The witches have entered the game, trudging out into the snow with their proverbial guns loaded.
Which can only mean—
“Save some for us, mate.” Jude soars into view, Rook right by his side, and if I wasn’t holding two blades and covered in guts, I’d tackle-hug them both.
She did it. Our girl fucking did it.
A smile is all the gratitude I’ve got time to show before Draegan’s barreling toward us, a demon on his tail.
Wasting no time, Jude rockets straight for him, and just before they collide in midair, Drae drops out of the way, giving Jude the perfect shot.
He may be unarmed, but that crazy motherfucker is going for the jugular.
Literally.
He’s fucking feral, claws slashing rapid-fire at the demon’s neck and face, shredding it to the bone.
The demon roars, black flames scorching the air, but Jude’s all in now. He’s got his whole body wrapped around the creature’s half-mangled torso like some kind of psychotic barnacle, his gargoyle wings batting wildly at the demon’s arms, claws still slicing and dicing.
Then, kill shot—a move that happens so fast, I barely see it.
One second he’s cursing at the demon, and the next, he’s tearing out its throat with his teeth, sawing through the back of its neck with his claws until its ugly head drops to the ground, the body spiraling down after it.
“Well, that’s one way to do it, you fucking showoff.” I grin at him once more, then bank left, dodging another beast.
Draegan swings back around to take on another one, while Rook goes head-to-head with a third. Jude’s back in the mix too, and soon we find our rhythm, a wild clash of swords and claws and fangs. Blood and bone. Rage and ruin.
No sign of Verrick—a blessing for which we’ve only his cowardice to thank. Of course he’d let his enemies tear each other apart first. Makes his job that much easier.
Down below, the witches continue casting their spells, West’s signature violet magic weaving in with the other colors. I don’t know what kind of mojo those women are packing, but whatever it is, it’s working. Between their spells and our physical attacks, we’re finally making a fucking dent.
The demons are weakening.
Not surrendering, but giving us just enough breathing room to try to come up with a better strategy.
A few of them break off from the group, sailing toward the barren trees at the edge of town. Rook and Jude are in hot pursuit, leaving me and Drae to deal with the rest—nine or ten to go.
Better odds than when we started, but still not great. Both of us are fucking exhausted, bleeding and gouged and quickly losing steam.
“Zorakkov,” Drae shouts, nodding toward the gallows where the demon prince is still chanting. “We need to take him down or we’ll be at this all fucking day.”
“Go. I got your back.”
Drae nods and takes off, spiraling down toward the gallows. Tatiana spots the move from the ground and redirects her attack on the demons guarding Zorakkov, slowly drawing them away.
A quick glance at Rook and Jude confirms they’re holding their own, so I run interference for Drae, grappling with another demon looking for a fight.
Blood and sweat sting my eyes. Muscles tremble with exhaustion. But I keep going, just like everyone else.
Just like West.
I can’t see her now, but I can feel her—her magic. Her life force.
Somewhere on the snow-covered street below, through all the blood and fire and destruction, my witchling keeps fighting.
She fights for the other witches—women she just met, but with whom she’s already formed an unbreakable bond.
She fights for herself, determined not to let anyone else write her destiny.
