Invincible (A Centennial City Novel) (32 page)

My worry was all for nothing because he swept his hand up and knocked the dagger out of my hand.

The force was enough to send reverberations through my body and I staggered back as my arms seemed to shake enough to be in grave danger of falling out of their sockets.

"You have to die," he said.

No.

Growled.

Werewolves were never my prey.

So this was what it felt like to be faced by a seven foot tall humanoid being with claws long enough, sharp enough to eviscerate me.

So this was what it felt like to be faced by a shifter whose eyes glowed red in the moonlight, whose body dripped some kind of strange fluid down the form that had gone completely furry.

There was nothing that looked remotely familiar about the monster in front of me.

There was nothing that looked remotely
human
about the monster in front of me.

And there was no way I was going to fight the monster with a three inch throwing dagger.

Well, fight and expect to live, in any case.

But that didn't mean I couldn't give it, forgive me, a
stab.

And I did.

Give it a stab, I mean.

I scrabbled in the gravel for the dagger, knees digging deep, trying to gain the traction to cover the six feet that separated me and the thin but sturdy length of metal.

A paw the size of a dinner plate stepped in front of me.

I supposed I should have been gratefully it didn't step
on
me.

Perhaps there was honor in wolves, after all.

“Get up, worm.”

At least, that's what I thought he said. It was hard to make out a single word when being uttered by a snout the length of my forearm, the serrated teeth glinting in the faint moonlight. Every one of the teeth looked more than capable of going straight through my arm and I slowly backed up, staring at the monster that loomed over me like the worst possible nightmare.

“You think that potato peeler is going to help you?” he asked.

It looked like he was smiling. It was hard to tell with all the teeth and hair getting in the way.

I took a moment to stand up, keeping my eyes on his chest. I'd be able to see any blow he threw my way although how I could possibly counter any attack, I hadn't the slightest idea.

“You're just a pawn,” I said. “How does it feel to be so manipulated? Is that how you want people to remember you?'

There was no mistaking the raspy exhale-inhale for anything other than laughter. “How I want people to remember me? Are you implying I'll be dead soon?”

I chanced a look behind me.

It was a stupid, life-risking move, but I had to know the reason for the lack of sound. Had Noir won? Had the vampires won?

And if Noir was dead, where did that leave me?

Did I still owe an allegiance to the Fellowship?

Although, if what Annabelle said was true, maybe they no longer wanted me. Maybe I was now persona non grata. That or someone on their Wanted list. I didn't know which was worse.

And did I still owe Jason? If Noir, my original purpose, no longer existed, where did that leave the two of us?

Questions laid thick and heavy in my mind and I couldn't
not
look.

I had to know.

But as it turned out, all of my questions were for naught.

The parking lot was completely empty.

“Where do you think you're looking?”

Without thinking, I ducked.

Instinct and training paid off.

An inch or two higher and I would've lost the top of my head.

Even so, I felt the wind from his passing claws ruffle my hair and with my heart in my throat, I tripped over my own feet, trying to put as much distance between myself and the werewolf.

“If it's the bloodsuckers you were looking for, they made for the forest a long time ago,” he said. “Hah. Noir was running with his tail between his legs. Just like the bloodsucking coward I always knew he was.”

Noir is the most frightening one of us all.

Vincent's voice echoed in my mind.

Why had that come to mind now? “I've heard otherwise.”

I sounded almost normal. Well, that was something. Father would have been proud of me. Mother would have lamented.

The smile was almost obscene and I would be lying if I didn't say it knocked my heartbeat up to the triple digits. “Oh?”

It was getting hard to talk in a normal voice. “Someone once told me Noir is the one you need to look out for. That he's not the meek lamb everyone seems to think he is.”

“And what do you think?”

My head was still attached to my shoulders. That was a good start. “I think you should be glad I'm the one in front of you. Not him.”

The
hwan-geom
was back at the car, fallen out of my hands as Marcus dragged me from the car.

I needed it.

I couldn't take on a seven foot beast with my bare hands.

Unfortunately for me, I didn't have much of a choice. Not when the shifter reared back and then charged.

At that point, the sword seemed kind of moot. Especially when he had the equivalent of ten, one for each of those claws that could turn me into raw meat, ready to be hurled on the grill.

I waited until I could count the individual lashes on his eyes.

Don't shoot until you see the whites of their eyes.

I hurled gravel into his face, fighting to buy time.

He howled, those sharp claws trying to swipe at the grit in his eyes, and that was all the time I needed.

I took advantage of the slippery, tiny rocks and ducked as the werewolf made a sudden swipe in my direction. I let the momentum carry me over the gravel and slid to the car, almost hitting my forehead on the back bumper as I slid, perhaps too well.

But the sheath was in my hand, and that was half the battle, wasn't it?

The
hwan-geom
made a beautiful sound as I pulled it free from the lacquered sheath and the blade glittered in the moonlight.

Just like the werewolf's claws.

The dark red eyes narrowed and a globule of saliva dripped off his muzzle. “That's a pretty sword, girl. Think you can use it?”

I hefted the sword, the weight of it comforting and for some reason, calming.

