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There was pain. Some kind of weird, disjointed pain, but it distracted me enough to rear back and reach frantically for the sword. He yanked it free and jabbed at my side, cutting through my shirt and glancing over my waist. Real pain bloomed that time, and wet heat tickled my skin as blood dripped down to my hip.
As I was ripping the sword from his hand and flinging it away, his knee came up between my legs with force. I gasped in agony, bile rising in my throat as the pain radiated into my stomach and down my legs. Balor’s hands fisted the front of my shirt and shoved me back, getting his legs out from under me so he could nail my injured side with his boot. My vision whited out briefly from the stab of pain, but I clawed at his legs as he tried to scramble up, an arm reaching out desperately for his sword.
Fumbling with my dagger, I managed to stab him in the thigh. His breath wheezed out of him, but he didn’t let it slow him down, seeming to barely register the pain as he kicked me in the stomach and crawled out from under me.
Hands shaking with pain and adrenaline, I scrambled to my feet and reached for my bow, trying not to double over from the agony in my stomach. Just as Balor scooped up his sword, I released an arrow that drove into the back of his right shoulder—the hand he favoured. The memory of seeing him swing his silver sword down and lop off my arm was seared into my brain.
A weak cry of shock tore from his throat as he stumbled forward from the force, but he took off between the trees, his sword hanging limply from his injured arm. I quickly nocked another arrow and loosed it, but my hands weren’t as steady as they could be. It glanced off his ear, and he stumbled and hissed in pain, but kept running, limping, with my dagger still sticking out of his thigh.
I took off after him.
My blood was pumping hot now as I chased him, my enhanced vision letting me track him with ease as he crashed through the forest. A part of me actually relished it, something dark and fae and fuelled by anger. I was glad that his last moments would be spent running for his life.
The arrow was still sticking out the back of his shoulder. When it knocked against a low-hanging branch, he cried out in agony and his sword slipped from his limp hand. Without missing a step, I scooped it up as I continued chasing him.
Pure fury was fuelling me now, and this time, I let it take me.
“Maybe I’ll cut off your arm before I kill you,” I snarled. “And a leg.”
I heard him let out a panting laugh. “You think you have the balls to do it? I saw the horror in your face when you killed that broon for the Brid. You’re weak. Pathetic.”
My teeth clenched with rage.
“You rolled over and exposed your belly like a submissive pup and let us do whatever we wanted with you,” he snarled, voice breathless. “You really think you can handle this life, little boy?”
My anger got the better of me. Pumping my legs faster, ignoring the dull, aching throb coursing through my body, I began to close the distance between us as I fumbled to sling my bow over my back so I could grip Balor’s sword with both hands. As I neared him, I lifted it over my head, a burst of murderous fury propelling me forward the last few feet.
Silver flashed as the blade swung down. Balor gasped as his arm thudded to the forest floor. He tripped, his stump jerking as he tried to break his fall before his face smashed into the base of a tree.
An animalistic moan of pain rose from his throat as he lay there, struggling with his one remaining arm to lift himself back up. I used my boot to roll him over and saw the blood pumping from his crushed nose, staining his teeth as he stared up at me with crazed eyes. His white hair began to turn dark and wet from a deep gash on his forehead. My dagger had jammed deeper into his thigh from the fall, and now his leg was trembling wildly, completely useless as he tried to stand up.
When he realised he couldn’t, his hectic breaths snarling out of him, his stump flicking blood as he jerked it in an attempt to fend me off, he bared his teeth at me.
“He is mine. Remember that, dog. Even when I am dead, he will always be mine.”
“You lost.” I lifted the sword up, the blade pointed directly over his chest. “The Carlin is dead. Lonan is king.”
Balor’s blue eyes flickered madly, his nostrils flaring as his expression flitted from shock to rage to fear.
“Wait,” he gasped, blue eyes growing wide with terror in his bloody face. “I can tell you about your parents’ final moments—”
I plunged Balor’s sword into his chest, impaling him to the earth. He choked, blood spraying from his mouth. His remaining hand rose weakly, trembling as it wrapped around the blade and tried to tug it free, blood seeping out from between his fingers.
With a low moan, he gave up, letting his arm flop back onto the ground. His breath hitched, wet and gurgling. “You t-took him from me.”
“He was never yours,” I shouted. “You took everything from me. Fuck you.”
Blood poured from his chest and the stump of his missing arm, soaking the forest floor. His eyes stayed locked with mine before they drooped heavily and drifted to the side, to something I couldn’t see, as he went limp.
The silence pressed against my eardrums. My heart was pounding hard as I stared down at him, breathing fast and trembling with adrenaline. For a full minute I stood there unmoving, like I needed to convince myself that he was truly dead, even though I could see that his chest wasn’t rising and falling. His eyes had become flat and were fixed on nothing.
But I still needed to be sure that he could never, ever come back. After retrieving my dagger from his thigh, I wrapping my trembling fingers around the hilt of his sword and tugged. It slid free from his chest with a wet sound.
Slowly, I lifted it and positioned the blade over his neck. My gorge rose. I swallowed back bile, trying not to think about what I was about to do.
Then I closed my eyes, and swung the sword back down with all my might.
Chapter Thirty-Nine
