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It’s taking all I’ve got to remain standing. Weakness comes in waves, each one cresting like a shock to my system that leaves me reeling. I stumble backwards as sweat pours into my eyes. I’m breathing heavy, almost panting. I’m dizzy, out of sorts, and barely here. Unsure of the reality around me which seems to waver like it might be a mirage.
“Quinn, run,” Duncan says, moving between Nicholas and me.
The guard he stabbed lies on the ground twitching. The other has drawn his claymore and holds it two-handed before him. Duncan looks ridiculous facing him with only a dagger in his hand. The claymore is huge. The comparison between the two reminds me of an anime where the hero pulls out an impossibly huge sword that is bigger than him.
Duncan sways, struggling to remain upright, while keeping the blade point towards the guard and weaving it back and forth. He holds his right arm close to his side, the forearm angling oddly in such a way it would make me sick if I had time to think about it.
“Yes, Quinn,” Nicholas says. “Run. It makes the meat so much sweeter. Catching your prey, smelling its fear.”
He closes his eyes and licks his lips. His tongue is dark and forked. Worst of all, power pulsates from him, emanating and calling. The power is a flame and I’m a moth, drawn to come closer.
“Let him go,” I say, nodding to Duncan.
“Him?” Nicholas asks, opening his eyes and staring at Duncan. “That’s not going to happen. I’m going to use him. He is, how do I express this?” He rubs his smooth-shaven, sharp chin, then places one finger in his mouth and pulls it out with a wet pop. “He is the sauce that will accent the meal.”
“What in the living hell are you talking about?” I ask.
I can barely stand up, but power is trickling in and pooling in my guts. Duncan and the guard circle each other, engrossed in their own battle.
“Oh, Quinn,” Nicholas says. “Sweet, sweet Quinn. I’m going to suck the marrow from your bones. I’m going to consume you. Yes, Destroyer. I will be forever known as the Destroyer of the Destroyer. What title do you think that deserves? Something grandiose, don’t you think?”
Duncan dodges a swing and steps inside the reach of the guard, stabbing for the man’s neck. The guard is ready though. He takes one hand off the hilt of his sword and punches Duncan in his broken arm.
Duncan screams in agony. His other hand convulses, and the knife drops to the ground; Duncan drops also. I step forward, then a force, as if the air itself has become a fist, punches me in the chest. My breath blasts out as I lift and fly backwards, then land on my back. Hard.
I roll onto my side in time to see the claymore arcing towards Duncan. It whistles through the air as it slices on its fatal trajectory. Mists swirl around us and I inhale them. The rich scent of heather and rough-hewn peat fills my sinuses, then the swinging blade slows. Firelight glistens along its gleaming edge. I reach towards it and clench my hand into a fist.
The blade stops, inches from Duncan, who rolls to the side, not wasting the extra moments I bought him. My hand burns, hotter and hotter until I can’t stand it any longer and open it. The blade resumes its arc, digging into the stage where a moment before Duncan was.
I rise and the mists cling to me as I do, embracing me like a silk white cloak. Duncan crouches, his face a canvas of agony, but nothing is going to stop him short of death itself. The guard jerks his blade free, ready to continue the fight. My heart beats faster as adrenaline floods my body.
Duncan can’t die. I won’t allow it.
“He ismine,” I growl and point at Duncan.
Duncan leaps from his crouch at the guard. The guard spins to meet the attack but Duncan hits him in the chest and they tumble together, falling off the stage and into the mists where they disappear. Nicholas idly scratches his cheek with one hand while watching through half-lidded eyes.
“That, Quinn, is your weakness. Attachments to lesser beings will bring you nothing but trouble.”
I stalk forward as power builds in my guts. My skin tingles and my senses expand. I hold my hands out to either side, letting energy pool into the palms, feeling and hearing it crackle as it builds.
“I see your lie,” I say. “Replacing a lord. Is all this your doing? Your manipulation?”
“Me?” He smiles and places a palm over his chest while feigning surprise. “No, no. I am merely a spectator who is enjoying the moment.”
I move across the stage and towards the dais. He hasn’t moved, watching my approach, standing with his still forward thrust crotch and lackadaisical stance. His fiery eyes burn into mine as I stomp forward.
“Let the MacGregors go,” I growl, balling my hands into fists and raising my right.
My hand is engulfed in a ball of crackling purple energy. Nicholas doesn’t break our gaze but a slow, salacious smile spreads across his face.
“What do you offer, Quinn?”
“I won’t kill you.”
“Kill is a very big word,” he says. “A dangerous word. Will you, Quinn? Will you kill me?”
Anger pulses in time with my heart. Every pump pushing it higher, blurring the lines of morality and sensibility. He hurt Duncan. He’s killed so many; how can I not kill him? How can I let him go on pretending to be what he is not? He’s evil, I’m good. That’s what I’m supposed to do. Defeat him. Kill him.
