Page 122 of Wings of Destruction

She grabs for the holster on my thigh and yanks the dagger free. This time, unlike in the past, she’s successful. The blade presses to my throat before I have a chance to yell.

Her eyes meet mine and she blinks the tears away. “Get back,” she hisses.

“Kieran! Don’t do anything stupid.” Astrid’s voice sounds from a distance and someone is coughing, a wet hacking sound.

A round of gasps drones in the background as the room narrows down further. There’s only Morgan and the rage in her eyes. The depths of it threaten to burn me.

“What are you going to do, Princess? Are you going to slice me open?”

Her head tilts as she takes me in. “I will. I won’t hesitate.”

“You’re hesitating now.” A dark chuckle rumbles out of me.

She angles the blade against my Adam’s apple, her head cocked to the side while she stares me down, waiting for me to make a move. Neither one of us breathes.

“Now.” I’m not exactly the voice of reason but it’s the best I can do. “Let’s be reasonable. You’re going to kill me, and then what? Do you think you’ll make it out of this room before someone catches you? It’s a miracle the guards haven’t been called.”

“It’s only fair,” she whispers. The movement opens up the split in her lip and blood trickles over her white teeth. “Your father took my family. I’ll take his.”

Movement flutters at the corner of my vision and I know it’s Astrid and Evie, a twining of silver and gold as my second in command helps the beaten girl off her back.

Morgan grunts and pushes the blade closer, sensing my distraction.

I want to use her rage. I want to empty her of it until there is nothing left and we’re guaranteed a win because she will never stop. I won’t, either.

One wrong move and she’ll slice my throat without hesitation. I know it. So why is she paused now? For impact?

Because she wants me to feel every bite and sting of the steel before it severs muscles.

“My blade is sharp enough for you to take my head off, if you’re strong enough,” I tell her in an undertone. “But he won’t care. You’re making a mistake if you think my death will prove your point. Roman Ryson only cares about one single thing in this world, and it’s definitely not me.”

And because I’m a sick bastard, I smile.

“Go on. What are you waiting for? Take your revenge. Do it. I’m begging you.” I hold my arms out to the side again to make myself a bigger target.

Morgan inhales, her eyes narrowing further, and I make my move.

I slide my foot against hers and knock her off balance. The slight pause where Morgan drew breath is my one inroad and I take it to disarm her. Rather than falling away, Morgan steps into me. Surprise flickers through me and I grip her wrist to draw the dagger aside.

She refuses to let go of it no matter how hard I squeeze her tendons. A flash of pain echoes in her bright green eyes before she grits her teeth and bears down, pushing her full weight into the blade.

It skims my throat and snags when I swallow compulsively.

I’m not dead yet.

Her knee lifts between my legs. I see the movement before she executes it and sidestep, avoiding the hit in the balls, tugging her with me. She moves, but her continued grip on the dagger makes it hard to get the upper hand.

All she has to do is pull it to the left and I’m gone. So, I do what any man would. I refuse to let her see me sweat. I push into her and her spine bends with the movement, as flexible as a willow branch, her hand knocked to the side of her head and the dagger with it.

“Well?” I taunt. “What’s the matter? Finding it a little difficult to actually make contact? Come on. Maybe you exhausted yourself on Evie and now you’re finding it tough to navigate a real match.”

“A real match? Please. You are like a disease,” Morgan says through a sneer.

The gesture brings the stark relief of those bruises to attention, the pale ghosts of blue and purple against her freckled skin.

She looks too delicate to cause any kind of real damage, which only swells my heart. I pull her up from the dip and snake my hand around to the opposite side of her wrist. There’s the slightest chance she’ll stab me during the maneuver.

Morgan knows it as well as I do.