Abort, abort.
Stryke said to press down on the stick and hit the X and A buttons simultaneously, but the moment she did it, the flame exploded into a fireball and plowed into Draven.
Searing heat and stinging pain knocked her backward, throwing her out of the chair. Shouts and grunts filled the air, and then there was a hand around her throat. She couldn’t breathe, and her feet were dangling.
Draven!
How did he get in here?
Under no circumstances can you allow the bubble to touch Draven. I think doing so might transport him to you.
A bloodcurdling roar tore through the room, and then Logan was there, a flying punch to the head dropping Draven like a rock. She fell from his grip and gasped for breath. Something wet and warm coated her palm. Blood.
Crimson droplets dotted the floor mat, and she stopped breathing all over again when she saw Logan holding his thigh, his hand pressed against what looked like a splinter of ice.
Draven’s eyes, as icy and sharp as the shard in Logan’s leg, focused on her, his face a mask of demented hatred.
“Now you die, bitch.”
Images of her colleagues—their deaths—flashed in her head. This guy didn’t kill with his hands. He killed with his mind. She couldn’t give him time to think anything, and she had to buy Logan time to recover.
She launched at him. Caught him by surprise with a powerful uppercut to his sternum. Satisfaction at knocking him backward dulled the pain in her hand, but it only lasted a second. He recovered with a left hook she only dodged because of Logan’s training earlier in the week.
Then he followed it up with a right cross and the perfect opening for her special move.
Big mistake, asshole.
She met him in the center of the room. He swung, and she swept low with one arm as she slapped down on the mat with the other. A twist of her legs and—
He caught her calf, spun her, and she was suddenly in his arms. He sliced his right arm down, and pain became her world, clogging her throat so she couldn’t even scream. There was nothing but agony and horror as he tossed her aside like a fast-food wrapper.
“Stupid bitch.” Draven spat at her as she stumbled backward into the wall. “I saw you try that move in the gym with Logan.”
Logan’s words that day after he’d sliced through her shirt rang through her head like a death knell.
You try that move with someone who knows it, and instead of a ruined shirt, you’ll be cleaning your bowels off the floor.
Looking down, she cried out, warm, sticky blood flowing between her fingers. Her hands were the only things holding her intestines inside. Nausea and dizziness made everything slow and go dark. She felt her legs turn to jelly, and then she was on the ground. She couldn’t see, couldn’t hear.
And, as one more tsunami of pain crashed down on her, she couldn’t hold on to consciousness.
Chapter Thirty-Nine
“No!” Logan’s entire world tilted as he tore the ice shard from his thigh and watched Eva crumple to the ground, her organs spilling out of her body.
Draven’s laughter rang out, high-pitched and deranged.
“I fucking did it!” His body glowed, contorted. Horns erupted from his head as the last pieces of his transformation clicked into place.
Eva was dead.
Logan’s chest squeezed tight. He couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t move.
This can’t be happening!
Draven wheeled around to Logan. “I wanted to make her death gorier, but I held back out of respect for you.”
Fury and sorrow collided, awakening the dormant demon and angel DNA inside Logan. Everything awesome and terrible about both fed his rage, and he launched himself at his friend. There would be no mercy for this demon. There would only be vengeance—the only thing it would understand.