Azrael smirked. “Trying to wound my pride?” he asked before tipping his tricorne hat. “I’m insulted you think so little of me that it would work. Nevertheless, I accept your challenge—and Miss Zoey, I believe this means you and I have officially resumed our contest.”
“I believe it does,” she replied, coming shoulder to should with Ethan and narrowing her eyes. “Now call off your men.”
The dread pirate laughed and tipped his tricorne hat to the two of them. “But of course,” he said. He stuck two fingers in his mouth and blasted a whistle so loud and shrill, it put an end to the fighting on deck. “Listen here, you dirty scallywags,” he boomed. “There’ll not be a single blade raised or pistol shot while the three of us have a proper contest. If anyone here has the slightest inkling of going against that, you best be walking the plank right now because I’ll be feeding you to Leviathan myself, one bone at a time!”
“Aye, Captain,” cried one of his men. “But what of The Popinjay?”
“Reload the cannons and give her a broadside she won’t forget,” Azrael sneered.
“Sir? She’s inside the safe harbor,” someone called back. “We’ll be disqualified.”
“She fired first!” Azrael roared. “Now answer in kind!”
Death then sucked in a deep breath and calmly started down the stairs. “If I may offer one last bit of advice before we start, Captain. Try not to die too fast. It’s bad for the crew’s morale.”
“You first,” Ethan said, raising his magical pistol. The very instant he had a bead on Azrael’s chest, he pulled the trigger.
The pistol kicked like a wild mule, sparks, flame, and a billowing cloud of smoke shooting out of the weapon. At the same instant, Azrael raised an open hand. The shot struck him square in the palm and didn’t even break his skin. A split second later, the weapon flew out of Ethan’s grasp and into Death’s waiting hand.
“I think we can make this more exciting than that, don’t you agree?” he said, casually tossing the weapon behind him. “Let’s give the crew a show.”
Ethan raised his cutlass. “Then what are you waiting for?”
“Absolutely nothing,” he replied.
In a flash, Azrael closed the distance between himself and the two vampires with both rapier and main-gauche drawn. The moment he was within striking distance, he drove the point of his sword for Ethan’s heart while at the same time using his dagger to fend off Zoey’s counterattack with little difficulty.
Ethan twisted to the side, barely managing to catch the attack on the hilt of his blade and deflect it away. Instead of retreating, however, he launched himself forward, but also at an angle, so that Azrael now had to deal with the two of them from different sides.
It would’ve taken only a little footwork for Death to maneuver so that he could easily face both, but he didn’t. In fact, he stepped forward so that Ethan and Zoey were on opposite sides. “For the record, a hundred years from now, I wouldn’t dream of fighting you two like this,” he said with a bright smile. “But as you two lovers are only starting to become one, I think this will prove more entertaining.”
“You’re going to feel stupid when we cut you down,” Zoey said as her face hardened. She attacked a moment later, with Ethan following in unison. She went for a slice across Azrael’s neck as Ethan opted for a feinting thrust to the gut where he changed the line of attack that ultimately drove for Death’s chest.
Using main-gauche and rapier, Azrael defeated the attacks with ease, and the ones that followed, and the ones that followed those as well. All the while, he issued a few ripostes of his own that were half-hearted and only seemed to be nothing more than flourishes to the ballet he enjoyed.
After several more beats, the Angel of Death met Ethan’s lunge with one of his own. He caught Ethan’s blade on his handguard, and the two blades slid forward and locked against one another. Then, with a quick twist, he slipped behind Ethan so that he became a shield for Azrael against Zoey.
“Delightful, the both of you,” he said, shoving Ethan hard so that he stumbled into his other half. “Might the two of you consider joining my crew? You’ll find my employment quite lucrative.”
Ethan and Zoey glanced at each other, both sharing the same unspoken thought. Together, they launched into a flurry of blows. Ethan relentlessly attacked Azrael’s throat while Zoey kept going for Azrael’s legs. Azrael maneuvered skillfully, all the while keeping his face bright and his tone light.
“Is that a no?” he asked.
