He moves faster than the flying weapon, dodging it with a dramatic dip of his immense body. The ax whirs past him, and I leap, latching onto him. Clambering up his compromised form and kicking my foot against the gouge in the back of his leg.
Hock tips his head and roars, dropping to his knees with such heft the ground trembles, the crowd gasping as I bind the leather ribbon around his thick neck and tighten.
Tighten.
Choking sounds rupture from his no-doubt gaping mouth, fuel to spur me on. Hock may look like a mountain and move like he slid from the womb swinging, but his neck is still delicate.
He still needs to breathe.
I pour all my strength into keeping the bind taut, the muscles in my arms and chest ripped with a tearing burn from the immense effort. Hock claws at his throat, failing to get his fingers beneath the leather, instead jerking his entire body forward.
Using his heft to his advantage.
Anticipating the maneuver, I latch my legs around his waist, becoming a willing passenger to the shift. We collide with the ground, our left shoulders boring into the hot sand.
He lurches, spine arching, trying to shuck me off his body. I tighten my legs and fists, moving with his frantic motions, clinging to him like a life-sucking parasite.
The strips of leather cut into my palms, my lips pull back from my teeth, my brain pumping so full of blood that my head goes light and airy. The world rocks around us, like we’re on a raft in a lake of undulating sand, and I just know that this is my only shot.
That if I don’t get him now, I’m fucked.
“Die, you corrupt fuck!” I growl, pouring the last of my strength into another wrench of my arms, further tightening the bind.
He reaches back, swatting around my head, clawing at my braid. He yanks it, but I can tell by the lack of force that he’s fading.
Warm anticipation bubbles in my chest.
My scalp burns from his desperate tugs that grow weaker …
Weaker …
All the tension loosens from his body, and his head flops to the side with the drop of his arm. Relief flurries through me like a snowstorm, pouring up my throat as a whimpered exhale.
I did it.
He’s out.
Now to cut off his head.
Battling for breath, I look through the haze of heat waves, straight into the sun’s harsh glare, locating my weapon that looks both close and incredibly far away.
I release the bind, shoving at Hock’s big, limp body with my wounded hands, trying to wiggle my leg out from where it’s crushed beneath him. Finally inching free, I clamber to a wobbly stand—the entire world tipping, swaying. The ax as one, then splitting …
Splitting again.
I focus on one and charge forward, folding over to swipe it up, scooping only grains of sand, the illusion disintegrating like it’s made of fog. Groaning, I tumble forward, catching myself in an unsteady crouch, the bite on my breast thumping with a deep, destructive ache that spurs my hunger to hack through his throat. To fist his hair, raise my gory trophy, then walk out of here and never look back.
Gaze whipping around, I seek the weapon.
Where is it—
Where is it—
Where is it—
My stare latches onto its honed head glinting in the sun, cushioned in the sand just to my right. Another flurry of relief ices my insides.
I stretch out, reaching.
A shadow burdens my peripheral—the only warning I get before something hard cracks against the side of my head.
Pain explodes in my temple as my body soars too fast.
Too slow.
Lights flash across my waning vision, and I collide with the sand so hard my teeth impale my tongue, something warm spilling down the side of my face while I stare at the crater’s sheer side.
Unblinking.
Unmoving.
I just … lie. Lids heavy, head heavier. Feeling weaker and more brittle than I did when I woke confused in that cell so many aurora cycles ago—way back at the very beginning.
My sluggish mind churns as I try to grapple this new, warped reality into something that makes sense …
Was he not dead?
Did I not strangle him for long enough?
Was he playing me the fool?
Get up, Raeve.
Groaning, I roll sideways, then push to my hands and knees.
Wobble.
I lift my head, seeing double the tents. Double the crowd. Double the big, glaring ball of sun.
My arms buckle, and my face collides with the sand.
Hock’s weapon whirls through the air, thumping to a halt beside my ax before I’m cast in his broad shadow.
Get. The. Fuck. Up!
Snarling, I finally manage to clamber to my feet and spin.
The ground tips.
Heavier than I’ve ever felt, I stumble with the world’s violent tilt, barely catching myself.