A single step back from him is all my rational mind allows. Because the irrational side of me is more persistent.
My lips purse and once again, with more aggression, I rail the blade through his back, right against his heart.
His head shakes slowly back and forth.
“You are a slow learner, aren’t you?”
He shoves the blade from his body with his bare hands and rushes me. The nix spread out, giving us space as Tristan plummets my body hard into the grass.
I groan against his astounding blow. The grass covers my blade as it slips from my hands. Slick skin meets my fingertips as my palms shove against his face. My knee hits hard against his crotch but he only stares down at me with a manic smile. He holds my hands above my head tightly.
“We could have come here together, you and I.” His warm breath washes across my face as my mind races for some way to harm him. “I thought we wanted the same thing.” His gaze trails across my face, down my throat and further down until I can’t look at him any longer.
One of his palms pushes roughly against my hair. His thumb traces my mouth before he cradles my jaw.
“Until I saw you take my mother’s life.” His fingers tighten against my throat and again I slam my knee into his balls only to be left with confusion and fury.
Wider his smile grows as my vision begins to spot.
Will this fucker’s demented happiness be the last thing I ever see, or am I as immortal as Mesa believes?
My eyes flutter, but before they close I see the glint of my sword. It lodges firmly into the side of Tristan’s skull. A disgusting cracking sound accompanies the blow.
No blood releases from the wound but the blade is in fact wedged into his temple. Daxdyn’s hands release the hilt of the sword, probably waiting for Tristan’s death to come.
It seems we might be waiting for a while.
As if the deadly blow is simply an annoyance, he releases me and turns to face Daxdyn.
A weak stance is all Dax has, but he clings to it as if he’s unbreakable. The iron cuffs from the kingdom of Juvar still encircle his wrists, preventing his body from healing the bruising wounds swelling his face.
Daxdyn grips the hilt of the sword and kicks hard off of the center of Tristan’s thin chest. A chilling sound fills the air as the blade dislodges from his skull. He doesn’t even flinch. Daxdyn races to me and, oddly, he covers my body with his, his free hand wrapping around my waist as the other holds my sword.
“Hold on,” he whispers.
A second passes in confusion. Tristan turns to us, the nix coming closer and closer. Their legs tense as if they’re preparing to pounce.
The crimson color washing into the darkening sky holds my attention.
The Blood Moon is now fully alive. The time for fear should be now, but the time for fear has been here for a while.
A shadow trembles into a solid form. Ryder flashes in only a foot away. His hand grabs Dax’s arm just before the nix leap.
And away we go.
Chapter Nine
Friendship is Overrated
I stand over the bed as Mesa applies countless remedies to Darrio’s wounds. She forced something down his throat that put him to sleep. It’ll save him from the pain of healing. Deep flesh is sliced open, revealing the bones of his chest. In a rush, Mesa’s expert hands bandage his body with cloth soaked in potent smelling herbs.
Daxdyn paces the hall outside Darrio’s room. The sound of his anxious footsteps against the iron floor passes the time.
“In the morning, he’ll wake. He’ll heal. Scarring is to be expected, but he will heal.” Mesa finally takes a step back as she assesses her work.
Scars. This man is more scars than anything.
I shouldn’t have left them in the mortal realm.
