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24
The Ambush
“Don’t move,” Myron growled against her ear.
She had no plans to move. He had her fully incapacitated. She hadn’t even heard him come into her room.
Stupid.
Utterly stupid.
Myron had made his intentions clear from the start, but she’d felt safe in Constantine’s house. She should have stayed alert. She should have done anything but what she had done tonight. Now, she might die for her own stupidity.
“And don’t scream,” he growled.
His insanity was clear to her in that moment, and she wasn’t going to provoke him. Well, at least not like this.
Slowly, he withdrew his hand from her mouth. His face came into focus. She could smell the alcohol on his breath. The sex that permeated his clothing. He’d been out with the others then and decided to kill her after his good time. Great.
“You’re probably wondering why I’m here.”
“I think it’s pretty obvious,” she said, meeting his watery gaze.
The knife dug in deeper. She coughed as warm blood trickled from the wound and down her neck.
“Shut your insufferable mouth.” He glared harder at her. “I have you under submission. I could kill you at any moment, and you’re still running your gods-damn mouth.” She met his glare without fear or apprehension. That was long past. She had left all of that in the sand earlier with Constantine. She would face this as she had faced everything else. “The general gave us all earnings and told us to have a good time. Everyone is still out there. It’s just me and you now.”
“And what do you plan to do? Kill me?”
“Eventually.” He relaxed his hand marginally, as if he were preparing to sit in for a while. “Andine women don’t fight.”
“I’m not Andine.”
“And you’re not a bloody Doma,” he snapped.
“I never claimed I was.”
“But they all treat you like one.” He glared as if it were her fault. “You come in as a whore, and within a few weeks, you think you can replace me? I’ve been here for years, working my way up into the general’s good fortune. I’ve been training with him for the last year to get into this tournament. You think one challenge and a week of training mean you’re going to win the whole thing?”
Kerrigan said nothing as he continued is ridiculous tirade, ripping into Constantine for his bad choices and even going as far as suggesting she was sleeping with him to get to this point. She couldn’t see how that would make a difference. If they were sleeping together, wouldn’t he be more inclined to keep her around than sacrifice her to the gladiator ring?
But with Myron’s focus obscured by his own need to be right, his hand slipped. She didn’t wait for another moment.
Her arm whipped up, cracking hard against his forearm and knocking the blade away from her neck. She gasped in a startled breath, ignoring the growing flow of blood. When she’d moved the blade, it had cut in slightly deeper on one side. Myron roared, and she ceased thinking about the pain.
He brought the knife down in one fluid motion. She rolled sideways to the other side of the bed. The knife plunged into her feather comforter. A plume of feathers exploded from the impact just as she dropped to one knee. Myron vaulted between her and the doorway, cornering her. She threw herself the other way across the mattress. All she had to do was outpace his drunk ass. But even inebriated as he was, he was still fast, and his legs easily covered the distance between her and the window.
“What did you think would happen here?” she asked, losing her temper at her second blocked exit. “That Constantine would see you beaten that soundly in a matter of minutes and allow you to throw your entire life away? Pulling you from the tournament was mercy.”
“I didn’t want mercy!” he yelled, throwing himself at her.
Kerrigan settled deep into that place that she’d entered only hours earlier. She dodged his blade and then the second strike. But the third came up out of nowhere and sliced straight across her chest. Blood spurted out of the wound, and she gasped in surprise. His movements were erratic at best, but he was fueled by self-righteous anger and that masculine need to be right. He had one mission here, and he wasn’t letting her leave until he finished his work.
She reeled, her back hitting the far wall. She coughed at the hit. Her focus wavered, and then he was on her again. She found an opening, pulling him into her guard and slamming his hand straight into the wall behind her. He yelped, the blade clattering to the ground between them. Kerrigan did the only thing she could think of. She kicked the knife under the bed and out of the way. He still had height and weight on her, but at least it was an even fight.
