“Oh, you really don’t know, do you?” He laughs, and the sound sends a chill down my spine. “You’re just pawns in her game. She got you good. But hey, that just works out better for me.”
And that’s when everything goes to hell.
Between one breath and the next, I’m moving, blocking his sword with the barrel of my gun. My mind hasn’t even caught up yet, but my body knows—it’s fight or die.
Pain shoots through my leg, but I shove it into the back of my mind.
The clash of metal rings through the narrow space, the force of his strike nearly knocking the gun from my grip. He’s strong. Too strong, especially with me limping through this on a bad leg. I grit my teeth, holding firm.
“Show me what you’ve got, cripple,” he snarls, teeth flashing. His scarred face twists into something ugly, the old wound over his eye pulling taut.
I shift my weight to my good leg, trying to sidestep, but he’s faster than I expected. He anticipates the move, slashing at my side. I barely deflect the blow, but it sends a jolt of pain through my arms, leaving me winded and off-balance. He presses in closer, grinning like a shark.
“You think you can just waltz in here and take what’s mine?” His voice is a low growl. “You have no idea what I’ll do to protect it.”
Before I can react, Gypsy’s on him, like a force out of nowhere. She leaps onto his back, arms wrapping around his neck in a chokehold. She locks her wrist with a ferocity only she can muster, pulling tight.
“You bitch,” the man snarls, staggering under her weight, but it gives me a second to catch my breath. I can feel the shift—Gypsy’s thrown him off balance.
But then I notice something important. Something that makes my blood run cold.
Her hands are empty.
Where the hell is the compass?
I spot Vinicola, standing frozen like a rabbit caught in torchlight. Fuck.
“Run, Vinicola!” Gypsy roars, her face flushed, eyes wild, the very image of chaotic violence. She’s terrifying like this—deadly and beautiful all at once. “Get out of here!”
The bard hesitates for just a split second before bolting down the corridor, his footsteps echoing behind him. The man snarls, thrashing like a wild animal to throw Gypsy off, but she clings on like her life depends on it.
“You’re not going anywhere!” The bastard twists, trying to slam Gypsy into the wall. And that’s when it hits me—I can’t shoot. Not like this. Not with her caught in the crossfire.
He throws himself backward, ramming her into the wall with a sickening thud. Gypsy cries out, just for a moment, her grip faltering—but damn if she isn’t stubborn. Even now, she holds on.
“Gypsy!” I lunge forward, gun useless. With a quick flip, I swing the hilt at his leg, aiming for an opening. The metal connects with his thigh, a satisfying crack. He roars in pain, movements becoming more erratic.
“You wanna play?” I snarl, forcing myself to stand tall despite the pain shooting through my leg. “Let’s see if you’ve got the guts to finish what you started.”
He lashes out with a wild kick, but I’m ready. I dodge, barely, and grab his arm, twisting it behind his back. Gypsy’s grip tightens around his neck, her knuckles white as she fights to hold him down.
“Give it up!” she growls. A flash of lightning splits the sky outside, the storm hammering the world around us. I can’t tell if The Lady’s laughing at us or watching this brawl for her own twisted amusement. But fuck, I hope she sees just how deadly me and my girl are together. Because when we find the opportunity, we will come for her instead.
The man snarls in response, a guttural sound that makes my blood burn hotter. This isn’t just a fight to him—it’s survival. Every muscle in his body strains against us, desperate, wild, like a cornered beast.
“Is this it?” I sneer, voice dripping with mockery. “You were dying to see what I’ve got. But from where I’m standing, you don’t seem to have much in you.”
Unfortunately, that does it. He surges forward, dragging both Gypsy and me with him like we’re nothing. Gypsy’s grip slips, and she hits the floor hard.
What the hell…? Who is this guy?
I want to shove this bastard’s face in the dirt and make sure he knows exactly why he shouldn’t mess with us. But the second he breaks free, he doesn’t even glance back. No, no—he lunges straight for Vinicola.
“Dammit!” Gypsy growls, bolting after him.
I stumble, trying to keep up, but I’m nowhere near as fast. My leg’s screaming in protest with every step. It’s only the adrenaline that keeps me going.
I hear it—the chase. Vinicola’s frantic footsteps, the heavy breathing of the beast after him, and Gypsy’s determined strides not far behind. And then there is the beginning of a storm outside.
