Page 112 of Shield of Fire

He paused to avoid my fist and then ground his foot onto my arm. A hiss of pain escaped, and the flare of desire sparked in his eyes.

“Perhaps,” he continued, “we should have a little warm-up session while we wait for Halak. Of course, he is currently on his way over to Peckforton to cause some havoc, so it could be?—”

I jackknifed before he could finish, kicking the back of his legs hard enough to unbalance him. As he staggered backward, I scrambled upright, flicking the knife from my right hand to my left hand as I backed away.

Magic surged, fierce and bright. Not his. Astrid’s.

They’d heard. They were coming.

“Well, well, aren’t you full of surprises,” Mkalkee drawled. “Shame their assault on our defenses will amount to nothing.”

He flicked his hand and magic rose, a bright whip that lashed toward me. I slashed wildly at it, but it didn’t come anywhere near me. A distraction, I thought.

Only to realize far too late that it wasn’t.

Something solid smacked across the side of my head and I went down hard onto my knees, battling the wave of unconsciousness as warmth spilled past my ear and down my neck.

“Be a dear, Bethany, and do not move for the next few minutes. I need to deal with the rats outside before you and I can ignite old passions.”

Like fuck...

But the words didn’t make it past my lips. The darkness in my mind was increasing, and the chamber was now moving in and out of focus. Or was that the walls? I blinked past the blood. They were moving.

He was creating a secondary barrier of earth and stone.

If he succeeded—if Astrid couldn’t break his shadowy magical wall to give Ryka the chance to destroy his earth one—then I was dead. But he wouldn’t immediately kill me. First, he would play...

Nausea rolled through me. I swallowed heavily and somehow pushed upright.

He tsked. “Bethany, Bethany, will you never learn?”

He moved one hand from the wall he was extending over the dark sheet of his magic and flicked another magical rope my way. I spun and dropped to my knees. The thick bit of wood swinging toward my good arm sailed over my head instead. I slashed at the magic controlling it, watched the threads disintegrate, and wearily pushed to my feet again.

To see Mkalkee grinning and his wall complete.

I was out of time.

I dropped my bad arm to my side and splayed my fingers, silently calling to the other knife. Light flicked around its hilt as the blade slowly pulled free from the ground, but Mkalkee didn’t notice. He just strode toward me, anticipation shining from his blue eyes.

“Give up, Mkalkee,” I said, voice hoarse and without strength. “Or I will kill you.”

He stopped ten feet away but directly in front of me and flung his arms out wide.

“Try it. I dare you.”

I flung the knife in my hand and then called to the other.

My throw was bad. Deliberately so.

The call was not.

He laughed as the knife clattered to the floor a foot away from his feet, then stopped, his eyes going wide and the smug superiority melting from his expression and eyes. Blood seeped from a small wound at the front of his neck, a wound from which a sharp point of silver gleamed.

The knife had sliced through his spinal cord at the back of his neck.

“Eat dirt and die, Mkalkee.”

He did.

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