his blades.
“The gods didn’t choose me.” Bastien gasps under the iron pressure of my grip. “I hunted you here.”
“You couldn’t have set one foot on this bridge unless the gods sanctioned it. Your life is mine.”
With a sharp twist, I wrench the knife from his left hand. It’s the finer blade of the two. He shuffles back and guards his other knife. Interesting that he favors it. “Any time now, Jules!” he yells.
She doesn’t respond. No one does. “Sabine!” I call. Nothing but the howling wind answers back.
The fog scatters just enough that I catch a glimpse of a figure below, prostrate on the riverbed.
My heart kicks. Is she alive? My sixth sense vibrates dully, but that could be the energy of the other girl down there.
“If Sabine is dead”—my gaze cuts to Bastien—“you will die slowly. I won’t bury you with your bones; I’ll wear them. I’ll take them from your body before you draw your last breath.” No Leurress has ever touched the bones of her amouré, but I don’t care. The rite will begin with me.
Bastien’s jaw muscle tightens. “And if Jules is dead, I’ll decapitate you.”
“I won’t give you the chance.” I hold his knife the way he does, like a shield, the hilt never far from my face and constantly moving. I’m quickly learning his defenses, his attacks. I lunge for him, and we begin a new dance, this one more deadly, more passionate, more inflamed.
I deflect his strikes. He deflects mine, forearm against forearm. I never extend my elbows. I counterattack swiftly. Bastien makes for an excellent teacher. His mistake. The predators in me are cunning students.
He treads the narrow parapet with ease. His powerful desire for revenge is a grace of its own.
Once I learn the rhythm of his movements, I take greater risks. I use more force when I slash for him. I shove him back when our arms connect. He might be brave, but he’s weak. I could snap his bones. Maybe I will.
Perspiration wets his brow. He grunts with each blow, each block, each counterattack. I’m tempted to push him to his limits and discover his breaking point. But I can’t. If Sabine is injured, there’s still a chance I can help her. Please, Elara, let her only be injured.
“Thank you for the dance, mon amouré,” I say.
“You call this dancing?” Bastien strikes for my face, then my leg, deftly switching his knife hands.
“Forgive me, were you fighting?” I dodge both attacks, ibex nimble. “I’d love to see you try, but I’m afraid we’re out of time.”
“Why? You can’t be tired already. Unless you lost all your endurance with one little bird bone.”
My nostrils flare. He has no idea what he’s up against. “I still have the combined stamina of a tiger shark and a great alpine ibex.”
“Strength you stole.”
“Strength I earned.”
“Not enough to beat me.”
My veins torch with blistering rage. Now you die, Bastien. “Watch me.”
With every measure of my ibex grace, I leap ten feet into the air and raise my blade with both hands. All the ferocity and muscle from my tiger shark gathers in my body. I focus on Bastien on the parapet below. He looks small. Easy to conquer.
He steps back into a defensive stance, his eyes wide and ready.
I plunge.
He swings his fist a moment before I strike. I can’t move fast enough. The tension inside me falls slack. He hits my arm and knocks my knife from my hand. It flings into the thinning mist and clatters onto the stones of the riverbed.
Shocked, I barely catch my fall on the ledge. My muscles cramp in protest. My surroundings dim. The energy shifts around me. My sixth sense is gone.
The shark tooth. Bastien’s accomplice has it.
“Sabine!” I cry again. My eyes burn. She’s the limp figure on the ground. She has to be.
I abandon all thoughts of my rite of passage. I won’t kill Bastien here and now. I’ll hunt him down later, even if it takes me a year. Then I’ll have his blood. “I’m coming, Sabine!” Be alive, be alive.
I move to jump from the parapet and onto the bridge, but Bastien grabs my arm. I gasp at his painful grip. I can’t break free. He isn’t such a weakling, after all.
“Let go of me,” I shout. I still have my ibex grace, which gives me strength in my legs. I kick him hard in the shin. He grimaces in pain, but doesn’t release me. “I need to help my friend. She’s