Page 20 of Gladiator Moon

Baltazar first points at the wood sprite, then at me, and asks again if we are ready. I answer yes, though I can’t hear what the sprite says in return. I assume it is a ‘yes,’ because Baltazar chops both arms down and shouts, “Begin!”

Instantly, my inner alarm screams.

The little hellion rockets at me like a bat out of hell, her two short swords spinning in her tiny hands like mini propellers. Pretty sure her hands rotate independently of her wrists.

I don’t know, and I don’t have time to find out.

I twist away from the flashing blades and catch sight of the miniature wings buzzing on her back, which explains how she launched herself at me so fast. I’ve faced dark fairies before. This isn’t new.

I sprout my wings and spring into the air. My wings snap open as I reach a hand for the waiting glass of water. The liquid answers my call, racing toward me before hardening into my trusted ice sword.

Meanwhile, the wood sprite comes at me like a murderous little prop plane, the reddish sunlight flashing off her twirling blades.

Her short swords are, in fact, no longer than steak knives, but she wields them with terrifying precision. One blade flashes toward my eyes while the other darts for the tendons behind my knee.

The ice sword flashes down, catching the first blade with a ringing crack that shoots white frost through the air. The second blade skims my thigh, slicing through my jeans and drawing blood.

The crowd roars; apparently, they like blood.

The sprite hisses at me through tiny, pointed teeth. Her wings are a blur behind her, translucent and veined like leaves. Her skin glows faintly green beneath bark-brown armor stitched together from thorns, beetle shells, and what looks suspiciously like the rib bones of something mouse-sized and very dead.

She screams and launches herself toward my face, both swords cutting in a tight silver wheel. I lean back, but feel one blade nick my cheek. I bring my dark angel wings around me in a hard snap. The gust blasts her backward.

She recovers instantly, banking off a column of shimmering blue light that marks one edge of the arena. The crowd gasps as she kicks off the invisible barrier and comes rocketing back at me.

Fast little shit.

I drop flat onto my back, my wings splayed out under me as her blades slice through the space where my throat had been. Then I kick up, flip backward onto my feet, and bring the ice sword around in a wide arc.

She darts under it, of course.

I am beginning to see why she is nearly unbeatable. One foot tall. Maybe less. Fighting her is like trying to duel a possessed hummingbird with car keys.

Next, she slashes at my ankle. I hop over her, twisting in midair with a little help from my wings. I land behind her and stab the ice sword into the sand between us. Frost races outward in a jagged circle, turning the floor white and brittle.

She slips.

Right, it is a trick I discovered when practicing with Brett, my new son-in-law. He had wanted to duel me as a velociraptor, the dinosaur he could shape shift into at will. Turns out his claws are as hard as steel. It had been quite the sparring session, and I’m sure we looked wicked cool. A winged vampire fighting a nine-foot-tall velociraptor, who blocks and parries my sword attacks. At one point, I had driven my sword in the ground, causing ice to form, and causing him to fall on his thick rump. Useful. And kinda funny.

Well, it isn’t so funny now, though definitely useful.

I could have ended it there. I could have pinned her with the flat of my blade, knocked her out, crushed her with one hand, or simply removed her cute little head, which I would never do. She is safe with me. And I think she knows I hold back. Her eyes widen with surprise, perhaps waiting for the death blow that never comes; instead, I wink at her.

And let her roll away. The crowd boos.

High above, in the ridiculous royal box next to the golden throne, Baltazar leans forward over the railing. “There will be no winking or mercy, Samantha Moon. You risk being struck down where you stand.”

“Blowhard,” I mumble.

“I heard that! Get to it, Samantha Moon.”

Get to what, I wonder? The dismemberment and mayhem? Or something else?

Meanwhile, the confused sprite circles me at about waist high, studying me, perhaps looking for a weakness she might not be able to see; after all, I’m pretty tough too. Her chest heaves with little gasps, her wings flutter uncertainly, her twin swords (or knives) held in a perfect cross before her. She knows. She knows I spared her. Worse, she knows the crowd knows something went wrong.

“You insult me,” she snaps.

“I’m trying to save your life.”