Miss you!
While Hock bats at his eyes, I dive upon his back, wrapping my arm around his throat, just about to slash my ax across his jugular when he grips my arm and hauls his body forward.
I feel my blade make contact as I’m whipping through the air, bracing myself for impact so that when I collide with the ground, I’m immediately rolling out of the way. Marginally avoiding a blind swing of his mace that bashes the ground at my back.
I leap to my feet, seeing him scurry back, padding at the too-shallow slit in his throat.
Damn.
He leers at me through bloodshot eyes, seething, bellowing boisterous words while he reaches into the pocket of his pants. Probably trying to check that his balls still exist.
Not wanting to give him too much time to recalibrate, I charge again, dodging left and right, a few long leaps away when he pulls his hand free.
I see the thin aureate tendril dangling from his fingers too late, already throwing my body in that direction—ax swinging as he thrusts his hand forward. As a small, hissing serpent is tossed through the air between us, maw bared.
Fangs stretched.
My weapon slits through Hock’s thigh just as the serpent strikes my chest with a bite of sting.
I roll, tumbling across the ground, throwing myself onto my feet again and backstepping. Watching the small serpent wiggle off through the sand—practically blending with the grains.
What.
The.
Fuck.
I cup the throbbing hurt on the upper swell of my left breast, not taking my eyes off the asshole now smirking at me from a handful of long leaps away. Like he’s already won despite the fact that he’s baring three fresh slash marks that are leaking blood all over the sand.
“Who goes around carrying those in their pocket—”
A sudden flash of dizziness makes me wobble, and I throw my hand out to balance myself to the tune of the crowd’s gasps and murmurs.
Creators … That serpent spiked me with its venom.
Hock chuffs, then charges.
I charge too, because there’s no way I’m standing stationary while this fuck comes at me again.
Hand fisted around my ax, I consider which two ribs I’m going to slice between, dodging to the left, another tip of dizziness making the ground rock with such violence I stumble a step.
His weapon collides with my shoulder, and a burst of pain explodes across my collarbone, down into my elbow.
Scurrying back, I cradle my arm close to my body, gaping at the stalking male, sawing breath into my parched lungs …
What was that?
My dodge was perfect … until it wasn’t.
Another wobble, and a bulb of fear explodes behind my ribs, realization dawning like aurora ribbons rising in my belly, tangling around my spine, wriggling up my throat.
The venom is moving through my system fast.
Too fast.
The entire world seems to tilt sideways, my steps floundering with it, forcing me to plant my hand on the sand to catch myself. A flash of satisfaction ignites Hock’s features, his lips curling into a victorious smirk.
“You dishonorable fuck,” I snarl, charging—dodging side to side, finally dipping low and sliding along the ground. I whip my ax out and slash it through his calf muscle in the same instance his weapon whooshes past the side of my face.
He roars, catapulting forward in stomping stumbles, taking himself far enough away from me that he’s able to check the laceration in his pants, the fresh wound pouring blood down the back of his leg.
His eyes bulge with disbelief.
“Couldn’t swallow the fact that you were going to lose to a female half your size, huh?” I push to my feet, still sneering. “I will fucking ruin you, then boot your severed head all the way to The Fade,” I growl, charging again—
The world jerks, taking me with it. My hand flies out to catch myself, only for it to plummet straight through what I thought was the ground.
Heart lurching, I stagger into an awkward, sideways crouch, catching myself on the actual ground—my heart pumping hard.
Fuck.
I meet Hock’s slashing gaze as he tests his weight on his injured leg …
This is not good.
I need to finish this—fast.
I shove up, prowling in a wide arc Hock mimics in limping strides. With my stare firmly cast on my snarling opponent, I pick at the leather bind wrapped around the pommel of my ax, unraveling the taut, sturdy length of material.
Come on, asshole. Make a move.
He charges.
So do I—converging toward him at a rapid pace.
A few long lunges away, I whip my hand back and toss my ax. It slices through the air with the speed of a lightning strike, propelling straight for his chest—