He’s a large, burly redhead who immediately takes aim with his metallic weapon and fires.
The bullet lodges high in my left shoulder. I jerk back, glancing at the stinging wound. Lillian told me about guns years ago, but this is my first time seeing and feeling them in action. I suppose it would hurt more if I weren’t a certifiable monster who trained to tolerate high levels of pain for over a decade.
First impression? Guns seem so inelegant. What’s the fun of a fight if you can’t watch your enemy’s flesh part and their blood ooze around a knife, up close and personal?
A hellhound launches at me from my left, and my instincts send me into action. I duck under the monstrous hound, dodgeits slashing claws, and then turn and fling myself over it, straddling it to get my arms around its neck.
Snap.
It drops dead as a fresh buzz floods my veins. I roll to my feet, breaking into a dead run towards Douglas. I expect him to panic, shout for help, or try some other idiotic strategy, but he stands his ground, keeping his sights set on me.
Bang. Bang. Bang.
Three shots, all to my stomach. They hurt, but with the familiar rush of adrenaline that comes with a fight, I tune it out to keep my pace. As soon as I get close enough, I launch forward, grabbing his weapon and sending it back into his face.
Crack.
15
MAVEN
BreakingDouglas’s nose is satisfying—but it’s far more satisfying when his new injury doesn’t throw him off.
Though he’s dropped his gun, he’s already withdrawing a dagger made of blessed bone, aiming for where my heart would be. I knock it from his hand, but in an impressive display of agility, his other hand catches the weapon before he tries again to drive it into my chest.
I dodge, but a grin splits my face. Douglas’s movements are concise, and his technique is solid. So far, he hasn’t started monologuing or screeching like many people do in a fight.
“Nice to meet you,” I tell him, genuinely meaning it because a decent combat partner is hard to come by.
“Fuck you,” he retorts, trying again.
He stabs, I dodge, and when I test a savage kick to his side, he tries to grab my leg. I let him and then jump, simultaneously wrapping my other leg around his arm to bring him to the snow. He breaks out of the hold quickly, trying to slam the butt of his gun into my head, but I roll aside.
“We found your little one-eyed, rotting distraction in Maine. You’re fucking demented,” he spits.
“Thanks.” I dodge another strike.
“Where’s that depraved little incubus shit?”
Screams echo behind us, so shrill that we both glance over in time to see one of the bounty hunters literally clawing a fellow hunter’s face off. Another bounty hunter is tearing his own hair out, laughing maniacally, and shooting in every direction as blood dribbles from his nose, ears, and eyes. One moment, he’s there, and then Crypt’s hand flashes out of nowhere before they both vanish.
How gruesome. I grin.
“Looks like he’s playing with your friends.”
Douglas is pissed, and his next blow is twice as brutal. For a moment, we’re trapped in my favorite dance—the deadly tango of a good old-fashioned knife fight. He slashes, I sidestep. I stab, he swerves. Our movements could be mistaken as coordinated if someone stumbled upon this scene without context.
Gods, I’ve missed a good fight.
Other bounty hunters and hellhounds cry out, no doubt falling to my formidable matches. I’m not trying my hardest, but Douglas is doing so well that I decide to test him. Slipping Pierce from my sleeve, I butt the end of it into his forehead and take advantage of his momentary surprise to make a move for his chest. I don’t actually intend to kill him yet—this fight is too refreshing.
He breaks away to regain his footing, but it's too late. He missed it.
“Disappointing. You missed a golden opportunity,” I sigh.
He wipes blood off his face as we circle, and I notice that his green eyes light up momentarily when one of the caster bounty hunters casts a spell nearby.
“Bitch, what the fuck are you talking about?”
