Kiss of Frost

I reached for my Gypsy gift again, and I thought about Logan. I focused on how fierce he was, how strong, how he never gave up no matter what. I flipped through my memories of all the battles he'd ever been in, and I concentrated on that sweet, electric thrill of victory he felt every time he won. I called up image after image of Logan until the Spartan's face was all I could see, and his emotions were all I could feel-until Logan was all that I was.

And then I attacked.

Clang! Clang! Clang!

I stepped forward, swinging my sword in a rapid series of moves.

Thrust, thrust, thrust.

Preston managed to block my blows, but he did something he hadn't done before: He stepped back instead of forward.

For the first time worry flickered in his gaze, right along with his burning hate for me. 'How did you suddenly get so much better with that sword?'

'I'm a Gypsy,' I snarled. 'Nike's freakingChampion. Blessed and gifted with magic by the goddess herself. And Nike is victory itself, remember? That's who and what she is.'

'So what?' Preston muttered.

'So I found a way to beat you, dumbass. I found a way to win.'

Okay, so maybe I was only winning because I was tapping into Logan's memories and fighting skills, but the smack talk was all me.

Preston opened his mouth to say something else, but I didn't give him the chance. I pressed my advantage, going at him with everything I had, with every sneaky trick Logan knew and a couple of even dirtier ones I'd thought of myself.

On my first blow, I nicked his arm.

On the second, I sliced Vic across his stomach.

And on the third, I knocked Preston's sword from his hand.

Preston bent down, scrambling for his weapon, but I didn't stop my attack. I drew my leg back and slammed my foot into his face. Something crunched underneath my sneaker, and the Reaper screamed.

In another second, it was over. Preston lay sprawled flat on his back on the floor, and I had Vic up against his throat.

'Now that's what I'm talking about!' Vic crowed, his eye glowing like a purple moon in the shadows.

Vic's voice brought me back to myself, and I blinked a few times. I felt a little dazed and disoriented. Maybe it was because I'd been concentrating so hard on Logan's memories, but even though I'd just been fighting Preston, it was hard for me to remember exactly what had happened, exactly how I'd beaten him.

Preston glared up at me. That eerie, flashing, fiery hate still burned in his crimson eyes, even though his face was bloody and bruised, and his nose broken. 'Go ahead, Gypsy. Kill me. I dare you to.'

I moved Vic a fraction of an inch, but it was enough to break the skin on Preston's neck. A single drop of blood rolled down his throat.

'Do it,' he hissed. 'Kill me!'

I wanted to-I really,reallywanted to. For everything he'd done to me, for how he'd hurt Logan, Oliver, and even the Fenrir wolf. But Preston was injured and unarmed now. He wasn't a threat to me anymore, and killing him now would make me no better than he was. Besides, I had a sneaking suspicion of what he really wanted anyway.

'Why?' I asked. 'So you can dedicate your death to Loki and make him stronger, right? That's what Reapers do. They sacrifice other people and even themselves to their god, trying to help him break out of that magical prison he's trapped in. Kind of a whacked out thing to do if you ask me. I wouldn't want to serve a god like that.'

'And it'sworking,' Preston hissed. 'The seals are all but broken, and it won't be much longer before we find the key to unlock the last one. Soon, Loki will be free, and his Chaos will reign once more. And when that happens, you will rue the day you were ever born, Gypsy. You and Nike and all the other members of the pathetic Pantheon.'

Seals? A key? I didn't know if Preston was spouting total bullshit or if he actually knew what he was talking about. Maybe it was his twisted face, or the red fire flickering where his eyes should be, but a cold shiver slithered up my spine.

'You'd better finish me now, Gypsy,' Preston snarled. 'Or I'll get free one day, and I'll go kill that doddering old grandmother you love so much.'

I'd never known my dad, and I'd already lost my mom to a drunk driver. I couldn't lose my grandma, too. I just- couldn't. Rage exploded in my heart then-cold, black rage that the Reaper would dare to threaten my Grandma Frost — and sharp, bitter fear that he might somehow make good on his terrible promise. My whole body vibrated with the force of the two warring emotions. It took a few seconds, but the rage won out.

My hands tightened around Vic, and I pressed the sword deeper into Preston's neck, until his blood looked like crimson teardropsdrip-drip-dripping onto the concrete floor.

'Come on, Gypsy,' Preston muttered. 'Do it!'

Footsteps scuffed in the sawdust, and Logan limped over to stand beside me.

'Gwen,' Logan said in a soft voice. 'Gwen.'

There was no judgment in his voice, no reproach, no condemnation, and I knew the Spartan would go along with whatever I decided to do. If I killed Preston, Logan would stand here and watch me do it. And I wanted to do it so badly. My hands trembled from the urge to just end Preston and the threats he'd made against my grandma.

But I didn't want Logan to see me as that kind of person — someone who could kill in cold blood-and I didn't want to be that kind of person myself. I didn't want to be a monster. For the first time, I truly understood what that was.

I let out a tense, ragged breath and pulled the sword away from Preston's throat.

'I'm okay now,' I whispered. 'I'm okay.'

Logan reached out and put his hand on my shoulder. 'I'm glad,' he whispered back.

Chapter 23

Scarcely a minute had passed after I lowered the sword before shouts started echoing through the semidark construction site.

'Gwen! Logan! Oliver!'

'Over here!' Logan yelled back.

A few seconds later, a flashlight cut a bright path through

the gloom and landed on my face. I squinted against the harsh glare, keeping my sword and eyes trained on Preston, not daring to let myself be distracted by the fact that we were about to have company. I might not have killed Preston, but if the Reaper moved an inch now, I'd cut him and worry about the consequences later. He'd do the same to me, try to kill me any way he could, no matter what. Something else Daphne had been right about.

To my surprise, Nickamedes stepped out of the shadows, a sword clutched in one hand and a flashlight in the other. The librarian's black eyebrows shot up at the sight of me standing over Preston, the Reaper's blood covering both of us like we'd been playing paintball instead of fighting to the death.

'Are you two all right?' Nickamedes asked, looking at Logan.

'We're fine, more or less,' Logan replied. 'I've got a bad gash on my thigh, and Gypsy girl's got some bumps and bruises. What about Oliver?'

Oliver. My breath caught in my throat. I'd been so busy fighting Preston that I'd forgotten about the other injured Spartan-and the fact that we'd had to leave him behind at the mercy of the Reaper and the Fenrir wolf. Even though I knew it had been the only choice at the time, guilt and shame burned in my heart. If Preston had killed Oliver, I didn't know what I'd do.