The shimmer of sliver catches my eye just to my left and I can taste her breath she’s so close, so very close, but the glimmer flashes, the reflection blinding me and I blink.
“Do it.” Hildi breathes into my ear but I’m looking at the mat and the object that suddenly appeared. “Do it.”
I don’t know what she want me to do; kiss her or kill her when both are the same. And isn’t that what I’m supposed to do anyway? This is a game to the death.
But I push her back and reach for the shiny sword. The one that fits perfectly in my hand. The crowd gasps, wondering where it came from. How did it appear? And I have the very same questions but Hildi has picked herself up off the ground and charges at me full force.
I swing the blade, slicing it across her arm.
I flip it over, smashing her along the jaw with the hilt.
She falls, knees first, and the auditorium grows silent. I stand over her and step on her hand with one foot and her stomach with another.
“Remember this day,” I tell her. I look up into the crowd. “The Raven Queen did not do this.” I stab Hildi through the heart, her blue eyes shocked until the blue drains to a pale gray. “I did.”
I leave her body on the mat and walk back to where I’d entered. The handlers are there, eyes wide and faces pale. The sword is heavy in my hand and in a quick motion I slash the ropes off the ring and they fall quickly to the floor. I step down, searching the crowd, the faces, finally feeling relief when I see his face.
“I fought her,” I tell Clinton when he’s pushed through the crowd.
“I know.” He takes the sword from me and catches me when my feet falter. “You did good, Morgan.”
His words warm my heart and my head spins. His gray eyes are the last thing I see before the world turns black.
Chapter Eight
Dylan
Sam and I are in the middle of a game of chess in the library when the front door bursts open.
Davis runs past the doorway shouting, “Hurry, it’s Mistress Morgan.” The chess pieces fall as Sam and I both leap from our seats.
Footsteps thunder down the staircase and Damien appears, brandishing a sharp blade, but drops it when he sees Clinton carrying Morgan in his arms.
“She’s okay. I promise. Just worn out.” He moves to the staircase. I step in front of him and hold out my arms. He twists away like a child refusing to hand over a treasure.
“I told you it was too much. I told you it was too fucking soon.”
“She’s fine!” he roars and his voice echoes to the top floors. Surely Bunny has been drawn from his attic studio. Sam touches Clinton’s arm and gives him a short nod. He inhales and reluctantly hands her over. I feel a tiny bit better with her safely in my arms, able to feel the warmth of her body and beat of her heart. She’s bruised along the jaw and her pants are torn. Raw scrapes line the top of her knuckles and I push past the others to get her up the stairs.
Bunny meets us at the third floor and opens the door to her suite. I carefully enter, making sure not to bang her head on the door frame, and lay her on the bed after Sam
pulls down the linens.
She takes a deep breath the instant her head hits the pillow, followed by a small sigh. Her dark hair fans out like a halo. The bruise on her cheek only makes her look stronger—like the warrior we all know she’s meant to be.
Sue appears and shoos us out of the room. She’ll clean and dress her.
I look at Clinton and ask, “What the hell happened?”
He walks across the bedroom and out to the sitting room. There he finds a bottle of whiskey and takes a gulp straight out of the top. He hands it to Sam who does the same and before he speaks we’ve all had a drink. “I took her to the fights. I was going to enter her—match her up to someone she could easily beat. Just to test the training. But she went to the ladies’ room and, fuck, I don’t know what happened. Next thing she’s in the queue and on the mat squaring off against Hildi.”
“Hildi,” I repeat, thinking of the blonde, incredibly dangerous Valkyrie.
“Oh boy,” Damien mutters. “Bet that Viking was pleased to see her in the ring.”
“She was jealous when she saw Morgan with me. I let it pass. Took her drink in good will. Offered her good luck in her match.” He looks over at Morgan sleeping in the other room. “Somehow those two got into it.”
“Morgan or the Darkness?” Sam asks. There’s a difference.