73. KILL THEM ALL #2
Killian slipped his hand into his invisible stash again and withdrew a rather large dagger with a wavy edge, similar to one I had seen in Aremis’s arsenal. “Let’s do this the old-fashioned way,” he said. “No power. Only weapons.”
“Fine. I’ll kill you any way you’d like,” I gritted.
It did not matter to me whether it was by my power or my blade or my bare hands. His blood would flood this forest floor when I was through with him.
The corner of his mouth lifted, but I paid no mind to it. I lunged the moment I got within a few steps of him.
I swung my dagger at his throat with a yell. He side-stepped the attack, but I didn’t stop advancing. I moved again, thrusting my weapon as I spun. He blocked it with his, the iron blades clanging together and sending sparks through the air.
I pulled back and landed a kick to his abdomen. As he bent forward with the impact, I switched the blade in my hands and drove my right fist into his exposed jaw. The satisfying crack that followed was music to my ears.
He wiped the blood that dribbled down his chin with the back of his wrist, then licked his lips as he laughed. “You may be a skilled fighter, but you don’t have it in you to kill me.”
“You think you know me, but you don’t.” I lunged again, crossing blades with him once, twice, three times, as he parried and pushed back again and again.
“I know enough to render you useless,” he said.
I didn’t reply.
I was rage and vengeance, spinning and slicing like a storm.
He swiped at me again, and I spun out of reach, but when I turned to face him once more, I stumbled to a halt.
Standing where he had just been, was Niall. His golden eyes stared back at me, but Killian’s dagger was still in his hand.
It wasn’t my mate. Not really. But gods, it was convincing.
I shook my head, but he approached, and every instinct inside me reared up in defiance.
It’s not him. It’s not him, I told myself.
He jutted forward, aiming his weapon at my heart. I forced my feet to move just in time. The wavy edge of the blade hissed through the air as I watched it narrowly miss my chest.
When I lifted my eyes again, he was smiling.
My mind spun, struggling to convince itself that this was not my mate. That this was Killian, and that he was a threat.
He sensed my struggle, and his smile broadened, turning into a menacing laugh. “Come on, Auren. Fight me.”
I raised my weapon, but he ported, and when I whirled to find him again, it was Liam, dagger poised at the ready.
Some sort of pathetic sound escaped my throat. I stole a look at my brother’s corpse in an attempt to assure myself that this was still a trick. His body was where I’d left it, but the animated version of him that tauntingly stood before me muddled my mind and turned my own thoughts against me.
How could I be sure Killian hadn’t slipped further into some trick or compulsion? How was I to know, without a doubt, that the figure that stood before me wasn’t my actual brother?
No—stop!
That was exactly what he wanted. To confuse me. To make me second-guess everything. To make me weak.
I shook my head again, trying to clear my thoughts and doubts.
The moment my brother’s body launched toward me, I hesitated. I barely had time to lift my blade, and his forearm battered against my wrist. The dagger was wrenched from my hand. I watched it tumble to the ground several feet away.
Everything afterward moved in slow motion.
His blade came down from above, but at the last minute, I reached with my left hand, catching it in my grip.
I cried out as the iron split into my palm, but I pushed past the pain, and drove my right elbow into his face, telling myself that it wasn’t my brother’s.
My brother was dead, and so was the king.
I had watched them both die by my enemies’ hands.
This was my enemy. And he would pay in blood.
The blow loosened his hold on his dagger, and I yanked it from his grasp, abandoning it to the forest floor as I lost all control of myself.
Time sped back up, just as a shriek worked its way up my throat and burst free in a scream.
I threw my body into Killian’s and took him to the ground, driving fist after fist into his face.
He took several hits that split his cheek and brow, until he was forced to shift back into his true self.
When he did, the blood on his face disappeared, but his skin remained cut open.
For a moment, he lay there, stunned by the onslaught, but when he finally gathered his wits, he punched back with a vengeance.
His knuckles struck my cheek just below my left eye, and stars broke across my vision.
Then his hand was in my hair, yanking me to the side until I was on my back, and he was on top of me.
He used his weight to pin my hips down as he raised his hand and punched me again and again and again.
A swirl of colors and lights danced in front of me as each hit rattled my skull. Something cracked. The coppery tang of blood flooded my mouth, and the familiar, stinging burn of a broken nose had me spitting and struggling for air.
I kicked my feet, bucking my hips to try and get him off of me.
I wasn’t going to be able to get out from under his weight, so I grappled between his punches until I caught hold of his shirt.
I fisted the fabric and pulled him down onto me.
The move caught him off guard, and his arms flailed to his sides, but the moment his chest was on mine, I swung my leg over his and threw all my momentum into rolling him onto his back.