Page 110 of To Vanquish Darkness

Clémentine was here. Was Etienne as well? Other members of Theo's coven? Hope bloomed in her chest. She was close.So close.

She reached Theo, and just as she threw out a hand, a blade flew toward her, nearly taking off her fingers. She whirled back, her eyes locking on Olivie who stood over Theo like a guard dog.

"Olivie, you have the sword. You don't need us."

Her friend flinched. "He won't leave this if he doesn't get what he wants."

Amalie scoffed. "He won't leave it regardless. You've hitched your cart to the wrong horse."

Olivie frowned, then tightened her grip on the blade. Amalie was ready when she lunged. She'd trained with Olivie for years, and knew her fighting style, though Olivie had the same benefit. Amalie spun, but Olivie was faster than she remembered. She twisted, her arm snaking out, allowing her to snatch Amalie's wrist.

Amalie grunted as Olivie wrenched her arm at the same angle Ren had moments before, and pain shot through her shoulder. She kicked out, her foot connecting with Olivie's shin. She stumbled, and Amalie took the opportunity to twist free.

They circled each other, their eyes locked. Amalie's heart bruised her ribs as she panted. When Olivie lunged again, Amalie met her head on.

"I don't want to fight you."

Olivie let out a huff of air. "Then you shouldn't have whored yourself to a vampire."

Amalie's eyes flashed. She gritted her teeth and pushed, using her weight to force Olivie back. Olivie snarled and twisted, the blade of the relic slicing through the air. Amalie ducked, but not fast enough. The blade caught her arm, and she hissed as pain seared through her flesh. She stumbled back, her vision blurring.

Olivie pressed her advantage, her strikes coming faster and harder. Amalie's muscles screamed in protest, but she pushed through the pain. She couldn't let Olivie win.She would not die like this.

Amalie's foot slipped on the slick cobblestones, and she fell to one knee. Olivie was on her in an instant, her blade arcing toward her throat.

Amalie's instincts took over. She rolled to the side, her shoulder slamming into Olivie's legs. Her friend yelped and tumbled to the ground, and Amalie was on her in a split second.

She straddled Olivie's chest, her hands wrapping around her throat. Olivie's eyes widened, and she clawed at Amalie's hands, but she held firm. Her muscles burned with the effort, but she didn't let go.

Olivie's face turned red, and her eyes bulged. Amalie squeezed tighter, her vision narrowing. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, Olivie," she murmured, looking anywhere but at her friend's face. Olivie's struggles grew weaker, and blood rushed in Amalie's ears.

Tears stung her eyes as Olivie's body went limp. She dropped her hands, shaking as she fell onto the stone. She wasn't dead. She hadn't held on long enough for her to die.

The sword lay on the stone next to her, and she lunged for the handle. Her hand caught only air as the blade skittered acrossthe stone. Amalie growled, throwing herself after it and catching a boot to the ribs.

Her palms burned as she slid across the rough sand. She caught a flash of dark hair and leather before the heel of Marcel's hand caught her underneath her jaw. How was he coming after her? If Clémentine and Etienne were there, they should have taken out the Pourfendeurs easily.

Blood filled her mouth as she rolled, catching him in the stomach before scrambling again for the hilt of the sword.

"This is mine," he growled, but Amalie's hand closed around the worn leather.

This had to stop. She flew to her feet, swinging the sword from the ground. "Enough!" she cried, whirling the blade over her head.

She had sought this blade to protect. To avenge her mother's death and vanquish the darkness that plagued their villages, townships, and cities. She would not use it to kill her friends.

Marcel dropped into a ready stance, and Amalie fixed her eyes on his. "I don't care what he promised you, Marcel. This ends now." Marcel's eyes flicked to hers, then back to the sword. He took another step forward, and Amalie tensed. "Marcel?—"

"All of them will die," he hissed. Amalie spun as he lunged, bringing the blunt edge of the sword up to deflect his blow. She would not kill her friends. The force of the impact reverberated through her bones, and before she could recover, Marcel's knee cracked against her ribs. He was stronger, more experienced. This wasn't a fair fight.

The vision of her training in the room with windows flashed through her head. She'd found strength then. A force strong enough that she'd caught Theo and thrown him against the stone.

Marcel smashed his fist against her temple, knocking her to the sand, then ground his boot into her wrist. Amalie cried outin pain, forcing her fingers to stay clamped around the hilt of the sword.

Pain flashed in her head, sparking like kindling, making it impossible to think. Her thoughts fractured, stabbing like shards of glass. Her family. The guardians. They had hunted her. Theo watched for her. Her blood—someone had wanted her blood. The relic would vanquish. Theo had a plan. Her family needed him. They were defenseless. Theo was defenseless.

Those last thoughts ignited like absinthe, surging through her veins and scorching her insides. The thread of light became a beacon, and the shard that pinched her gut became a blade through her center.

Amalie reached for them both, wrenching against them until they snapped forward. Amalie gasped as energy crashed over her like a tidal wave, drawing her under, threatening to snuff her out.

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