Seamus rolled them and slammed Zack against the concrete. One blow to the head made Zack’s head spin. The second knock made his grip loose. Seamus stood and delivered a swift kick to Zack’s side, but that was an old tactic Cousin Denny had liked to do when he thought he’d won. Zack caught Seamus’s leg by the ankle, pulled it upward, and twisted as hard as he could.
Seamus fell onto the concrete with a crack. He growled as he got onto his knees.
Zack was already finding his feet, already had his dagger in hand. He feinted with his blade, then connected a punch across the jaw with his free hand and brought the dagger down into Seamus’s shoulder.
Seamus’s eyes flared bright, burning red.
The burst of cold against Zack’s back was a warning that registered in his mind a fraction of a second too late. He was spinning, aiming, but Seamus knocked him down with a punch. As he struggled to his feet, Seamus kicked Zack’s knee.
It doesn’t bend that way, Zack’s rational voice said as a scream tore from his throat.And now I’m disassociating. This is shock.
Breathing was a task he couldn’t ignore anymore. He’d relied on the power of a sprint and not the long haul of a marathon fight. He pushed himself up onto his elbows.
Seamus grabbed his left arm and wrenched it.
The pop should have hurt more. But the pain was fading away.
Definitely shock.
Muffling his pained cries, Zack flipped over onto his back and held his left arm to his chest. His dagger was … was somewhere close. Not in his hand. But it was tied to him, and he could feel its location.
Seamus leaned over him, foot on either side to straddle him though he remained standing. He had the dagger in his hands, and he admired it closely.
Zack tried to wiggle backward. If he could inch back far enough, he might be able to deliver a kick that would send Seamus over the balcony. That probably wouldn’t do much. Seamus might even be able to fly. But Zack wouldn’t give up. He couldn’t.
Seamus tilted his head like he’d heard some distant melody and was trying to catch the tune. With a calm expression, he twirled the dagger in his hand and then drove it downward into Zack’s chest. The blade lacerated his right lung, and breathing changed from hard to painfully impossible.
Not impossible. Still breathing. I can still kill him. I have to.Zack gritted his teeth. Seamus left the blade in him and stood.
So Zack wrenched it free with his good hand and forced himself upward.
Seamus was sitting on the other goddamn outdoor couch. He had his arm across the back of it like he was relaxing duringa night with friends, and he continued to hold his head as if he heard some song he was remembering. “What do you think, darling?”
Zack was about to tell him to go to hell.
But Anton had come to the broken door. He slid the remaining piece open and leaned against the frame. “Are you certain? Last time, it didn’t work out so well.”
“It’s been six hundred years. I think I’m ready to try again.”
“Try—” Zack managed the one word, but blood filled his throat. He coughed, and once he started, he struggled to stop. His vision swam.
Where is Roger? Did Anton kill him? Did he kill Takashi? The others?Zack tightened his grip around his dagger’s hilt, but he knew his grasp wasn’t as firm as it had been. His strength was melting away, slipping from him like the blood leaving his body.
“That annoying tattoo is in the way, but you can feel it, can’t you? The whisper of it.” Seamus stood smoothly. “Here, let me show you.”
The strike for Zack’s jaw came too slow, and even in his weakened state, Zack managed to sway out of the way. But that left him straighter in stance so Seamus’s fist connected firmly in his stomach. Zack doubled over.I’ll kill him. I’ll fucking kill them both.
“That mangled and that desire is that strong in him?” Anton said.
“You felt it, then?”
“Like a shadow cast upon the wall, but I know the shape of it.” Anton retreated into the suite. “If you’re going to do it, be sure about it, though. Wouldn’t want you to waste the time.”
“I suppose that’s fair,” Seamus murmured.
Then he struck Zack. And he hit him again.
Bones were cracking. Breaking. Pain was becoming too much to hold on to, and the world was a spin of color except for Seamus. His fist. His foot. His bright red eyes.
