My hand closes around the wrist of his knife-hand. I twist it as hard as I can, hoping to snap his grip the way he did to me.
Kenneth clocks me across the cheek with his other fist. Looming over me, he presses his limbs against mine so I can barely struggle other than my one hand blocking his arm.
With a ragged exhalation, he manages to turn the blade so it’s pointed at my throat again. He leans all his strength—and a growing surge of magic—into driving the knife toward me.
My pulse pounds in my head like it’s a frantic bird trying to break free of my skull. My arm strains to hold Kenneth back, but somehow this guy who I always thought had middling skill at best is pushing aside all my strength.
In a matter of seconds, my muscles are going to give, and that knife will sink straight through my neck.
My forearm aches. I fight to drag air into my lungs.
Focus, Elodie.
My life can’t end like this. I have to find a way through.
I clench my jaw and make my last gamble.
I loosen my grip just for an instant. Just long enough to throw Kenneth slightly off-balance with the sudden loss of resistance.
The blade plunges down so fast it nicks my skin—and I slam my palm into his wrist again.
His hand bends, bringing the knife with it. I heave up toward him with all the desperation I have in me.
The blade veers to the side and around. With a sickening rasp, it plunges straight into Kenneth’s chest like it’s cutting butter.
A startled sound that’s almost a protest breaks from my throat.
Kenneth’s face goes slack. Blood patters down across my body in a pungent stream.
“You,” he mutters, his voice already frayed. “She was right about you.”
His body gives. I thrust him away from me, and he topples over on his side.
His hands grope aimlessly, the knife still protruding from his chest. His head lolls. More blood gushes across the boards beneath him.
A shudder wracks my body alongside the horror curdling in my gut.
Uncle Nik trained me in some key defensive techniques in case I was caught while on a mission, and I welcomed every bit of fighting strategy my Salvatore happily taught me. I’ve ended more lives than I can count on both hands.
But I’ve never killed anyone while looking them in the face before. Never shoved a knife into someone’s body directly.
Kenneth’s blanching face wavers before my eyes. I clamp my lips against a prickle of acid and the urge to vomit.
It’s over so quickly. Even as my stomach roils, his limbs go totally slack. A vacant cast I never wanted to see again hazes his eyes.
As I stare at him, confirming he’s gone, a faint glow seeps through my horror.
I didn’t get all the answers I wanted, and I’ve never wanted to kill anyone, not really.
But whatever his reasons, this douchebag is never going to hurt me again.
My relief lasts all of a split-second. A hissed breath carries from the other side of the bridge… followed by the splash of a bulky body tumbling into the water.
Forty-Four
Elodie
Irun across the bridge, my sneakers making tacky sounds through the vast pool of Kenneth’s blood. For a second, leaning over the railing, I can’t make out Salvatore’s form at all.
