Page 40 of Hellbound

Ksenia tightened her fingers around Caromir’s.

“And this”—Bohdan gestured around the room bursting with weapons—“is very, very, far over the line.” His smile was predatory. “Don’t you agree?”

She was torn between attacking him with wild abandon and fleeing for her life, but her traitorous mouth chose for her.

“You’re a fucking monster, you know that?” Her whisper was harsh, her breath coming out in puffs.

Her words bounced off his perfect mask. “Then you ought to run.” He took a step forward, his polished leather boot clicking against the stone. Her sense of self-preservation slammed back into her body, and Ksenia took a step back, colliding against the dais and shaking the cloche.

She looked back at the sword. Damn her to hell if she was going to walk away empty-handed after everything she had achieved on her mission so far.

With both hands, she gave a reckless shove. The crystal cloche wavered then tipped, smashing to the floor like stars exploding in the night sky.

She grasped the emerald-encrusted sword with her sweaty palm. When she turned, he was upon her—the warning flash of his sword his only signal in her periphery. There was no sound of his blade even disturbing the air.

Instinct took over: with a controlled shove, Ksenia redirected the moment of his strike, the force of his blade carrying past hers—the shriek of metal scraping metal.

His calm expression faltered for a beat. The intensity of his gaze sharpened with a flash of disbelief across his angular features.

She had no time to rejoice in her lucky parry before he rained down another blow. His movements were precise, separating the air, the razor’s edge catching the fabric of her sleeve and slicing it open as she retreated in a fumbling mess.

He was mechanical. Toying with her. Her eyes darted wildly for any escape aside from the one he was blocking.

Bohdan’s blade arced toward her throat—

SNAP—CRASH!

A deafening clang split the air as something massive plummeted from the ceiling. Ksenia threw herself backward on instinct as an iron chandelier shattered onto the floor between them with earth-shaking force. Metal groaned and shrieked, scattering candles and weapons in every direction.

The chandelier’s iron arms had bent and twisted upon impact, creating a jagged barrier of wrought metal between her and Bohdan.

Ksenia blinked through the debris, ears ringing, and caught another flash of movement—a whisp of yellow hair, a child’s silhouette at the second-floor balcony.

There and gone in less than a second.

Ksenia seized the opportunity. She spun and ran for the stained-glass window, kicking it with the toe of her metal-tipped boot. The glass cracked and shattered in a cascade of ruby, sapphire, and emerald, slicing into her clothing, but adrenaline kept her moving.

Rain poured onto the floor, and she shoved herself into the narrow stone archway. She had underestimated the width of the walls, and she forced herself through the sting of sharp glass cutting her clothing and skin—better glass than that blade, though.

Bohdan leaped over the twisted heap of metal on the ground. His blade sang as it cut through the air and rain. Steel sought her retreating form as it whispered past her ribs—so close she could feel the coldness against her feverish skin.

Sheets of rain soaked her from head to toe as soon as she made it outside, and she sneaked a glance over her shoulder. Vicious green eyes stalked her from the other side, the broken window too narrow for him to fit through.

Her breath came in sharp bursts as she ran along the stone pathway lining the armory. Down below, foot soldiers and guards on horseback patrolled.

She skidded over the slick stone as she changed directions toward the west wall, where a solitary forest bordered the castle.

The mountain beyond funneled the wind and rain sideways at her. She shielded her eyes from the icy onslaught and spotted a heavy, waterlogged length of rope coiled in the corner.

The rough fibers scraped and bit at her leather gloves as she married her ice picks, winding them back and forth with the rope until it became a single grappling hook.

Around the corner, a sound of horns broke through the din of the rain—hounds barking, their claws a maddening scrape over the flagstone floors. She shifted her weight from foot to foot, fingers twitching around the hilt of the sword.

Run.

No amount of fighting would result in her survival. She crudely strapped the sword to her back with her shawl, then lodged the hook deep into the mortared brick lip of the wall and let the rest of the rope tumble out into the darkness. She prayed it was long enough for her to climb down to safety, but being out of sight was now her top priority. She trembled as she hoisted herself over it, her toes scrabbling for purchase with the piton.

They dug into any nook and cranny available to her as she clung to the rope for dear life.