The man I thought he was—the one who stood at my side—is gone.
I’ve lost him, too.
I stop in the middle of the carnage, surrounded by torn-up tree stumps, trying to balance on piled-up wood, black blood dripping down my face and chest and arms and legs.
Wood splinters are caught in all parts of my body, little splinters and big ones, but I don’t fucking care about that pain.
I turn to the cottage and then I spread my wings, lifting myself just enough to aid my progression across the rubble until I hit the grassy ground again.
Then I’m running.
Running toward the keeper, who stands back from the doorway of his cage, where he’s shrouded in the shadows.
I don’t slow down, crashing through the opening and right into his chest.
“Fight me,” I scream at him.
He tries to grab my wrists, but I slash at him with my claws.
“Fight me!”
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Emil’s voice is as angry as mine. “No!”
Wrenching back from him, I strike, not with my fists but with my feet.
My right foot connects with his chest, a hard hit that propels him back along the hallway.
I rage after him with a scream, my fists landing on his chest and then his face in a combination Anarchy taught me that would have taken off any other creature’s head.
He ducks and angles his body to absorb the impact, veering left until he hits the wall with athud.
I’m suddenly aware that it’s the only wall in the immediate vicinity that isn’t broken.
The other side of the hallway is pure carnage. Wood and glass and metal are strewn everywhere on that side.
Having registered the mess, I don’t pay it any further attention, my focus back on him.
“Fight back!” I roar. “Show me that you really are my enemy. Prove to me you’re the monster who killed my mother. Show me what a liar you are.Show me!”
Throwing myself forward and leaping to gain air, I fully extend my claws and drive them at his face.
He jolts to the side, and my claws crash through the wall. The surface rips apart beneath the force of my strike. Shards of broken wood fly across the floor, away from Emil’s position since I was wrenching my hand in that direction.
I swing back to him, throwing my fist at his face again, but he ducks, and my claws catch the wooden support that’s still intact on that side of the hallway.
Another batch of wood shards flies through the air, this time not entirely away from Emil, who leaps even farther to his right to avoid them.
“If you’re my enemy, thenbemy enemy,” I shout at him, retracting my claws and going after him with my fists instead.
“No,” he roars back at me, but his refusal only makes me angrier.
My fists fly, each attempted hit harder than the last, and my strikes grow faster, more aggressive until my arms are a blur and Emil is breathing hard.
He manages to evade every blow, but his agility is decreasing, and his movements become more sluggish.
I don’t know why and, dark saints, I don’t stop to wonder, even though I probably should.
