his clip in the snow. I thought that was an improvement, until he abandoned the gun and clip and surged to his feet.
Even if I hadn’t been bound hand and foot, Konstantin didn’t need a gun to hurt me. He was a big, strong guy, and I bet he had plenty of experience wrestling women into submission.
I hopped away from him as fast as I could, my eyes frantically scanning the grass and snow for the perfect weapon.
I saw it about six feet away, a big chunk of concrete that might have come from the foundation. I wasn’t going to be able to hop that distance before Konstantin tackled me, so I threw myself forward in a headfirst slide, my hands outstretched.
I might have put a little more oomph into that slide than was strictly necessary. I jammed my fingers against the concrete, breaking a few nails and possibly dislocating my middle finger. I swallowed the pain and wrapped my hands around the concrete, rolling into a sitting position so I could get some momentum on the throw.
At the last moment, Konstantin, who was almost on top of me, seemed to realize he had made a mistake. He tried to skid to a stop, holding his hands out in front of him. I think he was trying to summon another blast of heat, but it was too late.
I put my whole body into the awkward, two-handed, side-arm throw, and the chunk of concrete hit Konstantin right between the eyes.
He staggered and went down to his knees, blood streaming from his nose and from a large cut on his forehead. My throw had been too awkward, and he’d been too close for me to get enough momentum to knock him out. However, it had obviously made him woozy.
He flailed at me as I hopped over toward the chunk of concrete, but I think he was seeing double or triple, because he didn’t come close to hitting me. I raised the concrete over my head, and this time I had a nice downward angle for my throw.
The concrete caved in the back of Konstantin’s head, and he went down for the count.
TWENTY-EIGHT
I gave myself all of about three minutes to bask in my victory and enjoy the relief that flooded my system. Konstantin wasn’t going to get his chance to rape and torture me, and though I was hurting in any number of places, the damage I’d sustained was all superficial enough that it would heal completely within an hour or two. Considering how grim my situation had been when Konstantin had carried me out here, it was quite a gratifying turnaround.
It didn’t take long, however, for the logistics of my current situation to sink in.
Konstantin was dead, sure. But I was neither a mortal Descendant nor a death god, so he wasn’t going to stay that way. I was still bound hand and foot. My phone was somewhere in the rubble beneath the house. We’d driven here in Anderson’s car, and the keys were probably somewhere down there with my phone. Not that I liked my chances of making it to the car before Konstantin came back to life and tracked me down. Hopping wasn’t the most efficient means of travel, and my legs were already feeling the burn. It didn’t help that my supernatural healing ability sapped so much of my energy. It would probably take me hours, and plenty of rest stops, to get to the damn car, even if I had the keys. And let’s not even talk about how I would be able to drive!
I was squeamish enough that I’d have preferred not to look at Konstantin’s body. There was a lot of blood, and an obvious concave spot on his skull. However, unless I planned to stand here indefinitely in the freezing cold and conk him on the head every time he started to come back to life, I was going to have to get out of the handcuffs and shackles.
Praying under my breath that he would have the keys on him, I dropped to my knees beside him and started gingerly exploring his pockets. I kept my eyes narrowly focused on his body, not letting them stray to his ruined head, but my stomach was queasy anyway.
The good news was I didn’t hurl. The bad news was, there were no handcuff keys on him. In another case of good news/bad news, he had a cell phone, but either he’d broken it during our struggle or