Chapter 15 Danica
Danica
The door explodes inward, splinters flying like deadly confetti. I barely register the ugly mug barreling towards me before my hands reach for my daggers, muscle memory taking over as adrenaline surges through my veins.
"Yer comin' with me, wench," he snarls, his breath reeking of cheap ale and poor life choices.
Oh, hell no.
I see Nixie fleeing the room, her skirts billowing behind her. I don't blame her—this is about to get ugly.
I don't hesitate. I react. I use the table as a launchpad, propelling myself into a double kick that would make any action hero proud. My legs whirl around like lethal pinwheels, sending this jerk flying like a sack of potatoes.
He slams into the wall with a satisfying thud, his body crumpling. But I'm not finished. I grab the wooden chair and bring it down on his head with all my force, the wood shattering as he weakly tries to shield himself.
But this brute is resilient. He drags himself to his feet, his sword sliding out with a sinister rasp. I can see the fury smoldering in his eyes, the promise of retribution etched into every line of his ugly mug.
That's when I get a good look at his face, and holy shit, it's like something out of a horror movie.
This dude is built like a brick, with a mane of red hair that looks like it hasn't seen a comb in years.
But it's his eyes that catch my attention—they're red and swollen like someone used his face as a punching bag.
Come and get it, you overgrown oaf. I've got a blade in each hand and a point to prove, and I'll be damned if I'm going to let this numbskull take me down without a fight.
Let's dance, asshole.
The pirate's sword slices through the air with a deadly whistle. I bring my daggers up just in time. The sound of metal clashing against metal is like music to my ears, a sweet symphony of "fuck you, not today."
The force of the blow rattles my teeth and sends shockwaves up my arms, but I'm not about to flinch. I grit my teeth and shove him back with everything I've got. He goes flying like a rag doll, slamming into the wall with a satisfying thud for a second time.
I take a moment to catch my breath, but the stench of stale sweat and cheap booze rolling off this guy is enough to make me want to hurl. But I don't have time to dwell on his questionable hygiene because he's already back on his feet and coming at me again.
"Stop fightin', bitch," the pirate snarls, spittle flying from his lips. "Ye won't win with me."
I can't help but laugh, the sound harsh and mocking. "Oh, buddy," I drawl, twirling my daggers. "You have no idea who you're fucking with."
He lunges, his sword flashing in a deadly arc. I dodge to the side, feeling the rush of air as the blade misses me by inches. I lash out with my daggers, the razor-sharp edges slicing through his sleeve and drawing blood.
He roars in pain and anger, charging at me like a raging bull. I sidestep his clumsy attack, my foot lashing out to catch him behind the knee. He stumbles, his sword clattering to the ground as he falls.
But he's not done yet. He rolls to his feet with surprising agility, his fists clenched and ready. I barely have time to brace myself before he's on me, his meaty hands grabbing for my throat.
I ram my knee into his balls, a wicked grin spreading across my face as he crumples. His face turns a delightful shade of purple that clashes horribly with his ginger hair.
But this bastard is made of sterner stuff. He's back on his feet before I can catch my breath, his meaty paws knocking my daggers out of my hands. His fingers wrap around my throat like a vice, squeezing the life out of me with a sadistic gleam in his eye.
I can feel my lungs screaming for air and my vision blurs. My head feels like it's about to explode as this asshole cuts off my air supply. I gather every last shred of strength, channeling my inner warrior princess, and drive my knee into his nuts again.
But apparently, this guy's balls are made of steel. He grunts like a pig and squeezes even harder, his fingers digging into my flesh like hot pokers. I can feel my consciousness starting to slip away, my body going limp as my brain screams for oxygen.
I am not going to let this overgrown ape choke me out without a fight.
I summon all my strength, channeling all those hours of training with Rhyland and Erik. With a burst of adrenaline-fueled fury, I slam my hands down on his forearms. The shock of the blow loosens his grip just enough for me to wiggle free, gasping for air like a fish out of water.
I don't hesitate. I dive for my daggers like a woman possessed, my fingers closing around the hilts just as he lunges for me again.
The world narrows to the frenzied dance of combat; my senses are heightened to a razor's edge as I fight on pure instinct and muscle memory. I'm forced to rely on my skill and determination without my powers to aid me.
The pirate is relentless, his attacks coming fast and furious, each backed by a strength born of desperation and greed. I can see it in his eyes—the hunger for whatever bounty he thinks he can claim by capturing me.
I duck and weave, my daggers flashing in the dim light as I parry his blows and strike back with my own. The clash of steel on steel echoes through the room, mingling with our grunts of exertion and the frantic pounding of my own heart.
Sweat stings my eyes, and my lungs burn with each ragged breath, but I push through the pain and fatigue, knowing that to falter now would be to forfeit my life. I can feel the adrenaline surging through my veins, a wild, reckless energy that lends strength to my limbs and speed to my reflexes.
But even with all my skill and determination, I can feel myself starting to falter. The pirate is stronger than me and has the advantage of brute force. Each blow I block sends shockwaves up my arms, and I can feel my grip on my daggers starting to weaken.
He sees his opening and lunges forward, his sword arcing towards my throat in a deadly slash. I twist to the side, but I'm a fraction of a second too slow. The blade bites into my shoulder, sending a white-hot bolt of agony lancing through my body.
I cry out, my dagger falling from my nerveless fingers as I stagger back, my vision blurring with pain. The pirate presses his advantage, his fist slamming into my face, once—twice—three times in rapid succession.
I feel my nose break, the crunch of cartilage, and the warm gush of blood filling my mouth. My head snaps back with each blow, stars exploding behind my eyelids as my brain rattles around in my skull.
The world tilts and spins, and my knees give out beneath me. I hit the ground hard, the impact driving the air from my lungs. I try to push myself up to keep fighting, but my arms are like jelly, and my muscles refuse to obey my commands.
The last thing I see before the darkness claims me is the pirate's boot, his foot drawing back in preparation for a final, vicious kick.
And then there's nothing but the taste of blood and the sound of my ragged breathing as I slip into unconsciousness, the gypsy's ominous warning still ringing in my ears.