by Anthology
I wanted to argue, to give it back. But Zane’s thick hands closed around my upper arms, and he lifted me up to the platform as easily as a child might lift a rag doll. I stood for a moment, unsure. Surely I wasn’t actually expected to fight—to kill—this child!
“Maintenant!” Zane said, and although I know absolutely no French, I got the idea: Get moving!
But I didn’t move. A mistake I would soon regret, as my opponent had no qualms. She sprang up and came at me, snarling like a feral animal. Her fingers splayed out like claws, and she was on my face before I could even react, her fingernails ripping my skin, barely missing my eyes.
“Holy shit,” I cried out, as I smacked her hands away, instinctively turning my face from hers. Apparently instinct wasn’t the primo option, though, because now I couldn’t see her, and she took advantage of that mistake by hauling herself up and jumping on my back.
“Untrained,” I heard Zane say, from what seemed like a thousand miles away. “I have much riding on this. I hope you are sure . . . ”
Clarence’s reply was muffled, but I heard Zane’s grunt of acknowledgment clearly enough. What I wanted was to scream that they needed to get this little bitch off me.
What I did was fight.
And as soon as I made the decision—as soon as the very thought entered my head—a burst of power exploded through my body, even stronger than the surge I’d felt in the alley. The strength they’d put inside me was coming out in fits and starts, and I instinctively knew that I still wasn’t fully primed. But it was going to be a sweet ride getting there.
I twisted at the waist, pressing my hands against the mat to get leverage even as I kicked over, my heel connecting to her head with a sickening snap. I finished my spin and arched to my feet, the knife held at the ready as she recovered and rushed me, snarling like a wild thing.
It was me, though, that gave in to the wild thing within. I don’t know if it was frustration, anger, or just plain fight-or-flight, but I kicked into action with a vengeance. More, I wanted blood. Her blood. This sassy little bitch who wanted to take me down. No freaking way.
The girl lunged, and I thrust, forgetting that although I might have the strength, I definitely didn’t have the skill. She used the back of her forearm to knock against my wrist, then reared back for another hard lash that had the knife flying out of my battered fingers before bouncing uselessly on the mat.
I allowed myself about half a second to mourn its loss, then realized it really didn’t matter. I had all the weapon I needed inside me, and I set on her with a vengeance, ripping and clawing and beating and pummeling. More animal than woman, I was pounding the shit out of this demonic kid who would kill me if I didn’t kill her first.
“Ah, c’est vrai. There is fight in her, after all,” Zane said, his voice seeming to fill the hall.
“Told ya the girl had fire.”
“Resourceful, too. Though there is still much work to do,” Zane said, his voice matter-of-fact as I kicked out blindly, catching the girl under the chin and sending her stumbling back until she landed hard against the ropes that enclosed three sides of our ring.
“On so many levels,” Clarence said, his tone suggesting I was going to require quite a bit more work than he’d anticipated. I glanced over and saw him scribbling notes, and for some reason that innocent action fueled my fury. I turned to take it out on the girl, but she was already taking advantage of my distraction.
With a guttural howl, she leaped, landing hard and knocking me down. My lungs emptied with a whoosh as she deposited her full weight on my chest. My brain ordered me to struggle, but before I could put that innovative thought into action, the girl had her knees hard in my sides, as if I were a bucking bronco and she were hanging on for dear life. At the same time, she pressed her whole body forward, our faces intimately close, and her thumbs digging deep into my windpipe.
My body spasmed as my cells screamed for oxygen, and I struggled to get her off me. Apparently, though, demons are endowed with much the same strength I’d been blessed with. Which kind of sucked, when you thought about it.
Her face contorted, and I no longer saw Rose. Instead, I saw the true dark depths. I struggled beneath her, trying to get free, trying to breathe. And as I did, I saw hate and vileness and pure evil.
And, yes, I saw something familiar in those shadows. A cold darkness that had moved in, taking residence in the secret places of my mind. A longing to step up to the kill.
