Provoking a fight now? But why?
The crowd falls silent, and Cornelius’s weapon hovers in the air, his eyes darting to Lysander instead. A snarl forms on his lips.
“Or are you afraid to lose to me again?” he teases.
“Oi! Get out of the circle,” Keagan calls from the opposite side. “This isn’t your fight.”
“I want it to be,” Lysander replies and turned his attention back to Cornelius. “Can your pride handle a little rematch?”
He’s gone mad.
Cornelius’s blinks and his eyes flash black. He waves his hand at the boy, shooing him away. “Get out,” he growls, and when the boy gathers up his weapons andruns for the safety of the circle, a monstrous grin transforms Cornelius’s face.
Lysander takes his place. “Ready to be embarrassed for a second time?”
“Cornelius, this isn’t wise!” Keagan shouts from the crowd.
“Shut your mouth,” he snaps, before turning back to Lysander. “Raise your sword.”
The moment his weapon lifts, Cornelius lunges.
Lysander’s sword catches his just above his shoulder, before it can meet skin. He shoves Cornelius back easily and lets out a mocking laugh. “You’re right. There is no need to talk. Your lack of skill speaks for you.”
Keagan hisses. “Come on! Silence him for good!”
The crowd shouts in agreement, but I’m locked in place, my heart thundering. I should stop this, but my feet stay glued in place.
Roaring, Cornelius rushes forward again, his sword swinging wildly.
Lysander dodges the first blow, keeping low. His gray eyes are full of excitement as they roam his stance, studying him. When he jabs at Lysander’s middle, he spins away with ease. In return, he lays a hard kick in the center of Cornelius’s back, sending him flying forward.
He stumbles over his own feet, but is able to quickly right himself, spin, and come at Lysander again, full force. His blade moves too fast for me to see.
Sparks fly with every block Lysander lands, igniting the darkness. As they dance around the circle, the crowd is forced to shift to avoid getting in between the blows.For the first time, I notice strain in Lysander’s stance and tension on his brow.
My stomach twists with worry.
Cornelius’s sword slashes through the air. There’s a terrible ripping sound and Lysander gasps, leaping back. His sword falls onto the snow-covered ground.
I lurch forward, fear consuming me. “Lysander!”
No one moves. Lysander stands there with his one arm extended. His sleeve is cut from the elbow to the wrist, the loose material dangling there from the arm.
Blood? But is there blood?
I don’t see any, but what I do see is just as shocking. Jagged, fleshy scars crawl up and down Lysander’s forearm, intertwining and circling in an artistic way. In a pattern of some sort. It reminds me of a branding, something I’d do to the horses back at my family’s farm to claim them as ours.
Good God… What is that?
Our kind doesn’t scar after being changed. Our wounds heal. So, this must’ve been done to him before he became a vampire, when he was still human.
I move closer to help him, but Lysander holds out a hand to stop me. His shoulders rise and fall with his labored breathing and, slowly, Lysander picks up his sword again.
That was incredibly close, but with no blood drawn, the fight isn’t over.
Cornelius’s laughter booms, followed by Keagan’s high-pitched cackle. The muscles of Lysander’s jaw clench and he twists the sword’s handle in his grip.
“Quite unnecessary,” he murmurs as he adjusts his feetand raises his weapon higher. “But I suppose that is my fault for allowing this to go on for so long. Come. Let’s finish this.”