“No, it’s a hell no,” Zoey said, redoubling her efforts. At first, even with the increased intensity, it didn’t seem as if her bladework would ever be enough to pierce Azrael’s defenses. But after the third attack, she managed to dip the point of her blade beneath Azrael’s main-gauche and sent it slashing across the top of Death’s knee.
Azrael’s trousers split open, and bright red blood fountained from the wound. She’d have likely taken the limb in its entirety had Death been a little slower on his feet.
“The first point is yours,” he said, his voice darkening. “From here on out, the rest shall be mine.”
Death drove forward with blinding speed. He hacked and slashed from a dozen different lines of attack against both Ethan and Zoey, sending them both on their heels as they beat hasty retreats.
It took him only a few seconds to find a hole in their defenses and only a fraction of that to exploit it. Coming from up high, he trapped Zoey’s blade with his rapier with one hand, and with the other, threw his main-gauche. The dagger spun twice in the air before its point found her stomach. As before, the weapon had barely pierced her skin when Zoey vanished into a mist, and before Ethan could even think about her reforming, Azrael snapped his fingers, and a blast of wind sent her overboard.
“So predictable,” Azrael said, shaking his head. His eyes glanced over Ethan’s shoulder before he shrugged. “However, it seems now that the race is almost over. Thus, it’s time we wrapped this up.”
Ethan didn’t have a chance to reply before Azrael renewed his attacks against him. He managed to parry most, but for a few, it was only a hasty retreat that saved his life. He’d scarcely recovered when another blow came, this one even harder than all the previous seemingly combined. As blade clashed blade, the shockwave that rippled through Ethan’s arm made it go numb, and he nearly dropped his sword in the process.
“Fast, Ethan, but not fast enough,” Azrael said, stepping back and admiring his handiwork.
Ethan glanced downward and immediately wished he hadn’t. His shirt was torn and his chest was split beneath the collar bone, and as the blood ran freely, he realized not only could he see a few ribs, but a couple had been cracked as well.
His legs gave out a moment later, and Ethan crashed to the deck.
Chapter Thirty-Three
Duel With Death
Ethan hurt.
A lot.
Apparently, being a vampire didn’t exclude him from pain. Not that he hadn’t experienced it before being a relatively new member of the guild of bloodsucking fiends, but this newest wound of his was so excruciating, it was all Ethan could do to push himself to his feet and not tip over the railing when he leaned against it for support.
“Never tasted silver before?” Azrael said. “I think from here on out, you’ll have a new appreciation for it.”
“I’ve had worse,” Ethan said, gritting his teeth and forcing himself up. He had to fight. He had to win. He had to save his Anne and give Zoey a second chance at life.
The moment he’d straightened, Azrael attacked again. Ethan deflected a slice meant to gut him like a fish and ducked under another chop aimed at separating his head from his shoulders. Ethan countered, driving his blade straight for Death’s heart.
Predictably, his blade was turned away, but Ethan didn’t stay at arm’s length. Instead, he kept driving forward, letting his pain fuel his anger, and his anger keeping him fast, strong, and deadly.
With their blades momen
tarily locked together, Ethan drove an elbow across Death’s face. It landed with a satisfying crunch, which he would’ve been overjoyed at if Azrael hadn’t come up with an even more devastating follow-up.
The Dark Angel drove his fist into Ethan’s gut, the blow knocking the air out of him and causing him to double over. He then issued a quick snap kick that caught Ethan square in the face. As Ethan flew backward, he felt his wrist on his sword hand twist painfully, and he reflexively let his cutlass slip from his grasp.
Azrael disarms you!
“No shit, Captain Obvious,” Ethan muttered. Thoughts of Narrator’s intrusion flew from his mind when Azrael pressed the attack. Ethan jumped back and then dove into a sideways roll, barely dodging a finishing blow.
Thunderous booms erupted from the ship’s port side a split second later, causing both combatants to steal a glance at what was going on. A full broadside from the Griffin slammed into The Popinjay’s side, clearing half the deck, ripping lines and sail, and setting it ablaze at the forecastle.
