Page 192 of Memories Like Fangs
I knew that he had no regrets.
I knew this was war, and his time was up.
I carved cut after cut into him again and again. His sword screamed, and his stance faltered. I had him bleeding, blood further darkening his clothes. Cuts scored his arms, thighs, ribs, shoulders, legs, everywhere, and I continued to carve more into his body. But he was still on his feet, still grinning, still swinging his sword with enough potential for his next strike to be the end of this fight. It was enough to slow him down, enough to make him bleed. But it was not enough to end him. It was notnearlyenough. He pressed forward relentlessly.
I was relentless, too.
Queenie…
B-Byrdie?My own voice faltered in my head, even as my body continued ducking, twisting, slashing my way in search of an opening. The delicate softness of her sweet voice was ice water poured over my wrath, cracking the red haze that was over my eyes.
Hunter weapons can’t hurt hunters, right?Byrd said through our bond, her voice faint and shaky but focused and threading through my rage.
Byrdie? Are you?—?
Y-Your weapons c-can’t kill him then,she pressed, her thoughts sharper than any blade.Wh-what’s the point of this challenge if your weapons can’t kill him? Do they just want you to die?
It forces you to get creative,I answered between grunts, catching my father’s blade and sliding away from the reach of his follow-up swing. The rhythm of our fight was now this brutal back-and-forth, his sword hammering against my daggers and my body screaming from the strain. I was still healing from the wounds earlier and Byrd was healing, too. My anger had given me an adrenaline boost, but if I didn’t find something, I was going to be right back where I started, right where I usually ended up when I fought my father: bleeding, bruised, and on my ass. Of course, that wasifmy father allowed me to live that long after losing, which was highly unlikely with him. No, I had too much at stake. Irefusedto lose. Not now. I gritted my teeth hard enough that my jaw ached.If you are a First Blade meant to be a Huntscommander, you should be able to find a way to take down the Huntscommander despite that.
And, you can’t get help from your family?
Nope, none.I narrowly avoided his next thrust. My arms burned, my breath coming out sharp and ragged, but my feet refused to stop moving.
Her next thought blossomed as something warm in my chest,And, how about from your future wife?
Before I could form a response, a rush of magic, thick and electric, poured over Amy and Tina until they gleamed with opaque, sparkling light that mirrored her chrysalis powers. It wasn’t just her magic. It washer,so uniquely her. I could feel it through the hilt of my daggers. Her heat, her pulse, her life, everything that was her. The hum of it was alive in my palms, a steady heartbeat synced with my own. It was like holding a pieceof her in my hands, my arms growing stronger, my grip more sure, every part of me more healed.
My father’s eyes narrowed on the daggers, his lips curling. “You disgrace your grandmother’s memory by defiling her work withthatlizard’smagic.”
I charged in, our blades meeting hard enough to jar my shoulders. Sparks arced between us like a transformer exploding. Every strike cracked the dam I’d been holding back for years, and every parry was a thunderclap in my bones. Father’s breathing was ragged now, but his eyes burned like the heart of a forge, hot and perilous. The floor was slick with blood: his, Byrd’s, mine, and the others’. The new daggers infused with Byrd’s magic weren’t just warm, nor did they just deflect. The resistance I’d felt before against my father’s hunter-forged steel was gone, and my blades wanted to sink in. Diego was still dangerous, still strong, but there was a hesitation creeping into him. He was a fraction slower on the parries, a fraction heavier in his footwork, a fraction lighter in his strikes.
His mouth, though, held the same poison as ever.
“I shouldn’t be surprised,” he sneered, catching my right dagger on his crossguard. “You are such a disappointment.”
I slashed low with my left dagger, forcing him to sidestep out of the way. Unfortunately, he kept fucking talking.
“You can’t even fight me without the help of your little lizard whore.”
I sliced high, almost catching his shoulder. My breathing was ragged, arms sore, but I refused to stop.
“You are so fucking pathetic.”
Another cut sliced deeply across his arm. The magic from my girl and my blades made the wound remain open with glitter on the edges.
“You have no pride?—”
He never got to finish whatever bullshit he was spewing. I saw it then. It was the smallest opening, the flicker of his blade too far to the side, creating the perfect spot for me to take advantage of. My body and daggers moved on pure instinct, honed from every battle, humiliation, and lesson carved into my skin and muscles by this man.
I drove the first blow deep into his side, the heat of his blood gushing over my knuckles. It was the first time I ever relished in the feeling. “That’s for Byrd’s mother.”
The second one carved through the muscle of his arm, tearing apart his grip on the sword and making him drop the blade. “And, that one is for me.”
My father finally staggered back, his teeth bared in something between a snarl and a laugh. He was still standing, but just barely. The glow in his eyes remained bright and menacing.
I stepped in close, so close that I could smell the smoke that always clung to him and feel the heat of his body like a furnace against mine. Both of my blades were ready with the heat of my mate’s magic still burning in my grip.
“Oh, and Iamproud, Father. I am proud that I made you taste my blades for talking about my future wife, the woman helping me lead this family, just like I promised.”
