painful
breaths to try to clear his nasal passages and throat of the
gas. His broken and mutilated wing hung limp at his side.
The other snapped angrily. He flexed his talons and
prepared to engage his enemy with the only weapon he had
left: brute force.
Stig and the Knight rushed one another. In a flash of
talons and sword, they crashed. Both drew blood and both
refused to give even an inch. Stig knew this would be a
fight to the death. For Cora’s sake, he hoped he was the
one limping away from the battle.
The Knight struck another victorious blow with the
sword. Stig hissed as the blade sliced through his forearm.
Blood splattered the slayer’s face. With every beat of his
heart, the nicked artery spurted blood. Stig didn’t have to
be a doctor to know that was probably a fatal wound. He
didn’t have much time.
Gathering all his strength, Stig lashed out at the Knight.
He raked his razor-sharp talons across the slayer’s chest
and followed with a quick swipe of the man’s throat. The
Knight’s sword hit the ground. He stumbled forward, a
look of shock etched on his face. Clutching his bloody
throat, the slayer gurgled and collapsed to his knees. A
few moments later, he fell on his face and expired.
Stig clamped a hand over his wounded arm and panted
from exertion. Taking another being’s life still affected
him. He’d done it more times than he cared to think about
over the centuries but it never got any easier. Perhaps that
was a good thing. He liked to think it was the best of his
humanity that allowed him to feel sadness at the loss of
life, even if that life belonged to an enemy.
“AARRGH!” Stig cried out in surprise and pain.
Something sharp pierced his back and belly. He glanced
down and spotted the tip of a similar dao blade poking
through his abdomen. In a moment of horrific pain, the
sword was withdrawn.
Stig fell to his knees. His insides burned. Blood poured
from the wound. He didn’t have to look over his shoulder.
He knew what had happened. The goon he’d thought he’d
finished clearly had a little life left in him, enough to strike
a final, deadly blow.
“Cora.” His whispered words would likely never reach
her ears. Somewhere behind him she lay unconscious and
possibly close to death herself from blood loss. There was
no way she’d escaped that rollover without sustaining
major injury. In a last desperate attempt to protect her, Stig
hoped her passing was quick and painless, so the Knights
wouldn’t be able to take her as a prisoner.
His, on the other hand, was sure to be gruesome.
Stig’s ears perked to the sound of the sword cutting
through the air as it lifted for one last swing. He braced
for the bite of the blade against his neck but it never came.
There was a loud snap and then a wet gurgle. Seconds
later, the goon fell onto Stig’s back. Stig rolled his
shoulders, sending the man’s body to the ground next to
him. A harpoon impaled his chest and throat. The upward
angle affirmed Stig’s suspicion—the speargun had been
fired from the ground.
“Stig?” Cora’s weak voice filled him with hope and a
renewed strength.
“Cora?” He turned slowly, his arm pressed to his
oozing gut, and found her half crawling, half dragging
herself toward him. She held a broken arm to her chest and
dragged her misshapen and bloody leg. A speargun rested
not far from her.
Stig was struck by the irony of the moment. He’d come
to save Cora’s life and she’d saved his.
“Oh, God, Stig.” Cora wept at the sight of his mangled
wing and bleeding stomach. Cringing in pain, she removed
her shirt and pressed the cloth to the deep wound. She
caressed his bloody face with her free hand. The change
took place more slowly this time. The pain was nearly
unbearable. “We have to get you to the hospital. I think
their SUV is still running. I can probably drive.”
He knew she couldn’t drive in her state. She’d kill
breaths to try to clear his nasal passages and throat of the
gas. His broken and mutilated wing hung limp at his side.
The other snapped angrily. He flexed his talons and
prepared to engage his enemy with the only weapon he had
left: brute force.
Stig and the Knight rushed one another. In a flash of
talons and sword, they crashed. Both drew blood and both
refused to give even an inch. Stig knew this would be a
fight to the death. For Cora’s sake, he hoped he was the
one limping away from the battle.
The Knight struck another victorious blow with the
sword. Stig hissed as the blade sliced through his forearm.
Blood splattered the slayer’s face. With every beat of his
heart, the nicked artery spurted blood. Stig didn’t have to
be a doctor to know that was probably a fatal wound. He
didn’t have much time.
Gathering all his strength, Stig lashed out at the Knight.
He raked his razor-sharp talons across the slayer’s chest
and followed with a quick swipe of the man’s throat. The
Knight’s sword hit the ground. He stumbled forward, a
look of shock etched on his face. Clutching his bloody
throat, the slayer gurgled and collapsed to his knees. A
few moments later, he fell on his face and expired.
Stig clamped a hand over his wounded arm and panted
from exertion. Taking another being’s life still affected
him. He’d done it more times than he cared to think about
over the centuries but it never got any easier. Perhaps that
was a good thing. He liked to think it was the best of his
humanity that allowed him to feel sadness at the loss of
life, even if that life belonged to an enemy.
“AARRGH!” Stig cried out in surprise and pain.
Something sharp pierced his back and belly. He glanced
down and spotted the tip of a similar dao blade poking
through his abdomen. In a moment of horrific pain, the
sword was withdrawn.
Stig fell to his knees. His insides burned. Blood poured
from the wound. He didn’t have to look over his shoulder.
He knew what had happened. The goon he’d thought he’d
finished clearly had a little life left in him, enough to strike
a final, deadly blow.
“Cora.” His whispered words would likely never reach
her ears. Somewhere behind him she lay unconscious and
possibly close to death herself from blood loss. There was
no way she’d escaped that rollover without sustaining
major injury. In a last desperate attempt to protect her, Stig
hoped her passing was quick and painless, so the Knights
wouldn’t be able to take her as a prisoner.
His, on the other hand, was sure to be gruesome.
Stig’s ears perked to the sound of the sword cutting
through the air as it lifted for one last swing. He braced
for the bite of the blade against his neck but it never came.
There was a loud snap and then a wet gurgle. Seconds
later, the goon fell onto Stig’s back. Stig rolled his
shoulders, sending the man’s body to the ground next to
him. A harpoon impaled his chest and throat. The upward
angle affirmed Stig’s suspicion—the speargun had been
fired from the ground.
“Stig?” Cora’s weak voice filled him with hope and a
renewed strength.
“Cora?” He turned slowly, his arm pressed to his
oozing gut, and found her half crawling, half dragging
herself toward him. She held a broken arm to her chest and
dragged her misshapen and bloody leg. A speargun rested
not far from her.
Stig was struck by the irony of the moment. He’d come
to save Cora’s life and she’d saved his.
“Oh, God, Stig.” Cora wept at the sight of his mangled
wing and bleeding stomach. Cringing in pain, she removed
her shirt and pressed the cloth to the deep wound. She
caressed his bloody face with her free hand. The change
took place more slowly this time. The pain was nearly
unbearable. “We have to get you to the hospital. I think
their SUV is still running. I can probably drive.”
He knew she couldn’t drive in her state. She’d kill
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