The thought that anything—anything—in that beast of a girl could be reflected back on me filled me with disgust. I pulled my knees up hard and fast, slamming them into her backside even as I rocked forward, my head smashing hard against hers. Starbursts screamed behind my eyes, but pain wasn’t enough to stop me. Not anymore.
I heard her low grunt of surprise, then felt the lessening of pressure around my neck. That was all it took. I twisted at the waist rolling left, then thrusting back to the right when I felt her center of gravity shift. I had the advantage then, and I took it rolling her over and over until we were only inches from the knife.
I saw the realization spark in her eyes, felt the twitch in her arm as she tried to reach for it—and I felt the lust of pure power as my fist smashed hard into her nose.
She howled, and I lunged sideways, my fingers closing around the knife even as she grappled at my face, her fingernails clawing at my cheeks, mere millimeters from my eyes.
I’d won, though. We both knew it, and I saw the flash of resignation as my blade hand arced back, the cold steel glinting in the air before I thrust it hard under her chin, a single line of blood rising under the edge as I pressed down, silently daring her to struggle.
She didn’t.
Instead, I watched as fear flooded her face. Tears glinted in wide eyes, and she said the first recognizable word I’d heard her utter: “Please.”
My will evaporated; I was being pulled back home, those eyes taking me to Rose. To everything I’d lost, and to everything I’d loved.
My hand shook, and I released the pressure ever so slightly. That was all it took—she was up and on me, slamming me backward as she clambered on top, her quick hands snatching the knife from my reluctant fingers even before I had time to register the victorious smirk distended across her mouth as the knife arced toward my chest.
Time seemed to slow as my mind grappled to find some scenario that didn’t end with me dying right there. But no ideas sprang helpfully forward.
I had no place to go.
She’d gotten me smashed up against the corner of the ring, a steel pole pressed hard against my ribs, and her own body blocking any movement to the opposite side. Beneath me was a solid floor, and above me was the sharp steel of my blade.
I was screwed, and I knew it.
I struggled anyway, not inclined to die gracefully. Not really inclined to die at all.
I thrust out my hands, and she sliced my palm with my own knife, drawing a thin line of blood.
Fire shot through my hand, the sting of steel against flesh.
I screamed, my hand closing around the blade, my blood smearing over the angry metal.
No good. The pain burned through me, and when she lashed out with her other hand to pummel my face, I let go, failing, and dreading the inevitable. As I knew it would, the knife continued its treacherous arc toward my heart, and I knew without doubt that this time I was truly going to die. And damn it all, I was terrified.
The scream erupted from my throat, a living thing composed entirely of sound and fear, as the tip of the blade caught my shirt. I was dead, and I knew it and—
I was free.
The demon released me with a bitter howl, clutching the collar around her neck and straining as if her life depended on ripping that thing off. Then she fell to the mat, totally still except for the erratic rise and fall of her chest.
I scrambled sideways, my eyes on Zane. He held up the remote control. “To allow for training of our warriors.”
I glanced side
ways at Clarence. He didn’t look back, still scribbling furiously in his notebook.
I drew in a trembling breath, desperately wanting his reassurance. Too bad for me, none was coming.
“Now you understand,” Zane said, entering the ring with me and moving to the demon, who still lay motionless on the mat “Kill or be killed.”
He picked up my knife, holding it carefully. I nodded, not trusting my voice to speak.
“You did not kill,” he said. “And you almost suffered that fate at the hand of your enemy. You failed us, ma chérie. I had such high hopes that Clarence was right. That you were the one. It is most disappointing,” he said, his voice low and hypnotic.
I stood there, my palm throbbing in pain as I drank in those vibrant tones carried on his masculine scent, floating away on a sensory mist. The man was sex personified, so silky and sensual that I could concentrate on nothing else, even though a deeper part of my mind was screaming that this was off, that I needed to push through the mist. That whatever I felt in the presence of this man, it absolutely wasn’t real.
