My claws finally break through the metal.
Snap!
She vanishes instantly and so does her blade.
My father resumes his leap toward me, his roar sounding dull now that my ears are damaged.
I’m more aware of my burning palm than I am of his approach. The skin across my left hand is stripped off, and my left arm trembles uncontrollably.
Dark saints, the burning scent that fills the air around me turns my stomach.
I stumble, but it helps me because my jerky step takes me out of my father’s path.
He’s screaming at me, but bless my ears, I can’t hear what he’s saying.
I’m done with him.
I’m done with his games.
I’m done with the pain he caused.
The careful knife is no more.
I am a sharp weapon, and I will no longer be constrained.
CHAPTER FORTY-SIX
Ileap away from my father, registering his confusion, before I bound onto the table and break into a run toward its central point.
“Gargoyle king!” I shout. “For your crimes against my brother and his mother, you will die first. Now choose: Fight or die!”
It seems he was prepared for the challenge. He’s been throwing glares at me ever since I arrived. He will have heard that Lucian formed an alliance with me.
“You are the one who will die,” he retorts, jumping to his feet so quickly that he knocks his chair backward.
While the supernaturals around him scatter, he extends his wings and rises into the air, a great brute of a man swooping toward me.
His skin flushes gray as he flies, a coating of stone that he will no doubt believe can repel my claws.
As he storms down on me, I leap up to meet him, the muscles in my legs bunching and pushing me higher while my right hand stretches out.
My claws slice from his neck to his crotch before I land neatly on the table, covered in blood.
His body hits the surface behind me, sliding partway across the table before coming to a stop at its edge.
His wings conceal most of the gore, but not the thick trail of blood he leaves across the table’s surface.
I’m aware of a movement on my right—the female gargoyle was lurching toward me—and my right hand has shot out to meet her.
She stops. Right before my claws would have impaled her chest.
Pinpricks of blood form before the droplets slide down her bare clavicle to the top of her shirt.
There’s a terrible silence around me and maybe it’s only because my ears are so damaged, but the blonde-haired woman backs slowly away from me, removing herself from danger, her hands rising, palms out.
Her lips move, but try as I might, I can’t hear what she says. Too hard to read her lips.
She eyes me warily while I rise to my feet with a snarl on my lips.
