“Seriously?” she muttered.
Two enemy shinobi rounded the corner at a sprint, but Kazuma didn’t even look. He lifted one hand and snapped his fingers. A slicing gust drove into them, sharp as a blade—cutting both across the torso in the same movement. Their upper halves hit the ground a moment before their legs did.
“They’re better than Tanshi,” he said, eyes scanning the bodies. “But there are no Ryosh among them.”
Aimee frowned, blood still trickling from the gash on her shoulder. “What does that—?”
“They’re good.” Kazuma sighed. “But not experts.”
“Of course.” She licked her lips. “And you’re using Mana.”
His eyes scanned the space behind her, shoulders half-turned as if already preparing for the next strike.
“We’ll be lucky.” A flicker ran down his jaw. “If we have the opportunity to deal with those particular consequences.”
For just a moment, he sagged—knees easing, shoulders curving in—then straightened again. With a jerk, he flicked the blood from his katana, spraying the stone in quick, wet arcs before he sheathed it in one fluid motion.
“I’m nearly depleted,” he said without looking at her. “And there remain many more.”
Aimee’s gaze drifted to the hatch across the walkway—the one leading down to the storerooms, where the others were hidden.
Then she turned back to him.
Her hand rose to his face, claws grazing along the stubble of his cheek as she forced his eyes to meet hers.
She knew what he would see—eyes gone black, fangs long behind parted lips. He’d been nearly unconscious the last time he’d seen her like this. She’d never been sure if he’d actuallyseenher.But he did now. And he didn’t flinch. Just stared.
“You are beautiful.” His throat worked as he swallowed. “Aimee…”
“When we get through this,” she interrupted, wrenching him closer. “I want to see what you can do with this Mana.” She leaned in and licked the blood from his cheek. “Just the two of us.” A kiss, light but firm, closed the space between them. “You’ve been caged too long.”
His eyes fluttered shut, and his body shivered once, barely controlled, as a hiss of air warned her.
She spun, blade intercepting a strike meant for Kazuma’s back as he moved with her, katana unsheathed and cutting down across another shinobi’s chest. They moved in unison, backs touching, each breath matched to the other’s rhythm.
More of the enemy descended from above, ropes whipping, black uniforms blotting out what little light clung to the canyon walls.
Steel sung. Wind cut flesh. And darkness rippled across the walkways. The clang of weapons and the screams of the dying blended with the heady stink of blood with every inhale. Her arms burned. His shoulders heaved. Yet, still, they fought, one step at a time, their footing slick with gore.
And they did not falter.
Still, the enemy came.
Then, somewhere above, power stirred—Mira’s, distant and furious—but it was not here yet. Not for them. They fought until time lost all meaning, until the canyon itself seemed to tremble beneath the violence of the assault.
All they could do was last.
Chapter sixteen
Soundreturnedfirst,muffledand warped, like she had cotton shoved deep in her ears. Voices carried somewhere close, but the words broke apart, distorted.
Then pain came.
Her ribs burned every time her chest rose. One arm felt wrong—bent, heavy, useless. A dull throb hammered at the base of her skull, sending jolts down her neck. She tried to move and couldn’t.
Beneath her, the surface was too soft to be stone. Not the rough bite of a battlefield floor but something padded, linen against her skin. The faint smell of herbs clung to the fabric. A bed.
Aimee forced her eyes shut more firmly and internally catalogued the damage. Broken arm. Ribs cracked—at least three. Her head—fractured skull, maybe. And theblood loss—too much.
