Page 122 of Fires of the Forsaken
“I’ll allow you leniency,” Head Honcho said to him, “if you hand the woman over.”
“She’d make a fine meal,” a female Wraith cackled.
God-fucking-damnit. Why did everything in this stupid world want to eat me?
Oh, right. Fat equaled flavor. Har, har.
Freda used to say that all the time when she baked or cooked. And I’d bet my left arm the Wraiths held the same philosophy toward theirmeals.
“Addie.” Cheriour kept his gaze focused on the Wraiths. “Go.”
Head Honcho laughed. “She won’t get far—”
Cheriour tossed another knife.
Head Honcho yanked the horse’s head forward, shielding himself.
I let out a horrified rasp as the blade sank into the horse’s throat. The animal squealed. Snorted. Swayed.
“And now you’ve one less blade.” Head Honcho ripped the knife free.
“Addie,” Cheriour dropped into a semi-squat, prepping for an attack, “go!”
“But—”
With a wet, bloody snort, the horse collapsed. Laughter rippled through the crowd of Wraiths.
“GO!” Cheriour insisted.
Where? Where thefuckwas I supposed to go?And how could I leave him? He was facing off against twenty Wraiths. It didn’t matter how good a fighter he was, the odds were shit.
Would me being here make them better? Heck no. But running wouldn’t help either. I’d be caught in thirty seconds. Easy.
But if I stayed…
I reached back, sweat burning the blisters on my palms as I freed my poleaxe from its binding.
Cheriour couldn’t win this fight. Not being so outnumbered. And he knew it. Perspiration trickled down his face as he plucked another knife from his holster.
If I stayed, at least he wouldn’t have to die alone. I mean, there wasn’t apleasantway to die. But it was better to go down with a friend. Right?
I sure as fuck hoped so.
Cheriour did a double take when I moved to stand beside him. “I said go,” he hissed.
“And I’m saying no.” At least my voice was somewhat steady. Unlike my hands.
“So it’s a fight you’re looking for, eh? We’ll oblige.” Head Honcho raised his arm, a cold grin unfurling across his face as his lackeys shifted into position behind him. “Kill the man,” he called. “Leave the woman alive.For now.We shall feast on her flesh tonight.”
35
Crispier than Kentucky Fried Chicken
The Wraiths charged.
Cheriour (the freaking badass) killed six of them with a few knife throws. I hit a seventh on a lucky crotch shot.
But the Wraiths were ruthless. Relentless. Hitting them didn’t always take them down. Even my crotch shot only stunned the female for a few seconds. Then, privates still bleeding, she snapped right back into the fight.
