Even headless, the fucking thing wouldn’t let go.
And then it was too late, because the dark, bitter energy fell abruptly away, and the shadowy figure was gone.
As was the ax.
Chapter Thirteen
A DOZEN DIFFERENT SWEAR WORDS RACED through my mind, but I didn’t bother saying them. I swung Amaya again, this time slicing away the arms that still held me so tightly. As the limbs fell away from the creature’s body, I kicked it off me and staggered to my feet. Someone hit the ground behind me and I swung around, Amaya raised. It was Azriel. He was covered not only in the stinking blood of the creatures, but in his own. Wounds crisscrossed his stomach and right arm, and blood seeped down the fingers that gripped Valdis.
His gaze swept me, then he said, "The ax?"
"Gone. And it wasn’t the Raziq."
He swore—at least I think he swore because it wasn’t any language I understood—and thrust a hand through his damp hair. "I was not aware that there was anyone else after the keys."
"That makes two of us," I muttered, and glanced up as something moved on the floor above us.
Lucian appeared, leaning over the side, his face bruised, clothes torn, but a fierce light in his eyes. "Everyone okay?"
"Yeah, but the ax is gone."
He leapt over the railing, landing with grace and little noise. "The Raziq, I gather?"
I shook my head. "Not unless the Raziq use blood magic."
"Blood magic?" He stopped to one side of Azriel, smelling of sweat and blood and anger barely leashed. "Why would you think that?"
"Because I felt it, and because I saw the man involved."