I didn’t care. I could stare at him forever, drinking in the sensual pleasure, relishing the tingle that his mere proximity sent coursing over my skin.
I sighed, my body humming even as through the haze, I saw his hand tighten around the hilt of my knife.
The steel glinted in the spackled light, the flashes an encoded warning only for me—Wake up, wake up, wake up!
The mist parted and I understood—I’d failed. And now it was my turn to die.
The blade slashed down, breaking the spell. I grabbed Zane’s wrist with my sore hand and pulled, bringing the blade dangerously close to my chest, but also pulling him off balance.
He tumbled toward me, and as he did, I shifted, taking his arm with me as I rolled over. The haze evaporated, drowned out by the singular need to survive.
My hands locked on his wrist, and I pressed forward, ignoring the sting from the wound in my palm, wanting only to move the knife as far away from my flesh as possible.
And, yes, wanting to cut the son of a bitch who was trying to take me out.
I heard a sharp snap as his wrist broke, going limp as I forced the blade through the taut, caramel skin. Blood flowed, warm and sticky, and I opened my mouth, a wisp of an oh filling the otherwise silent room.
“Ma petite coeur,” he whispered as a blood bubble formed on his lips. “Je suis mort.”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Mortified, I fell to my knees, pulling the knife free as I tried to take back what I’d done—even as I watched the final spark of life fade from Zane’s eyes.
“No,” I whispered, letting the knife clatter to the floor. My gut clenched as something strange and otherworldly seemed to fill me—a surge of power followed by a burst of sweet, almost sexual pleasure that had me biting back a moan.
What the fuck?
I forced myself to open my eyes, as embarrassment, lust, and desire ricocheted through me, not to mention the abject terror that Clarence would slip a knife into the back of my neck and finish the job that Zane had started.
I flinched, my mind holding me steady while fear urged me to cut and run.
But Clarence wasn’t moving toward me. Wasn’t even looking at me.
Instead, he was watching Zane’s body. And when I turned in that direction, I knew why. Beneath the rent in the material of Zane’s shirt, his skin was knitting back together, as if I were watching an autopsy in reverse.
I swallowed, more fascinated than scared, my attention moving from his chest to his mending wrist and then to those dull, dead eyes. Dull, that is, until I caught a glint of something that seemed to come from behind the irises. A something too deep to be a reflection, but instead seemed to be a pulse of pure, internal energy.
I watched—astounded, flabbergasted, the whole range of shock-and-awe emotions—as Zane blinked, stretched, and sat up.
For confirmation’s sake, my eyes dipped once again to his chest, but the man was healed.
More than that, the man had come back from the dead.
“So did you,” Clarence said, his voice making me jump. I’d forgotten he was standing there, watching me even as I watched Zane.
“But I—but—” Honestly, what was there to say?
Zane rubbed the spot on his chest, then flashed me a smile so knowing it made my cheeks flush.
I took an involuntary step back. He would, I knew, finish what he’d started. And this time, the trainee wouldn’t be victorious.
The expression that crossed his face as he looked at me, though, lacked any murderous intent. On the contrary, what I saw reflected back at me was . . . pride.
“Bravo, Lily,” he said, taking my knife from the floor and then standing up, his shirt ripped, but the flesh underneath pure and perfect. “You understand now.”
I stood there, my throbbing hand screaming for attention. But I wasn’t interested in the pain right now. I shoved it away, compartmentalized it, and focused on the miracle of this man now standing before me. “How did you—”
“We all got gifts, Lily,” Clarence said. “Zane trains. Makes sure we got the best warriors, and that they’re gonna do whatever they got to live. To keep on fighting.” He shrugged. “Wouldn’t do much good if he permanently died each time a warrior passed the test.”
I swallowed, his words enveloping me. Passed the test. “Then I really did kill him?”
“Oh, yeah. You nailed him. And you’re stronger for it.”
