“We should—”
I teleport behind the demon closest to me, not hesitating to snap his neck. I rip hard, making sure there’s no chance of survival. His knees give out, and I drop him to the floor before turning toward the one beside him.
He’s just beginning to react, and I shove my hand through his chest. I’ve heard stories of Aziel using this method to kill, but as muscle tears and organs slip between my fingers, I decide it’s an awful experience.
The man knocks the shaft of my spear aside, and flames lick up my throat as he grabs hold and rips. It takes everything in me not to scream, not to fall to the floor in a heap. I planned to leave the spear in place until reaching the medical tent back at camp, and blood immediately begins pouring through the gaping wound.
Sweat drips down my face as I teleport a few feet away. The heart travels with me, and I drop the mangled organ as I face the remaining two demons. The leader is one of them.
They’re crouching, eyeing my every movement as they readjust their grips on the knives now clutched in their fists. Their gazes are locked on my chest, no doubt searching for the best way to exploit my injury.
I straighten up, not wanting them to know just how much pain I’m in. Or how I’m fighting back the temptation to sway. The spear penetrated deep, and I fear it hit something vital. I’d already be dead if it hit my heart, but it could’ve punctured a lung.
Both men lunge at once. They’re smooth. Practiced. Rexton wasn’t lying about Mammon training her army. I knew she grew paranoid after Luca’s death, but I suppose I never realized the extent to which she prepared.
My movements are embarrassingly slow as I dart away from the first man’s attack, but I’m too disoriented to defend against the second man. His shoulder slams against my ribcage,knocking the wind out of me. There’s a pinpointed crack, which I suspect is a rib or two breaking, and my fists momentarily drop.
My head drops, too, the blood loss making me hazy.
I’m too weak to teleport.
One of the men enters my reach, and I use my last bit of energy to rip out his throat. It’s messy, and blood sprays across my face as he stumbles back. I’ve lost track of the last man, though, the leader.
I quickly find him as a boot slams against my lower spine, knocking me onto my hands and knees.
I land with a pained grunt, and disgust roils through me as I realize I might not win this fight. My first real fight that counts for something, and I’m failing. These four men wouldn’t have been a challenge had I not been fucking speared.
Whospearspeople?
“Cass—”
Rexton.
The Greed behind me drops to the ground, his head bouncing off a rock on my left. There’s no body attached to it.
Arms wrap around my torso. One presses directly over my chest hole, and I scream. It ruptures out of my throat without control, so loud and rough that my voice will undoubtedly be hoarse tomorrow.
Rexton readjusts his grip and flips me around, and his blurry, panicked expression enters my line of sight a second later. He’s staring at the gaping wound. I can only imagine how it looks, and despite my hatred of him, I fall limp against his chest as he hauls me off the ground.
My head lolls onto his shoulder.
“Are you keeping the trachea?”
Am I holding a trachea? I flex my fingers, just now realizing they’re curled around something. I didn’t intend to take it with me, but it’s not a bad idea.
“Yes,” I grunt. “A souvenir.”
The world around me vanishes, only to reappear a second later outside camp. Why is Rexton bringing me to camp? This is his perfect opportunity to kill me, to secure Wrath for himself. Why isn’t he taking it?
“Why?” I ask.
He ignores me, instead pulling me closer to safety. I don’t understand.
Chapter Thirty-Two
CASSIA
REXTON PRACTICALLY CARRIES me to the edge of camp. We pause just outside it.