Azrael backed a pace, giving himself enough room to quickly address his crew. “Make ready to fire again, but only if they want a fight,” he ordered. “I’ll not have anyone say we’re not giving a fair sport.”
“Aye, Capt’n,” came the reply.
Death, who now happened to be next to Ethan’s fallen weapon, glanced at it and then the finish line, which was now only a few hundred yards away. “Master Ethan,” he said, lowing the tip of his sword a few degrees. “You could be a great asset to my crew. I’ll even let you keep your dog as long as you sail with me. What do you say?”
Ethan’s response came swift and without a second thought. “How about screw you.”
“Manners, Master Ethan,” Azrael said, shaking his head. “Manners. They’ll get you everywhere in life.”
“You want to talk manners? How about you give me my sword back?” Ethan replied. “Unless you think it’s polite to kill an unarmed opponent.”
Death laughed, and to Ethan’s shock, he dipped his foot under Ethan’s blade and kicked it over to him. “Whatever makes you feel better,” he said as Ethan caught his sword in midair. “This isn’t going to be a fairy tale ending, just so you know.”
He was right. Ethan hated to admit it, but he was. He had yet to put a scratch on the man, and the finish line was, what, sixty seconds away at best?
“Forty-eight seconds, actually,” Azrael said with a grin.
Ethan launched himself forward, hoping, praying, that Luck of the Devil would see him through. All he had to do was time it right on when to activate it.
Ethan swung wildly with zero respect for his own self-preservation. His blade cut through the air so fast it left a distinct hiss. Azrael parried, and then again and again, as Ethan kept up the ferocious assault.
With each blow, Ethan felt as if he were getting close to victory. With each ring of steel against steel, of feeling the shock of their swords clash together through his arm, he redoubled his attacks. He drove them from a dozen different lines of attack, forcing Azrael to backpedal more than once. Yet no matter how close he came to piercing Death’s web of steel, Ethan couldn’t land a single strike.
But he didn’t let that stop him or even slow him down. Death had to lose, even if it was just this once. Hunger for victory seemed to tap into Ethan’s hunger for blood, which only fueled his actions further, faster, and harder.
Their blades locked once again. Something hard slammed into Ethan’s back an instant later. He cried out in pain but had the presence of mind to keep his guard up enough to keep from being skewered when Azrael kicked him in the chest and tried to finish him.
Death, however, didn’t press the attack. At least, not as Ethan expected. The Dark Angel stepped back twice more and swept his free hand through the air like he was brushing aside a veil.
Ethan barely caught sight of the cannonball hurling through the air to duck in time. The iron sphere whistled by his head before careening into the water. Immediately, Azrael waved his hand twice more, and from the gun deck, another two shells shot through the air. Ethan managed to get out of the way of the first, but the second glanced off his ribs.
Pain exploded across his side as he could feel bones break. Azrael instantly took advantage of the situation and attacked. Ethan raised his cutlass and deflected the first blow, but not the second. The tip dug through his left shoulder, spilling his blood.
“You would need tricks,” Ethan growled.
“I don’t need them, Master Ethan, but I do enjoy them,” Azrael said with a shrug. “But to prove my point, I’ll have that hand of yours right now.”
Azrael lunged forward, setting Ethan on his heels.
Ethan snapped his blade up to deflect an angled cut at his neck, but he overextended the parry. Death slid his blade down and under Ethan’s guard and cut Ethan open at the forearm. The shock of being hit yet again was enough to keep Ethan from being able to act fast enough so that when Azrael spun twisted his sword through the air and brought it back sharply around, not only did it get by Ethan’s meager defense, but it cleaved through Ethan’s wrist with ease.
You have been critically wounded!
Ethan fell back, screaming and clutching his bloody stump. Water filled his eyes, blurring his vision, and his legs lost their strength. Time slowed to a crawl, which was exactly what he didn’t want to have happen at that point, because not only was he acutely aware of Azrael moving forward to issue the coup de grâce, but he could also smell the fear of his own crew wondering what had happened to their captain, hear the cheers of the crowd watching the race’s final moments onshore, and taste utter defeat in his mouth.
