stupid.”
She raises her fist, swivels, and slashes.
At first I think she’s missed him. She only flailed at him—a jerking motion, a quick flash of blade. Enough for a minor flesh wound, maybe. Not enough to do anything but anger him.
But Dagursson shrieks.
He lurches backward, hands cupped over his face. And then I spot the smoke drifting from between his fingers.
“Ann,” I call, stumbling toward her. “Look at me. Are you okay?” She nods wordlessly, staring at Dagursson.
We’re both astounded. I lean against her, fighting to suppress my pain. “What did you do?”
There’s a shift in energy, a pulsing, and slowly the vampire rises, stands tall. He lowers his hands from his face. A grisly black wound runs down his cheek. It’s smoldering.
His attention swings to Annelise. He’s zeroed in on the weapon in her hand. “Show me your weapon.” His voice is an inhuman drone, piercing my ears, reverberating in my chest. Rage has deformed his face, making him look more demon than man. “Show me, girl. What do you have?”
My reaction is instant. I insert myself in front of her. I can’t raise my right hand, and so I lift the urumi in my left. “She has me.”
“How quaint.” He spits the words at us, then grabs a fistful of my hair, shoving my head aside to get a better look at her. “Acari, you will hand me that dagger. Give me the dagger, and I promise to be quick as I kill the boy.” He gives my head a shake.
I wrench free, feeling hair tear from my scalp. I reach behind me, pushing her back. The motion sends a fresh curtain of blood spilling down my back. She sucks in a quick breath, stepping close again, and touches me tenderly above my wound. There is no parting us.
“You’ll have to go through me,” I say. The handle of my weapon is warm in my palm, like a living thing. An extension of me, of us.
He darts a hand out around me, snatching at her, and I crack the urumi, slashing down. The metal sings as it whips through the air toward him. I step back to twirl it up and then down again, one fluid movement. Sketching an X in the air, I sever the hand from his arm.
The impact shoots my broken rib deeper into my flesh, and a great sound escapes me, a battle cry that is my defiance.
As he stares at the stump of his arm, his expression of shocked disbelief twists, sharpens. It becomes one of wrath. He leaps at me, a savage, slavering, wordless thing, but I’ve whipped the urumi around him and snagged his chest. He staggers, and it jolts the weapon from my grip, sending a shock up my arm. Deep in my body, broken bone grazes something vital, and I stumble, too, pitching sideways and hitting his desk, sending papers flying. Blackness beckons, my vision gray and spotty.
But Annelise is completely focused. She prowls toward him—she’s the one stalking now. “Looks like I’ve got the upper hand, Master Dag.” She kicks his hand aside from where it’d fallen to the floor. “Get it? Hand?” She lunges and strikes.
This time I hear sizzling as her strange blade slices his arm, his back. She’d missed his heart, and yet he screeches—a monstrous, unearthly sound—and drops to his knees. Howling, he wrenches his body, trying to pat at his smoldering wounds. The room stinks of sulfur and rot.
She gives the knife a little toss to her hand, reseating the weapon in her palm. “Sorry, I know how you hate my jokes.”
I see her blade clearly now. A long, thin dagger, beautifully crafted—it feels as old at this island.
Dagursson sees it, too. It’s all he sees. “No,” he whispers. “How could this be?”
“They say you Vikings like a good death.” She squats and wraps an arm around him, forming a surreal tableau. Her eyes are fevered. She’s a goddess of fire and rage and madness. “Ready for yours?”
Like a creature enthralled, Dagursson is frozen in place, tracking the weapon as she raises her arm, dagger aimed at his heart. He’s murmuring something in a guttural language I
She raises her fist, swivels, and slashes.
At first I think she’s missed him. She only flailed at him—a jerking motion, a quick flash of blade. Enough for a minor flesh wound, maybe. Not enough to do anything but anger him.
But Dagursson shrieks.
He lurches backward, hands cupped over his face. And then I spot the smoke drifting from between his fingers.
“Ann,” I call, stumbling toward her. “Look at me. Are you okay?” She nods wordlessly, staring at Dagursson.
We’re both astounded. I lean against her, fighting to suppress my pain. “What did you do?”
There’s a shift in energy, a pulsing, and slowly the vampire rises, stands tall. He lowers his hands from his face. A grisly black wound runs down his cheek. It’s smoldering.
His attention swings to Annelise. He’s zeroed in on the weapon in her hand. “Show me your weapon.” His voice is an inhuman drone, piercing my ears, reverberating in my chest. Rage has deformed his face, making him look more demon than man. “Show me, girl. What do you have?”
My reaction is instant. I insert myself in front of her. I can’t raise my right hand, and so I lift the urumi in my left. “She has me.”
“How quaint.” He spits the words at us, then grabs a fistful of my hair, shoving my head aside to get a better look at her. “Acari, you will hand me that dagger. Give me the dagger, and I promise to be quick as I kill the boy.” He gives my head a shake.
I wrench free, feeling hair tear from my scalp. I reach behind me, pushing her back. The motion sends a fresh curtain of blood spilling down my back. She sucks in a quick breath, stepping close again, and touches me tenderly above my wound. There is no parting us.
“You’ll have to go through me,” I say. The handle of my weapon is warm in my palm, like a living thing. An extension of me, of us.
He darts a hand out around me, snatching at her, and I crack the urumi, slashing down. The metal sings as it whips through the air toward him. I step back to twirl it up and then down again, one fluid movement. Sketching an X in the air, I sever the hand from his arm.
The impact shoots my broken rib deeper into my flesh, and a great sound escapes me, a battle cry that is my defiance.
As he stares at the stump of his arm, his expression of shocked disbelief twists, sharpens. It becomes one of wrath. He leaps at me, a savage, slavering, wordless thing, but I’ve whipped the urumi around him and snagged his chest. He staggers, and it jolts the weapon from my grip, sending a shock up my arm. Deep in my body, broken bone grazes something vital, and I stumble, too, pitching sideways and hitting his desk, sending papers flying. Blackness beckons, my vision gray and spotty.
But Annelise is completely focused. She prowls toward him—she’s the one stalking now. “Looks like I’ve got the upper hand, Master Dag.” She kicks his hand aside from where it’d fallen to the floor. “Get it? Hand?” She lunges and strikes.
This time I hear sizzling as her strange blade slices his arm, his back. She’d missed his heart, and yet he screeches—a monstrous, unearthly sound—and drops to his knees. Howling, he wrenches his body, trying to pat at his smoldering wounds. The room stinks of sulfur and rot.
She gives the knife a little toss to her hand, reseating the weapon in her palm. “Sorry, I know how you hate my jokes.”
I see her blade clearly now. A long, thin dagger, beautifully crafted—it feels as old at this island.
Dagursson sees it, too. It’s all he sees. “No,” he whispers. “How could this be?”
“They say you Vikings like a good death.” She squats and wraps an arm around him, forming a surreal tableau. Her eyes are fevered. She’s a goddess of fire and rage and madness. “Ready for yours?”
Like a creature enthralled, Dagursson is frozen in place, tracking the weapon as she raises her arm, dagger aimed at his heart. He’s murmuring something in a guttural language I
Similar Books
