Page 60 of Cruelest Kiss and Fairest Blood
Lenore’s arms are crossed. “You saw it coming because you told me to stab you.”
“Wrong. I saw it coming because you wound up your arm like you were going to throw a snowball. Your intentions were obvious and your movements were slow.”
“Why don’t you tell me how you really feel,” Lenore mumbles.
“Don’t hold back. Try again.”
She strikes again, this time going for my clavicle. I swat her hand away. The dagger hits the forest floor.
“Too obvious. Try again.”
“This isn’t very fun.” Those beautiful blue eyes are burning into me.
I retrieve the dagger. “It’s not meant to be fun. Again.”
She aims for my carotid. I block her. The next time, she goes for the clavicle. My wrist redirects hers. She yelps, rubbing at the spot where our arms connected.
“I really don’t think—” Lenore protests.
“Dead girls can’t talk. Strike me and earn your words.”
That one pisses her off. The next swing of her dagger is aimed straight for my balls. She roars in frustration when I knock her hand aside at the last minute.
“Come on, Roseheart. You’re not stronger or faster so find a strength your attackers don’t have.”
She swings for my neck. I block her. “Too obvious. Again.”
Lenore is sweating, panting, and more pissed off than I’ve ever seen her. Her frustration comes out in waves of loud half-screams each time her plan of attack is thwarted.
She surprises me when she feints going for my clavicle and swipes for my throat instead. There’s a split-second when she has the upper hand but falters. I block her. “You hesitated.”
“No I didn’t?—”
“Dead girls can’t talk. Again.”
Lenore is livid. I can see it in her eyes and the set of her jaw.
She studies me; some plot is rolling through the cogs of her brain. Her shoulders droop. She sighs, clutching the dagger to her chest. “I can’t do this.” She steps toward me, lip quivering. Tears pool in her eyes and guilt tunnels through me.
“You can do this.”
She lays her head against my chest. “I’m trying my best.”
The sound of her voice breaking makes me ache. She leans back, peering up at me with tears in her eyes.
“I know you are. I’m sorry to be so hard on you. You’ll get the hang of this, you just need more practice.”
The blade jams upward and into my carotid without warning. The sensation is jarring. Pain rips through my neck as she slices me open. The blade is thin, but feels the size of a sword. My immediate disbelief gives way to pride. My little raven did it.
Lenore stumbles back. Victory flashes across her face for a heartbeat. Then the panic sets it. “Oh god.”
Her hands fly to her mouth. Snapping my arm out, I grip her dagger-wielding palm and bring it back to the blade’s hilt. My voice is cold, insistent. “I told you to always pull it out.”
“Oh my god, no.”
She fights to take her hand back. Tightening my grip, I keep her there until she complies. Her fingers close around the hilt and open again. She does this several times, working up the courage to remove the dagger. “Do it.Now.” I may not be dead but it still hurts like hell.
She releases a guttural sound of horror as the dagger slides out of my neck. The second it’s free, she drops it like she’s been burned.
