you want.”
His eyes narrowed, and he pressed the blade harder against her skin. Warm blood dribbled along her neck, and she resisted the urge to wipe it away. His eyes flicked to her breasts. “You’re a pretty thing, aren’t you?”
Her skin crawled. Avery knew she was in trouble. If she somehow made it to the front door, could she unlock it and get out before he sank that knife in her back? He shifted the blade, moving it from her throat a fraction of an inch as he tried to get a better look at her chest. She didn’t give him a chance. Crossing her arms in front of her hips, she circled them, thrusting his knife-holding arm up and away from her as her knee barreled into his crotch with every ounce of force she could produce. His body doubled over from the pain. She used the opportunity to catch his arm by the wrist and thrust it up the center of his back.
He screamed a string of obscenities. The knife clattered to the floor. He tried to grab her with his free hand, but with her other arm locked on his shoulder, his struggling wasn’t effective. “You fucking bitch!”
“I will break your arm, asshole! I know how to do it.” She rammed him into the counter, grunting at the force, and released his shoulder to reach for her phone. Big mistake. The man twisted out of her hold, his fist connecting with her jaw in a blow that sent a burst of stars exploding in her vision. She stumbled backward, crashing through the table of magazines.
Avery watched in horror as he swept the knife from the floor and raised it above his head. Don’t pass out. Don’t pass out. The room was spinning. There was no way she could get out of the way in time. He dived toward her, the blade sinking toward her heart.
“Aargh!” Faster than she’d ever thought she could move, Avery brought her knees in tight to her chest and kicked him in the gut with both feet. The knife missed its target. The man flew back. Somewhere glass shattered. Avery tried to sit up to see what had happened, but black dots swam in her vision and she flopped back on the floor. She heard a sharp crack like splintering wood. Another grunt and a thump.
“Miss? Avery?” Emory’s face appeared above her, his bushy gray eyebrows bent in concern.
“Chest… hurts.” A searing pain swept from above her right breast toward her throat.
He pressed a hand under her collarbone. “You’ve been cut. I’m calling for help.” His phone was already to his ear.
Avery blinked twice, trying her best to remain conscious, but her vision had become an ever-constricting circle. In the end, she gave up and allowed herself to sink into the pressing darkness.
Thirty-two stitches. Avery traced the nasty slice that ran from the hollow of her throat, across her right breast, and ended under her armpit. She’d definitely have a scar, but at least she could easily hide it if she wanted to. Or show it off and make up a more entertaining story for how she got it.
It had been a full forty-eight hours since Emory had picked her up off the floor of Relics and Runes and taken her to Accident and Emergency to get patched up. (It was the first time Avery realized the Brits didn’t call it the ER as Americans did.) Since then, Nathaniel’s oreads hadn’t allowed her to lift a finger, which was fine with her considering how sore she was from the fight. Horrified to hear of her ordeal, Nathaniel and Clarissa returned from their trip early, Nathaniel swearing to install better magical security.
Avery inspected her wound in the bathroom mirror, poking it experimentally. The cut was red and puffy but appeared to be healing. It itched like a mother though. Wasn’t that a good sign?
“I can try healing it with magic. I just need to find the right spell.” Raven appeared in the door to the bathroom, lines creasing her forehead as she assessed the state of her wound.
Avery waved her hand dismissively. “It barely hurts. Don’t waste the effort.”
“Barely hurts? You were carved up by some psycho trying to rob Nathaniel’s store… I would be shaken to my core if I were you.” Raven shook her head. “How can you be so casual about this?”
Avery examined her feelings. Was she shaken up? On some level, she recognized she should be shaken. That was how