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Galahad stood beside him.
Mordred would appreciate the man’s loyalty another time. “Keep him in the clearing, knight. Keep him from escaping. This fight is mine.”
Galahad simply nodded.
Grinn laughed, turning back to face Mordred. He grimaced, baring his one good fang. “You are too late. The magic has already corrupted the volcano. Even if you kill me now, it cannot be reversed.”
“You are lying. And stalling for time.” Mordred shook his head. “And if you are speaking truth? Then your death will hardly harm the situation.”
“Only I can stop it.” Grinn paced back and forth, sizing up his competition. Mordred, Galahad, and Gwendolyn. Two would fight him. The third likely would not. Mordred did not think Gwendolyn would betray either party—her heart was too gentle.
He could only hope, at any rate.
“And is this you, trying to strike a bargain?” Mordred huffed a laugh. “Please do not insult my intelligence after all these years. You will do anything to live another day so that you may try again to kill us all. No, demon.”
Grinn snarled and leaped forward.
Mordred met the attack with his own.
One of them would not leave this place alive.
And he could not have been happier about it.
Gwen didn’t know what to do. Grinn and Mordred were in a fight to the death.
The clash of claws and iron was a horrifying sound, coupled with the roar of fire and the snarls of the demon as they waged a fight long in the making. With each swing of Mordred’s sword or swipe of Grinn’s claws, Gwen’s stomach lurched. She wanted to jump into the fray—but what good would it do? None at all. She’d just get cut down for the trouble.
She was still crying, though now her tears were made of liquid fire as they hit the dirt at her feet and sizzled.
She didn’t want either of them to die.
But she didn’t think she got a say in the matter.
It felt wrong, simply standing there and doing nothing as claw and fang and fire met steel and iron and flesh. She occasionally had to dodge them as they fought, neither gaining ground, nor losing ground. She wanted to jump in between them, to physically break up the fight—but it was like watching two trains crash into each other head-on at full speed.
It was inevitable.
This had always been inevitable.
Grinn was bleeding from a cut on his arm, where Mordred had managed to strike him. Mordred was favoring his left leg. And like a shark smelling blood, Grinn began to focus on that point, trying to take the big warrior down.
Mordred managed to knock Grinn off balance, sending the demon stumbling into a tree that promptly caught on fire from the heat that was rolling off the monster in waves. Gwendolyn lifted her hand, putting out the flame before it could spread and cause more damage.
Great. She supposed she served a purpose, after all.
Fucking glorified fire extinguisher with legs. While she was watching the man she loved and—okay, she had no idea what she felt about Grinn, really, but she knew she didn’t want him to die—beat the absolute shit out of each other.
“Please stop—” She didn’t know why she bothered. They weren’t listening to her. “Please?—”
She couldn’t tell if the fight went on for too long, or not long enough. She wanted them to stop, and…well, they did. But not in the way she had wanted. Mordred raked one of his claws over Grinn’s face—shredding the demon’s only eye.
That was it.
That was how it would end.
Blinded, Grinn howled in agony, reeling back, staggering and lashing out at thin air. “You bastard!” he roared.
Mordred moved in, ramming his sword through Grinn’s back leg. The demon howled a sound that was unlike anything she had ever heard before he staggered and fell.
