Page 73 of Alchemised
Rage ignited inside her. She flung herself backwards, taking the knife with her.
Atreus was crossing the room, hands outstretched, face contorted with fury.
She had no chance against two.
Her left wrist was on fire. She could barely manage to grip the handle, but she wouldn’t let go.
She angled the blade back and drove it towards her own throat, meeting Ferron’s eyes with savage triumph.
Ferron moved so fast he blurred.
The world morphed, going silver as resonance exploded outwards and the knife was ripped away from her throat, pain tearing up her arm all the way into her shoulder.
Her mind struggled to catch up.
Ferron had caught the blade in his fist, wrenching it up overhead. His other hand was wrapped around her throat, holding her back.
She couldn’t move. His resonance had her frozen, every bone, muscle, and tendon under his control. She couldn’t even breathe. Her heart was constricted. Atreus, a few feet away, was trapped in place as well.
This was how Ferron killed.
His hand around the knife blade was seeping blood, running over her fingers and down her arm. His eyes were a reflective silver so bright, they appeared to glow.
“Why don’t you ever stop?” He let go of her, shoving her back.
Her hand, numb with pain, lost its grip.
“Why don’t you die?” There was no point in being coy. She wanted to kill him; they both knew it.
Blood was still flowing down the hilt of the knife, dripping scarlet across the white marble floor, spattering across the ouroboros mosaic.
His lips curved into an insincere smile. “Prior commitments, I’m afraid.”
He glanced back at his father, coming towards them again. Ferron’s expression turned vicious. “Did I ask for your help?”
He turned back to Helena, examining the knife in his hand. It had sliced into his palm so deep, it was lodged in the bones. He didn’t even wince as he pulled it free, holding it up so the blade caught the light, scarlet blood gleaming along the edge.
“How good of Aurelia to have these freshly sharpened and left within your reach.”
With a careless flick of his wrist, he tossed it back towards the dining room. With the lazy way he threw it, it shouldn’t have made it across the room, but his resonance still sang in the air.
The knife gained velocity as it flew straight through the barely open doorway and into the large vase in the centre of the table. It shattered on impact, glass flying in all directions as the water flooded across the table.
He glanced down at his hand. The wound was already gone.
Helena knew the Undying could regenerate but it was still startling to witness. It would have taken her at least half an hour to heal a wound like that; hands were delicate, intricate, full of nerves.
Her left wrist hurt so much she could hardly think straight. A stream of blood ran down from beneath the manacle into her palm, joining Ferron’s on the floor.
She watched dully as Ferron curled his fingers. Then his eyes alighted on her hand. His jaw tensed. “You would injure the one place that is difficult to repair. I’ll have to call in Stroud.”
He turned towards one of the necrothralls.
“Take our prisoner to her room,” he said in a cool voice. “Be sure she stays there until tomorrow.”
Helena didn’t wait to be nudged along. She turned and left.
“I’ve seen that girl somewhere,” she heard Atreus say as she reached the hallway.
