street, larger than this one. If there were more cars on the road, and one of them stopped for me, maybe I could get away. But if I wasn’t quick enough, they’d tackle me within a few meters. I shuddered at what they’d do to me.
Like a track on loop, Dad’s lessons on self defense played in my head. Poke the eyes, rip the corners of their mouth, kick them real hard in the balls. And run. Poke the eyes, rip the corners of their mouth . . . But it’d make a squat load of difference against five men.
The leader moved into the middle of the street. He made a motion with his hands and the pack fanned until they all stood side by side.
It was now or never.
I charged onto the road toward them. Darted to my right, sprinting for all I was worth. Just push faster. Outrun them.
A hand flickered to my left. It slapped my face so hard I tasted blood in my mouth.
I gulped in air to scream, but someone kicked me in the back, knocking the wind out of me. I spun round to face my attackers, readying my fingers to poke their eyes, but before I could do it, I felt a blow to my gut that sent me falling backwards.
My shoulder hit the street with a snap. I screamed in agony. The leader brandished a curved knife and smiled as he came closer. It was only going to get worse. Ignoring my shoulder, I scrambled backwards, trying to pick myself up.
“Triangles or squares?” The leader cut three lines in the air with his knife, followed by another four.
The memory of the torn body on Maple Street flashed in my head. The fear suddenly disappeared. Anger leaked into its pl ace and I could taste its power. Another power was there too. Unfamiliar, but strong. I rolled backwards and sprung up to my feet. “You’re going to have to try a lot harder than that to take me down.” I was so livid I could feel nothing else, not the pain of my broken collarbone, or the fear of the curved knife as it lunged toward me.
It missed by a long shot. And not just because I jumped out of the way.
A long blade burst out of his chest, and ripped him down the middle. He fell to the street, the smile wiped from his face. His skin looked like it was sagging or deflating. I gagged.
Shaken, I rubbed my eyes and looked up to see blonde hair swishing as a woman drew out her blade. She ducked under a knife Thick Eyebrows threw toward her, and as she did I saw him. Attic, in the middle of the pack, fighting two men much larger than himself.
Attic? Fighting? What the . . .?
Thrusty Hips grabbed my hair from behind, effortlessly lifting me off the ground. I cried out, every inch of my scalp burning. It felt like the top of my head would rip off.
The next second Attic had me in one arm, lifting me so I couldn’t feel the pain. His other arm, from what I could tell, clutched Thrusty’s throat. I tried to help Attic by kicking my heel into Thrusty’s balls. This was the guy who wanted to rape me before killing me, and he deserved so much worse.
Attic flashed me a look and when he faced Thrusty again his face had paled, his jawline thick with tight muscles. His eyes had grown so icy, I felt cold looking at them. My hair dropped over my shoulders as Attic gently lowered me to the ground. “Are you all right?”
Mid-nod, my sight caught two daggers flying straight toward Attic’s back. Without a thought , I shoved him to the ground. I trailed only a second after him, but even that made a difference. The first dagger whizzed past my left ear, but the second pierced my right shoulder.
Pain and rage bubbled so fiercely, I was sure it steamed through my skin. A rush of wind circled me. Two men got hold of the blonde by the neck and ankles.
Attic shouted.
My body heated up.
The ground rumbled like thunder.
Then everything went silent. No street noise. No wind. Not even a breath, and then right between my shoulder blades a knife sliced down my spine, splitting me open. I screamed, and lost consciousness.
CHAPTER 9
TAP. TAP. TAP.
If I hadn’t been trying to hear
Like a track on loop, Dad’s lessons on self defense played in my head. Poke the eyes, rip the corners of their mouth, kick them real hard in the balls. And run. Poke the eyes, rip the corners of their mouth . . . But it’d make a squat load of difference against five men.
The leader moved into the middle of the street. He made a motion with his hands and the pack fanned until they all stood side by side.
It was now or never.
I charged onto the road toward them. Darted to my right, sprinting for all I was worth. Just push faster. Outrun them.
A hand flickered to my left. It slapped my face so hard I tasted blood in my mouth.
I gulped in air to scream, but someone kicked me in the back, knocking the wind out of me. I spun round to face my attackers, readying my fingers to poke their eyes, but before I could do it, I felt a blow to my gut that sent me falling backwards.
My shoulder hit the street with a snap. I screamed in agony. The leader brandished a curved knife and smiled as he came closer. It was only going to get worse. Ignoring my shoulder, I scrambled backwards, trying to pick myself up.
“Triangles or squares?” The leader cut three lines in the air with his knife, followed by another four.
The memory of the torn body on Maple Street flashed in my head. The fear suddenly disappeared. Anger leaked into its pl ace and I could taste its power. Another power was there too. Unfamiliar, but strong. I rolled backwards and sprung up to my feet. “You’re going to have to try a lot harder than that to take me down.” I was so livid I could feel nothing else, not the pain of my broken collarbone, or the fear of the curved knife as it lunged toward me.
It missed by a long shot. And not just because I jumped out of the way.
A long blade burst out of his chest, and ripped him down the middle. He fell to the street, the smile wiped from his face. His skin looked like it was sagging or deflating. I gagged.
Shaken, I rubbed my eyes and looked up to see blonde hair swishing as a woman drew out her blade. She ducked under a knife Thick Eyebrows threw toward her, and as she did I saw him. Attic, in the middle of the pack, fighting two men much larger than himself.
Attic? Fighting? What the . . .?
Thrusty Hips grabbed my hair from behind, effortlessly lifting me off the ground. I cried out, every inch of my scalp burning. It felt like the top of my head would rip off.
The next second Attic had me in one arm, lifting me so I couldn’t feel the pain. His other arm, from what I could tell, clutched Thrusty’s throat. I tried to help Attic by kicking my heel into Thrusty’s balls. This was the guy who wanted to rape me before killing me, and he deserved so much worse.
Attic flashed me a look and when he faced Thrusty again his face had paled, his jawline thick with tight muscles. His eyes had grown so icy, I felt cold looking at them. My hair dropped over my shoulders as Attic gently lowered me to the ground. “Are you all right?”
Mid-nod, my sight caught two daggers flying straight toward Attic’s back. Without a thought , I shoved him to the ground. I trailed only a second after him, but even that made a difference. The first dagger whizzed past my left ear, but the second pierced my right shoulder.
Pain and rage bubbled so fiercely, I was sure it steamed through my skin. A rush of wind circled me. Two men got hold of the blonde by the neck and ankles.
Attic shouted.
My body heated up.
The ground rumbled like thunder.
Then everything went silent. No street noise. No wind. Not even a breath, and then right between my shoulder blades a knife sliced down my spine, splitting me open. I screamed, and lost consciousness.
CHAPTER 9
TAP. TAP. TAP.
If I hadn’t been trying to hear
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