Despite the crushing weight of defeat on his soul, Ethan straightened, and life flickered in his eyes. He snapped his head to the side to make sure that it wasn’t too late for his thoroughly insane idea to come to fruition. The Griffin, plowing through the water, had about fifty yards to reach the finish line. Better yet, Katryna still held her position, high on the mast, with the Victory’s colors flying.
“You should’ve taken my offer,” Azrael said, raising his sword.
“No. You should’ve taken mine,” Ethan replied. Though he hadn’t technically made one, he knew, it seemed like a snappy thing to say at the very least. And it did give Azrael a half-second pause which was all Ethan needed to start running.
Ethan shot across the deck of the ship, activating Luck of the Devil, legs driving him forward with every ounce of strength and speed they could. He weaved through the crew, dodging their attacks with automatic success while his eyes focused on the prize: the bowsprit of the Griffin. The wooden spar, sitting directly about the bronze figurehead, jutted forward at least thirty feet over the open water.
A strange sense of calm settled over Ethan as he ran. Maybe it was the blood loss or his mind cloaking him in the sweet embrace of denial as to what his ultimate fate would soon be, but Ethan liked to think it was the universe telling him to relax. He was unstoppable.
Guided by his talent, Ethan ducked his head and made a half twist to the left a split second before a pistol—from Azrael, he knew—fired. The bullet zipped by his ear and struck one of the crew manning the cannons in the back.
“Stop him!” Azrael roared.
But the crew didn’t hear, thanks to a return volley of cannon fire by The Popinjay. The smaller ship’s sixteen-pound guns weren’t going to sink the Griffin with a single broadside, but they were more than enough for Ethan to capitalize on the chaos that they brought.
The cannonballs tore through the rails, sending fragments of wood and metal in all direction. One shot struck the ropes to a deck cannon, breaking the piece loose from its mooring. As the gun slid back, knocking aside crew, Ethan vaulted over it and was up the steps to the forecastle.
“Curse you all!” Azrael yelled. “I’ll have every last one of you dance the hempen jig if he leaves this ship!”
Three men, the final three that stood between E
than and his goal, apparently both heard the order and had the wits to respond. They turned from their station to meet him, weapons drawn. Ethan knew he hadn’t a second to spare, let alone enough time to fight, even if he could. He’d have to rely on his speed to see him through.
Ethan made a mad dash to their right and then suddenly cut left when they followed his movements. With less than a couple of seconds left of unimpeded successes, Ethan darted by his opponents with ease.
His strides grew even longer, and he practically flew across the deck. Shots zipped through the air. Some missing by a foot or two, others tearing neat but otherwise harmless holes in his jacket. Right as this left foot struck the bowsprit, the Zen-like calm that had washed over him faded. In its place, panic gripped his heart with icy tendrils.
Luck of the Devil had run its course.
One last shot came from behind—a deafening boom that originated with Azrael. Ethan didn’t have to be looking to know where it had come from. He could feel it in his very soul, and all he could do was brace for the hit and hope and pray whatever fortune he still had left would see him through.
The shot took Ethan through the side of the neck, sending his blood spraying out in front. His vision dimmed immediately, but he half ran, half staggered onward. Just a few yards to go.
At the very tip of the beam, thirty feet ahead of the main hull of the Griffin, Ethan watched as he passed over the finish line. A dozen more pistols fired, and he fell.
As the water rushed up to meet him, everything went black.
Chapter Thirty-Four
Fin
“Hey, sleepy. You finally waking up?”
The voice rang sweetly in Ethan’s ears, drawing him out of his dark, near-comatose sanctuary. He forced his eyes open, barely at that. As the world came into focus, he found himself lying on his back in a large canopy bed. His right arm was bandaged at the wrist, making a white cap where his hand used to be, and something about his right butt cheek bothered him, too. Zoey sat Indian-style next to him, one hand stroking the top of his head, eyes awash with relief, while Maii stood at the other side of the bed looking impressed—as well as a little annoyed.
The Crew (Captains & Cannons Book 2) Page 32