I always felt better with it in my hands.

I wondered what it said about me.

“Want to test me?”

One blink of an eye and he was off the ground.

I thought I had lost him.

And once you lose an enemy, you might as well say goodbye to your life.

But my vision grew dark for just an moment and I looked up, sword arching up over my head.

It was enough to keep him from raking the face off my head.

Barely. His left index finger, tipped by a five inch claw, raked down the right side of my face, missing my eye by just an inch.

I slid backwards, but somehow, the sword kept him away.

My face felt like it was on fire. But I had felt worse, and survived worse. “Paying me back?”

His laughter made things worse. How could a human's breath smell like he'd been eating garbage for half a day? Or maybe it was just one of those things that came with having claws and fur. “Maybe? Maybe not. Either way, you're not going to be so pretty anymore.”

And even though I felt Death's scythe resting softly on my neck, I managed a tight smile. This was what I lived for.

The fight. The battle. “Then it's a good thing I wasn't very pretty to begin with.”

With a low cry, I pushed up and out, enough to force Marcus off balance and giving myself enough breathing room to take the offensive.

I couldn't remember the last time the sword felt so light in my hands, adrenaline pulsing through my body, giving me a beat to time my swings and thrusts.

Marcus was not an alpha for nothing.

With mind-boggling athleticism, he dodged every strike I threw his way, all the way laughing at me.

“Maybe the sword is too much for you.”

Despite the freezing air that made my breath white, sweat dripped down my spine. “Hardly. Are you ready to stop playing?”

The cut on my face burned incessantly, while my forehead throbbed from the beating I'd received back at the Sanctuary.

A corpse would've looked better.

You'd make a hell of a corpse.

Pushing away that highly disconcerting thought out of my mind, I ducked and then felt a sting on my upper arm.

It had been a paltry pain, something barely felt, but the werewolf stepped back.

Surprising.

I looked at my left arm, saw the blood dripping like rain off my fingers.

Then it felt like fire had erupted inside my body.

The pain was bad enough to bring me down to my knees, and for the second time in an hour, coarse gravel ground almost straight through to my bones.

Marcus shook his head.

“I don't understand it,” he said quietly, and I watched my blood drip from those claws that could slit my throat as easily as shredding a sheet of paper. “In layman terms, I've got you against the ropes. Give me one good reason why I shouldn't kill you. Give me one good reason why I should spare you when my only child's life hangs by a thread.”

My left arm was completely useless and it dangled like a discarded marionette by my side as I levered myself back up to a standing position, the sword shaking precariously as the blade took my entire weight.

“I'm right handed,” I said.

“I know,” he replied and shook his head. “You just don't give up.”

“Can't. I made a promise.”

Ah, but how bitter that sentence tasted on my tongue. I hated everything, hated the fact that I had ever taken the contract for Noir's death.

The moment I met Jason, everything had changed.

I did not like change.

“Promises?” He laughed. “I thought promises werwe made to be broken.”

I hurt everywhere. Even talking hurt. I felt like a giant, walking bruise. “Not me. I never break a promise.”

“And you promised to keep that vampire of yours alive, didn't you?”

There seemed no point in lying. “Yes.”

He shook his head, almost mournfully, clucking under his breath. I hadn't known such a sound was possible with a snout, but it just goes to show that new things can be learned every day. “Your loyalty is to be commended. But this is the end of the line for you.”

The ground swam in front of my eyes. “I understand. I'm sorry, Marcus.”

It was the first time I ever called him by his name.

“Me too,” he said. “Me too.”

He charged, breath white in the frigid air.

I stood my ground and let the world run into red and white.

This was it.

I drew in a deep, steadying breath and braced for the initial push that would bowl me onto my back, given half the chance.

I would give him no chance.

No quarter received, no quarter allowed.

Moving with a speed and ferocity that would've been beautiful if it wasn't me about to get eviscerated, he lunged forward, claws catching the moonlight and I dodged the blow, scoring a slash across his chest.

The fur and skin split apart like a seam coming undone and blood sprayed in a thin mist that drenched my face, turned my vision red.

He reared back, head thrown back into a howl and I saw the killing blow that would crush my skull and spine.

I beat it.

I ran him through to the hilt, my feet sliding back on the slippery pebbles and felt his body convulse underneath my hands.

Howls filled the night air as he staggered back.

I was too close; claws scored deeply into my back, tearing through the leather jacket, bringing forth blood and fire in their wake.

It was his death strike.

But I needed his death ensured.

My back was nothing compared to what I was doing to him.

I twisted the blade, felt the hot, almost scorchingly hot blood drench my hands. Abruptly, the sword gave way and the blade snapped at the hilt, still embedded deep into his chest.

He fell back, a cloud of dust arising from his descent.

My legs went weak and I fell to my knees.

I was still alive.

And he was dead.

Such is the way of my world.

Marcus coughed and I watched as the wolf shrunk into itself.

The fur shrank into nothing, the claws retracted, and the bones re-knit themselves into the form of a stout, powerfully built man with two feet of metal in him like a spit.

He convulsed once, a rattle coming forth from the throat offered up to the moon, and went still.