Page 45 of Blood of Ancients

I lunged fluidly, showing grace—even in my current disheveled state—he simply couldn’t compete with. He was forced on his heels, desperately defending against my assault.

Wood chips flew from his shield, my spear thudding and notching deep marks and grooves in the surface.

He pushed back. But I was stronger, angrier, and kept my legs moving and my spear whirling. My voice ripped past my lips in a raspy, furious growl.

Damon tried to hack at me some more.

I looped my spear around his sword and batted it aside.

I was determined to win this thing soon, before whatever darkness coursing through my veins incapacitated me completely.

My vision was starting to swim, the edges shutting down. My muscles twitched, seizing, and I wondered if Damon would be dastardly enough to feed me adeadlypoison, or if this was just par for the course.

It felt like my nervous system was shutting down. At the same time, my mind was overheating, thoughts spinning as quickly as my spear, unable to hold onto a single one.

Damon’s shield lunged out.

I caught him on the wrist with the haft and sent it flying like a saucer through the air, whistling as it spun.

My brother let out a squeal—

And I wheeled round, ready to ram the spearhead into his defenseless right side—somewhere that wouldn’t kill, but that would keep him on a gurney for a few days.

But Damon surprised me. His look of despair and desperation shifted into something menacing as I drew closer to finish the job.

He easily sidestepped my all-or-nothing lunge—

And that was when I realized he had let me take his shield away on purpose, so I would get cocky and close the gap between us.

Pain laced up my left side. I let out a grunt, stilling as my body smashed into Damon’s. He held me in an embrace that kept me upright, one arm over my shoulder.

It happened so fast. Everything melted into a slow, dreamlike sequence.

Staggering, I stared down and saw Damon’s short sword lodged in my side, under my ribs, past the seams of my hide armor. At least two inches of blade was shoved inside me, and Damon did the job of slightly twisting the blade to inflict the most damage, while his embrace kept him covered.

I wailed in pain, somehow keeping my spear in my hand and using it as a staff to stay on my feet.

Our crowd gasped.

Damon pulled back. The evidence of our embrace became clear as blood spilled out of me, slashing across the ground.

My half-brother smiled that devilish smile as I went to one knee, the darkness at the edges of my vision rushing to take hold. I stuttered to speak something, anything, as Eirik began to walk into the Sticks—

But a wall-shaking roar quieted Damon and froze Eirik’s feet to the ground. Even in my drifting state, I could sense Grim Kollbjorn’s presence behind me. Terrifying and furious.

Damon gawked. His friends stood back as Grim tore into the Sticks like a lightning bolt. A seven-fucking-foot lightning bolt.

He charged in front of me, shocking everyone when he barreled directly into Damon with his shoulder and sent himflyingacross the room.

Damon screamed as he flew ten feet and rolled on the ground.

Eirik put a hand up for peace, his other hand roaming close to the sword at his hip.

My enraged mate reached behind him and pulled two axes from their cross-sheaths. They were battle-axes—two-handed weapons for most people—which he held in one hand each, such was his size.

“Peace, Grim!” Eirik cried out.

Grim looked every bit a monster in that moment, teeth bared, knees bent, muscles flexing like the fucking Hulk. He sniffed the air, seconds away from shifting.

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