I frowned, at first assuming he meant metaphorically. But I soon realized he meant more than that. The blood seemed to pump through my veins with more purpose. My muscles primed. My senses acute.
I’d killed—and I was stronger for it.
I’d killed—and I’d enjoyed it.
“You got it, kid. Each kill with your blade makes you that much stronger. That much more of a fighter. That much more unbeatable.”
I looked at Zane, who’d come back from the dead. “So what are you? An angel?” He certainly looked the role. Masculine beauty with eyes that seemed to go on forever, and a sensual allure that pulled you in, featherlight, but with a warrior’s fire.
“Far from it,” he assured me. He moved closer, making my skin tingle as if I’d stepped too close to a live wire. “Remember, ma chérie. You can’t let anything distract you. Not compassion, not curiosity, not eyes that look like your sister’s,” he added, looking back at the still-immobilized demon. “You have the skills. You lack only in commitment.”
“I’m committed,” I said. “I got you, didn’t I?”
“She’s not one to be trifled with, I see,” he said to Clarence. “And oui, you did. But only after. And if I’d nailed your ass, chérie, where would you be now?”
Burning in hell.
His eyes suggested I was exactly right.
“Do you wish to survive, Lily? Do you want to fight our fight? Prevail in our cause?”
“Absolutely,” I said, turning to stare at the little bitch who’d almost sent me to hell. “Absolutely, I do.”
“Good. Then train,” Zane said. “You complete your assignments. You don’t hesitate. You go after the mission in the most single-minded of manners. Doubt will get you killed. Second-guessing is a doorway to death. You are not here to minister to them, to bind their wounds or cure their ills. Remember who we are fighting; their methods are tricky, their soldiers strong. But if you obey—if you focus—your gifts will see you through.” He put his hands on my shoulders. “Can you do that, Lily?”
“Yes,” I said, because no other answer was possible.
As I spoke, Zane moved with graceful intensity toward the girl, still on the ground, her face contorted with pain as she clutched the back of her neck.
He bent down and then, almost lovingly, stroked her hair before pulling down the neckline of her shirt, revealing an odd, raised tattoo. A serpent coiled around a sword, his mouth open, fangs bared, and poised to swallow the tip of the blade. “She is a vile demon, Lily. A Tri
-Jal. You see this mark? That is the sign of the Tri-Jal, and they are the worst of the worst. So violent—so deadly—that even their sense of reality shifts. This girl only appears to be flesh, to be human. But there is no humanity in her, nor was there ever. She is a demon, Lily, through and through. Less than that, even. She is an attack dog, and evil is her master.” He bent down toward the girl’s face. “Woof.”
She snarled in response even as she grimaced against the pain from the device in her neck.
“Some are able to be trained. They walk. They talk. They blend in. An elite force, if you will. A most dangerous breed. One day you will meet another one. And I’ll tell you right now, that day won’t be pretty.”
I licked my lips, eyeing the girl warily.
“This is what you let live, Lily. This is what would have killed you.”
He held out my knife. The one I had lost in the fight. The one that she had cut me with. The one I’d killed him with. “Come,” he said. “Finish the job.”
I hesitated only a moment, then took the knife from him. He took a step back. “Now,” he said, pressing a button on the remote.
The demon girl howled, then stood tall. Her skin rippled, as if something were living beneath it, moving around, disfiguring her, but when she looked at me, her eyes still belonged to Rose.
“The hell you are,” I said, and I lunged. She countered, but I was ready, and I tackled her, sending us both to the ground. I could feel the new strength in me, burning through me, filling me. And damned if I didn’t put it to good use.
I had one hand on her neck, holding her down. Those eyes opened, but I looked away. “You’re not her,” I said, even as I slashed my blade straight across her neck.
An unearthly yowl split the air as the black goo oozed from the wound. I jumped back, then watched, fascinated, as the body shifted into a bottomless pit of slime that seemed to suck her out of this dimension and into some other unknown space, leaving nothing behind but a slight greasy mark on the mat, and me, suddenly broodish and dark.