Page 63 of The Lost Child

Macguire took one step toward Danix who shot me an apologetic glance and ran for it, missing half the doorway and jamming his shoulder against the doorframe. He swore and staggered back into the fray, leaving me alone with my father’s worst enemy. So much for loyalty. Then again, what did I expect? It was every man (or woman) for themselves.

“Pirates.” Macguire grunted, taking a few steps toward me. “Not much honor in us.”

I leaned away from him, but weaponless there wasn’t much I could do to fight him. He fingered the fabric of my dress, taking a pinch from my neckline and rubbing the rich brocade between the pads of his thumb and index finger.

“He can dress you up all he likes, but we both know you’re no maiden. He can act all ‘igh and mighty like, but his daughter’s no better than a common whore. Well, slightly better, since you had the beast do his bending to your little crooked finger.”

His hand slid down my chest, grasping and groping.

“You’re actually helping him,” I taunted, holding my breath so I wouldn’t breathe in the scent of alcohol and blood that wafted from him. “He was going to abandon everyone and live the posh life in Tatra. You should kill him before he gets away.”

Macguire laughed, then tore the top of my dress. “Like I said, no honor in us.” He leaned forward, his face descending towards mine.

I seized my chance, knowing I couldn’t balk. This was my one shot. My fingers curled around Canavar’s fang, and I struck.

I lunged forward, the fang clenched tightly in my fingers with the tip just poking out between my middle and index fingers. I punched my fist forward and into his right eye as hard as I could.

Blood splattered over my face and neck, replacing his greedy hands as he screamed and pushed me away, his cutlass dropping to the ground. He kept screaming, but there was screaming coming from everywhere around us. My skin felt like it was vibrating from all the noise as I crashed to the ground, my legs tangling in my stupid skirts. I crawled to my father's desk and opened the second drawer on the right as Maguire writhed on the ground, howling and covering his face with his ands. I withdrew the dagger I knew my father always kept there. I kept Canavar’s fang in my left hand, and shifted the blade to my right.

By the time I managed to stand up, Macguire was rushing me, grabbing his massive sword from his waist and waving it as he reached for my chest.

There was a reason my father never favored longswords and instead went with the cutlasses and katanas from the east. My own favorite blade was a cutlass, though my daggers saw just as much use. Longswords weren’t much use in close combat.

As Macguire lunged at me, it took only a split second to slip under his guard as the great sword sent most of his momentum forward. He wasn’t quick enough to pivot back and bring the sword around again, and he foolishly had no other daggers or weapons in his other hand, since he needed both to wield his massive blade.

Plus I’d half-blinded him.

“DEMON BITCH!”

I didn’t hesitate. I rammed the dagger into his chest as hard as I could, on the left side where I knew the heart was. Macguire stiffened, his eyes losing their fury as he realized he was going to die.

I yanked the blade out and let him fall. I was out the door before his body hit the deck.

And immediately I shrank back.

The hallway was a mess of pain and chaos, of men dying as the floors slicked with the blood of soldiers and pirates alike.

A familiar roar sounded from the far edge, a roar I knew intimately. Canavar.

There was no way I would reach him through all of this. And even if I did, then what? He’d already made his choice, and it wasn’t me.

I turned from the hallway, stepping over Macguire’s body and thanking the gods (or would it be the Mother now, as a witch?) that I was in my father's study. That meant a nice, large window.

My stupid satin slippers were worthless, so I bent down and tugged Macguire’s boots off his body. They’d be too big, but it would work in a pinch. I took a moment to slit my dress up to my knees, then hurriedly cut off the excess fabric. I didn’t care who saw my legs or even got a peek at my bum or cunt.

I cared if I died or not.

I grunted to lift my leg, heavy with the dead man’s boots. I kicked the glass out of the window, and stared down at the rocky cliffs below.

Death in a hallway, or death on the shore.

If only Canavar were here! He’d—no. I mustn't think like that anymore. Canavar wouldn’t be here to save the day. I had to rely on myself to survive. Just like always.

I went back to Macguire and undid his belt, mentally thanking him for being such a glutton. The tough strip of leather had been quite long to fit around his girth. I opened the bottom left drawer of my father's desk and pulled out not just my father’s belt, butthebelt.

My hand shook a bit as I gripped the worn leather in my hands, bits here and there cracked and worn with age. Why spend precious oil on keeping it soft when it was only bound for my disobeying backside?

I wished I could beat him across the face with it. When this was all over, maybe I would.

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