Page 109 of Bitten By the Basilisk

His mate, flanked by his lieutenants at the edge of the central floor, watched him earnestly. An elder had already tended to her puncture wounds with a magical salve. By morning, they would disappear.

For the first time since Alice had launched her fireball, Lance curled his lips with a disdainful chuckle. “You think I can’t make you bleed, Basilisk?”

“Only one way to find out,” Silas taunted, spreading his arms in invitation.

Malice hardened Lance’s brow, twisting his smile into a sneer. “I’ll slice you open just like I did your father.”

Silas gave him an incredulous look. “You can certainly try.”

Lance hissed at the implied insult and began closing the distance between them, his claws out, both of them coiling into fighting stances and flashing their fangs. The shouts of their observers resumed as they circled each other.

With his mate watching, Silas had more motivation than ever to not only crush his opponent but also make short work of it. Though his territorial nature was eager to make an example of Lance in as violent a manner as possible, he wanted even more to perform his mating display for Alice, and then claim her. Repeatedly.

Lance would fight even more viciously and take greater risks now that his life was at stake, his scheme thwarted. Silas would likewise have to make riskier moves if he wanted to take advantage and hasten Lance’s defeat.

To that end, he chose a stance that kept his far more vulnerable human half toward the front of his coils, and closely observed his opponent’s movements, especially his tail. The second it flexed to launch him forward, Silas swept his tail to one side with enough momentum to dodge his opponent’s claws and slip behind him.

Lance twisted around, expecting Silas to leap onto his back, only for Silas to swing the heaviest part of his tail into Lance’s middle and knock him away.

His opponent grunted, then retreated in a scramble, swaying slightly and hunching as he returned to his fighting posture, one arm tucked protectively against his side.

That ought to slow him down.

As before, they continued lunging at each other. Though Lance tried to favor his injured ribs, he wrenched them every time he swiped his claws at Silas or was forced to dodge. He began growing tired, his strikes less powerful and less accurate.

When Lance came at him again, still holding his side and swinging the claws of his other hand, Silas risked letting him get close, barely pivoting in time to avoid a horrific injury.

With that split-second opportunity, he seized Lance’s forearm and used his tail to shove his opponent away, wrenching his rival’s shoulder out of its socket.

Lance’s scream of agony only whetted Silas’s bloodlust.

His opponent desperately swung his other clawed hand at Silas, but with his injured ribs, he didn’t have the reach.

Lance then attempted to shove Silas away with his tail, but Silas had already wrapped his own tail around his opponent’s coils, encompassing and restricting them.

While Lance struggled to break free, Silas yanked on his opponent’s dislocated arm and dug his claws deep into Lance’s back, the resulting pain of both allowing Silas to overpower Lance and pin him to the floor face down.

Those spectating were roaring their approval as he struck with his fangs, sinking them into Lance’s shoulder to flood his veins with venom.

His rival’s grunt of rage was short-lived. In seconds, he began to go limp.

Only when his venom sacs were nearly empty did Silas rip his fangs free, sending a spray of blood across the floor.

While he waited for Lance’s tail to stop moving, he pulled his jaw back together and sheathed his fangs, then wiped a small amount of his opponent’s blood from his mouth.

The moment Lance’s tail grew completely still, Silas tore his claws from his rival’s back, shredding flesh and spattering his own chest with more of Lance’s blood, filling him with primal satisfaction.

Ferocious cheering surrounded him as he gripped the back of Lance’s head with his splayed claws and lifted Lance’s slack weight until his throat and belly were fully exposed.

Silas prepared to slice open the front of Lance’s neck, but one glance at his mate and he hesitated.

While everyone else was baying for blood, Alice stood stock-still, her arms stiff at her sides, her brow tense with alarm, as she anticipated a gruesome sight.

She started when their eyes met, perhaps not expecting it. For a brief moment, he held her gaze, wanting to give her the chance to look away, but she surprised him by giving him a small, nervous nod.

His territorial side rejoiced that she would witness him killing for her, for his father, for the nest.

With no further hesitation, he slit Lance’s throat with a single claw. Blood poured out, spilling down his rival’s chest, dripping onto the floor. Silas then slithered off Lance’s tail and tossed him aside.