Page 106 of Hunt Me

She watched with horror as Belzara’s head rolled onto the floor and her body pitched to the right before meeting the same fate.

“I hate you, you disgusting animal,” Vivian snarled as she mutilated Belzara’s body with her blade—stabbing the deceased orc in a manic frenzy.

The ringing of swords and the shuddering death rattles seemed to fade away as she watched the scene before her. Her dearest friend was dead, and she was to blame.

“Matilda! You must fight!” Ezra’s voice rang out from across the hall, where he was fighting off three men. She snapped back to reality, pushed her grief aside, and abandoned her daggers for the broadsword laid at her feet from the fallen guard. She raised the sword above her head just in time to deflect a direct blow from Vivian. Matilda jumped back when the wicked woman kicked at her stomach. She thanked the gods that Vivian missed, but she needed to end the fight quickly. She was exhausted, and the longer the battle ensued, the higher the risk she’d tire out.

“Y-you are proficient at swordsmanship,” Matilda said, hoping to force the woman to talk and become distracted as they exchanged blows.

“I… was… taught by the best!” she snarled, swiping at Matilda’s neck. Matilda ducked and the blade sliced through the springy curls at the top of her head. Seeing an opening, Matilda chopped at one of her opponent’s ankles. Vivian sidestepped her blow and stabbed at her stomach.

Matilda’s mouth dropped in a silent scream as her body was pierced. She glanced down at her hand impaled by the sword. The tip of the blade was mere inches from her belly. A scream erupted from her when Vivian slowly sank the sword further through her hand. Vivian released a maniacal cackle.

“It still humors me that you, a dirty and disgusting human, thought you’d sit on the throne and be the Queen of Night Falls! I will send you and your abomination to the underworld where you belong!” she snarled, baring her fangs.

“You have conveniently forgotten that Night Falls has and always will belong to the humans. Your kind may be stronger physically, but to believe you are superior to us will be your ultimate downfall because we are still here after enduring your worst!”

Matilda swiped at Vivian’s ankle again. The vampire collapsed to the floor with a shrill cry, her foot dangling precariously from her leg. Matilda gritted her teeth as she removed the sword from her hand. She used the remainder of her strength to climb to her feet and wield the sword above her head. Sweat dripped down her face and neck, mingling with the blood of her fallen enemies.

“It seems you were mistaken, Vivian. You were not trained by the best. Because if you had, you wouldn’t be delivered to the underworld by a dirty, disgusting human,” Matilda said, panting with effort. “It is truly a shame. You crafted such magnificent dresses. This… this is for Belzara,” she declared, bringing the sharp edge of the blade down onto the screaming woman’s head, splitting her in two down to her chest. “H-how is that for inferior?” she whispered, discarding the weapon with a resounding clank.

Matilda glanced around the hall, relieved to see Ezra in one piece and the traitors extinguished. She dropped to her knees and crawled her weary body through blood, bones, entrails, and piss until she reached her fallen friend.

“Belzara,” she whispered before lying at the fallen orc’s side. “Belzara,” she whimpered, tears blurring her vision. “I’m so… sorry,” she apologized, hugging her friend close to her.

39

The Aftermath

Luka’s wings sliced through the air, propelling him towards his castle. Overwhelming sorrow struck him like a lightning rod, nearly sending him spiraling out of the sky. His heart squeezed tightly, forcing his breath out in short pants; he feared the worst.

He faltered slightly when he smelled blood as he neared his castle. The crimson liquid he viciously craved to the point of desperation and insanity suddenly revolted him as he picked up his beloved’s unique scent.

Please, gods, let me not be too late, he prayed, as he neared his destination.

Without hesitation, he crashed through the stained-glass window of the Great Hall. He landed with as much grace as a fawn taking its first steps. His boots slipped across the slick floor, bringing him to his hands and knees. His gaze blurred and unfocused as blood seeped between his fingers.

He felt himself dissociate, pulling away from the inevitable pain. His mind returned him to Garden Ridge and the night they had truly become one. Anything was better than imagining his queen and child perishing.

An ear-piercing wail echoed through the hall, forcing his vision to refocus. His gaze climbed up, and what he saw would likely haunt him for eternity.

Matilda was sobbing as she attempted to place Belzara’s severed head onto her body in a depraved last-ditch effort to bring her friend back to the land of the living.

“You will come back to me, Belzara!” she cried over the unmoving body.

Luka rushed to her side and knelt. “My Queen,” he whispered, reaching out to touch her—to offer some semblance of comfort for her loss and the horrors that befell her.

“Do not touch me!” she shrieked, shying away from his touch. Her denial struck him with formidable grief. Did she blame him for failing to keep them safe?

“Are you injured, Tilda?”

His eyes glanced over her, stopping to note the visible stab wound to her hand that pulsed blood in a steady trickle.

“My heart… it is in distress,” she murmured, not taking her eyes off her fallen friend.

“I know she meant much to you. For that, I am sorry.”

She snorted. “You are not sorry. You hated her,” she said accusingly.