Page 129 of A Liar's Twisted Tongue

“That’s exactly what we’re going to do.” Jermoine steps closer.

Then he swings. I duck, and Breck’s sword comes straight down for me. I tumble out of its way—a full-on somersault—and get back to my feet. The second my hand is on the sheathe at my rib cage, Jermoine swings again, right for my wrist. I jump back, but he still draws blood.

He makes a sound like a “tsk” three times. “You won’t be doing that again.”

A thousand needles prick every inch of my skin, all at once. The hair on my arms sticks up and my body shakes vigorously, but I can’t stop it until I fall to the floor, stunned. They’re really going to kill me, aren’t they? These two assholes are going to best me.

What a joke. What a dumb way to die.

Breck steps over me, and it’s by sheer force of will that I push my attention to his pant leg.

Light, light, light.

Heat rushes through my body, up my stomach, down my arms, into my fingers.

He’s on fire, and I let out a small gasp of relief while he screams and slams his hand against his pant leg. Then I’m able to wiggle my fingers. The sensation of being able to feel my body moves up my arms and down my torso.

Jermoine brings his sword down toward my abdomen. I twist out of the way, but the blade still slices through the side of my stomach, and I gasp.

White fills my vision, and in seconds, the entire side of my shirt is sopping red.

I can barely see when Jermoine goes for my heart this time. I fold my legs in, pushing myself up the slick floor with all my strength. Then I get to my wobbly feet.

The right side of my body is uncomfortably slick with hot blood, but that’s nothing compared to the heat coursing through me, from the fire across the room or my body’s attempt to cauterize the gashing wound, I don’t know.

Only the whole cauterizing thing isn’t working, and I’m bleeding out fast.

“Why don’t you put down the sword and fight me like a gentleman?” My voice is rough, and when Jermoine smiles, I know he heard the strain. The weakness.

I unsheathe a dagger, fast, and ignore the blistering pain creeping up my body and the sweat that’s threatening to pour into my eyes. When Jermoine takes a step, I throw, aimed for his throat, but this time he’s out of the way right before it lands.

“Fool me once, am I right?” He laughs, and I’m shocked because I had no idea how cynical he was. He swings, I duck, grabbing a dagger and planting it deep in his thigh. The pain in my fist is nothing compared to my side when I punch his knee in and tear my burning wound open again.

I bite my tongue and try to get to my feet while Jermoine falls to his knees, only for me to fall again. Dizzy. Still, his sword comes down again for my head, and I’m about to die. Shit. I’m about to die.

I catch the sword in my hands. Before I can bite my tongue again, I scream. Maybe it’s more of a shriek.

The heat goes to my head like a drug.

Then it’s Jermoine screaming.

Silver covers my hands and it’s trickling down his sword too, coating his hands and forearms. The sword falls from my grasp and Jermoine falls to his back, crying out. Blood and thick silver liquid paint my palms. I look at the screaming boy, at his sword.

There’s no edge. No tip, nothing where my hands just were.

I melted his blade.

Breck is still on fire.

I get up and run. The pain from ripping open the wound my body is trying to cauterize is shattering through any rational thought with every step.

Palming a knife and sliding it up my long sleeve, I knock on the door to Lucian’s suite. Yuki opens it.

I walk right past him.

“He’s not here,” Azaire says, stepping out from an open door.

“What happened to you?” Yuki is looking at the blood seeping from my side.

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