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“I’ll do what I can.” Which was a lot. That was about the only comforting thing I had going for me.
“And if something happens… make sure Beau sharp shoots her fucking face off.”
Lane’s harsh laughter followed me as I ran straight through his goddamn magic wall and across the road. Shots followed, spurring me faster. I ducked behind a tree with my back pressed tight against the bark. From this side, I couldn’t see Lane. All I saw was a growing wall of liquid darkness. Magic at its fucking finest.
I drew in a deep breath as I readied myself. I was oddly calm—sharp and on point. Ready for the fight I was running into. There was a good fucking chance I was just buying time for my pack to escape. My chances of walking away from a fight this unprepared were next to none.
I was ready to take that fucking bullet.
Staring into the black wall, I nodded slightly.
The moment I did, a spiral of flames shot through Lane’s barrier and disappeared into the night.
“Three… two…” I counted.
One.
Chapter 113
Killian
The explosion damn near ruptured my ears as it tossed me aside. I scrambled through the dirt. Flames rose in the night sky, eating up every tree they could. Smoke billowed everywhere, clouding my sight, and the intense heat was suffocating.
Now or fucking never.
I didn’t have time to get my shit organized. Not if I wanted to catch her off guard. I bolted, running right into the fire.
Straight back. That was all I needed to do. Go straight back.
She was in the chaos somewhere. The flames were magic—Lane’s magic—so they wouldn’t hurt her. But they would throw her off her fucking game. I needed the element of surprise on my fucking side.
The roar of the fire was disorienting.
My heart raged in my ears.
The hit came out of nowhere, colliding hard with my sternum and knocking me back. I tucked and rolled, recovering fast. The blend of purple light and orange flame was mesmerizing. The world swayed as the light collected in one spot, taking on the hunter’s form.
Focus, Killian, fucking focus.
I surged to my feet, deflecting another attempt to hit me.
She was fast with every attack.
I was just fast enough to keep up with her.
When she landed a punch, I lashed out with a kick.
If she kicked, I ducked.
I gripped my knife, aiming for any opening I could find.
She deflected each one.
Blow for blow, she matched what I gave out—taking each hit in stride while each hit wore me down.
Sweat soaked my clothes, and my lungs screamed with every ragged breath I took. The pit of my stomach dropped out because the longer we did our fucking violent dance, the more I realized that we weren’t evenly matched. She was fucking toying with me.
That twisted fucking grin on her face told me everything.
