gourlav hefted him up and heaved him down again.
Snap. Trehan perceived something giving way inside his body. Not my spine? He remained conscious and able to move. Fight on! Pummeling his fists into Gourlav's bony flanks, he searched for the staff.
Have to get free! How? How? The primordial had no weakness to exploit. Made for war. No handholds, doesn't feel my punches-
Gourlav raked his elbow horn across Trehan's torso, ravaging the skin and muscle beneath it. Now he's playing with me.
With his head forced back like this, Trehan was utterly vulnerable. But he spied something from this angle he'd never seen before. Can it be . . . ? He squinted to clear the dots clouding his sight.
There. A pulse point in Gourlav's neck.
Normally it was concealed by his bony beard. A visible pulse meant weakness.
Using all the strength he could muster, Trehan clenched his fist-and launched it directly at the area; with a wet bellow, Gourlav clamped his neck and reared back.
Freed of Gourlav's hold, Trehan scrambled away, lumbering to his feet. He scanned the arena. The staff . . . must get to it!
Everything happened so fast. He jerked his head around, spied Bettina's wan face and frantic eyes, just before he saw a line of stark black against the red clay ground.
There, just in front of the grandstand!
But the primordial followed his gaze. Gourlav slitted those yellow eyes at Trehan, then tensed to trace for the staff. . . .
"I can't watch any more of this!" Bettina cried. The vampire had been injured in several different places, scarcely able to stand.