Page 87 of Destiny Redeemed
“At least six that I can see. Black clothes, masked faces.” His jaw clenched. “My sword’s downstairs.”
Of course it was. Because nothing in this cursed second life of mine could ever be simple.
The door splintered inward before we could move. Two masked men burst through, weapons drawn. Anderic reacted with lightning speed, grabbing the nearest chair and smashing it against the wall. The wooden legs snapped off, leaving him with a makeshift club.
“Behind me,” he ordered, pushing me back with one arm while brandishing his broken chair with the other.
The first attacker lunged. Anderic parried the blade with his chair-turned-weapon, wood chips flying as steel bit into it. He countered with a vicious swing that connected with the man’s temple, sending him crashing into the wall.
“The stairs—now!” Anderic shouted, already backing toward the door, keeping himself between me and our attackers.
We bolted for the staircase, the thundering of boots behind us. Halfway down, another masked figure appeared at the bottom, blocking our escape. Without breaking stride, Anderic vaulted over the railing, landing with a grunt before driving his shoulder into the man’s midsection. They crashed to the floor in a tangle of limbs.
I scrambled down the remaining steps as Anderic rolled away from his opponent, reaching for his sword propped against the wall. His fingers closed around the hilt just as two moreattackers descended the stairs. In one fluid motion, he drew the blade and slashed upward, catching the first man across the chest.
“Run!” he shouted at me, already engaging the second attacker. “Out the door, now!”
I started toward the exit but froze as three more figures emerged from the tree line outside. Trapped between Anderic’s fight and the approaching men, I hesitated.
“I said, RUN!” Anderic roared, fighting with a ferocity that made my blood run cold. His blade danced, keeping three men at bay, but he couldn’t hold them forever.
One of the men from outside spotted me and charged. My hand flew to my boots, where Anderic’s dagger was strapped—the one I had used to kill Gareth.
The man clearly didn’t expect resistance from me. His guard was down as he reached for my arm. I yanked the dagger free and drove it into his chest with all my strength, feeling the sickening give of flesh and the scrape of metal against bone.
His eyes widened in shock behind his mask. Blood bubbled from his lips as he staggered backward, then collapsed.
I tried to retrieve the dagger, but it had sunk to the hilt. No matter how hard I pulled, it wouldn’t budge. Panic seized me as the remaining men advanced, their eyes now wary. They wouldn’t underestimate me again.
“No, no, no,” I muttered, abandoning the dagger and bolting for the kitchen. They followed, their footsteps heavy on the wooden floor.
The kitchen knives still lay on the counter, exactly where I’d left them yesterday. I grabbed two blades, whirling to face my pursuers. Five of them now, moving cautiously into the room while Anderic’s battle raged in the main hall.
Two knives. Five men. Terrible odds.
I licked my dry lips, remembering Sebastian’s lessons in knife-throwing. “Pick your target. Breathe. Release on the exhale.”
The nearest man lunged. I threw, my arm snapping forward with precision born of desperation. The blade caught him in the throat. He dropped, gurgling, clawing at the steel protruding from his neck.
Four left.
I threw my second knife at the next man, but my hand trembled. The blade whistled past his ear, embedding itself in the doorframe. My stomach dropped. No more weapons.
“You’re a dead woman,” one of them growled, advancing slowly.
My eyes darted around the kitchen, searching for anything to use as a weapon. Then I spotted it—a clay jar of cooking oil on the shelf beside me.
Not ideal, but better than nothing.
“Come closer and find out,” I said, reaching for the jar with shaking hands.
They charged. I hurled the oil, shattering the jar against the leader’s chest. The thick liquid splashed across all four, drenching their black clothing.
My fingers fumbled with the matchbox on the counter. One match left. I struck it, the flame dancing to life between my trembling fingers.
“Take another step, and we all burn,” I warned, holding the match toward them.
They hesitated, eyeing the flame. For one brief moment, I thought my bluff had worked. Then the match burned down, singeing my fingertips. I dropped it with a hiss of pain.
