Bad idea. The pain sizzled down through my leg like hot fat.
I blocked it with adrenaline and anger, and charged her. If you’re fighting someone with a short weapon, you stay out of range. But against a long weapon, you have to get in close. I reckoned those well-muscled legs counted as a pair of long weapons. She was quick, though, grabbing both my upper arms with viselike fingers, her breath hot in my face.
Her skill so far had told me she was trained but was not a fighter by nature. And she clearly didn’t spar with anyone who was willing to mess up those elegant features. I snapped my head forwards to butt her full in the middle of her long slim nose with my forehead, hearing the solid crunching tear of cartilage right before the scream.
Mother!
I reared back. My mother had shrunk into her chair, terrified into silence by the sudden eruption of violence around her. It was only when she saw the blood start to squirt that she’d let rip.
Blondie tried to boot me in the stomach but I was close enough to downgrade the blow into a shove. Even so, I cannoned back into the arm of my mother’s chair. As I sprawled over it, the abandoned knitting loomed large in my field of vision. I grabbed for one of the needles and yanked it straight out of the web of wool that anchored it.
When Blondie tried to launch another venomous kick—towards my head this time—I stabbed the twelve-inch needle straight through the fleshy part of her right thigh with enough force to penetrate the muscle completely and tent—but not break—the skin on the other side.
She collapsed back onto the sofa, yelping in her distress. I glanced at Sean. He’d got Don on his knees with his face jammed hard up against the wall by the doorway. He had the big man’s feet crossed at the ankles and fingers linked on top of his head. Sean’s hand almost disappeared into the folds of flesh at the back of his captive’s neck with the force he was using to keep him there.
He nodded to me. I nodded back.
“I’m guessing the polo was pushing it too far, huh?”
I managed a rusty half smile. Blondie was still rolling around on the sofa, trying to evade the pain. She certainly knew a lot of very innovative swearwords for someone so well-bred but, other than invective, she was out of fight. The shock of the unexpected blow to the face had more to do with it than the severity of either injury, in my opinion.
Her nervous system had certainly prioritized the broken nose over the hole through her leg. I’d managed to split the skin of the bridge as well as damage the underlying structure. Hardly surprising that my forehead felt like I’d a lump the size of a golf ball on it. Blondie needed her nose packed and set and probably glued back together as well, but it wasn’t life-threatening. She could damn well wait.
Meanwhile, I wasn’t going to leave her with a weapon, albeit an embedded one. I leaned down and, before she could protest, yanked the needle back out of her flesh with deliberate carelessness. That seemed to bring the leg wound back to prominence again. I felt the ache in my own thigh and was aloof to her pain.
I glanced over at my mother. She was quiet now, but with that dangerously calm demeanor that usually denotes a part of the brain is refusing to accept the input offered to it and has temporarily closed for repair.
Very slowly, she got to her feet, her movements jerky and stiff.
“Actually, I think a cup of tea might be a very good idea, Charlotte,” she said, her voice rather reedy. “Don’t you?”
“For heaven’s sake, Mother—” I began, but Sean caught my eye and gave a tiny shake of his head. Let her do it. Something normal. It’s her way of coping.
I took a breath. “Yes, please,” I said meekly. “That would be lovely.”
She headed for the kitchen, carefully stepping over Don’s feet almost without seeming to register the nature of the obstruction. At the doorway she paused, turned back, and her eyes swept slowly
I blocked it with adrenaline and anger, and charged her. If you’re fighting someone with a short weapon, you stay out of range. But against a long weapon, you have to get in close. I reckoned those well-muscled legs counted as a pair of long weapons. She was quick, though, grabbing both my upper arms with viselike fingers, her breath hot in my face.
Her skill so far had told me she was trained but was not a fighter by nature. And she clearly didn’t spar with anyone who was willing to mess up those elegant features. I snapped my head forwards to butt her full in the middle of her long slim nose with my forehead, hearing the solid crunching tear of cartilage right before the scream.
Mother!
I reared back. My mother had shrunk into her chair, terrified into silence by the sudden eruption of violence around her. It was only when she saw the blood start to squirt that she’d let rip.
Blondie tried to boot me in the stomach but I was close enough to downgrade the blow into a shove. Even so, I cannoned back into the arm of my mother’s chair. As I sprawled over it, the abandoned knitting loomed large in my field of vision. I grabbed for one of the needles and yanked it straight out of the web of wool that anchored it.
When Blondie tried to launch another venomous kick—towards my head this time—I stabbed the twelve-inch needle straight through the fleshy part of her right thigh with enough force to penetrate the muscle completely and tent—but not break—the skin on the other side.
She collapsed back onto the sofa, yelping in her distress. I glanced at Sean. He’d got Don on his knees with his face jammed hard up against the wall by the doorway. He had the big man’s feet crossed at the ankles and fingers linked on top of his head. Sean’s hand almost disappeared into the folds of flesh at the back of his captive’s neck with the force he was using to keep him there.
He nodded to me. I nodded back.
“I’m guessing the polo was pushing it too far, huh?”
I managed a rusty half smile. Blondie was still rolling around on the sofa, trying to evade the pain. She certainly knew a lot of very innovative swearwords for someone so well-bred but, other than invective, she was out of fight. The shock of the unexpected blow to the face had more to do with it than the severity of either injury, in my opinion.
Her nervous system had certainly prioritized the broken nose over the hole through her leg. I’d managed to split the skin of the bridge as well as damage the underlying structure. Hardly surprising that my forehead felt like I’d a lump the size of a golf ball on it. Blondie needed her nose packed and set and probably glued back together as well, but it wasn’t life-threatening. She could damn well wait.
Meanwhile, I wasn’t going to leave her with a weapon, albeit an embedded one. I leaned down and, before she could protest, yanked the needle back out of her flesh with deliberate carelessness. That seemed to bring the leg wound back to prominence again. I felt the ache in my own thigh and was aloof to her pain.
I glanced over at my mother. She was quiet now, but with that dangerously calm demeanor that usually denotes a part of the brain is refusing to accept the input offered to it and has temporarily closed for repair.
Very slowly, she got to her feet, her movements jerky and stiff.
“Actually, I think a cup of tea might be a very good idea, Charlotte,” she said, her voice rather reedy. “Don’t you?”
“For heaven’s sake, Mother—” I began, but Sean caught my eye and gave a tiny shake of his head. Let her do it. Something normal. It’s her way of coping.
I took a breath. “Yes, please,” I said meekly. “That would be lovely.”
She headed for the kitchen, carefully stepping over Don’s feet almost without seeming to register the nature of the obstruction. At the doorway she paused, turned back, and her eyes swept slowly
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