Blood Warrior

eye, but he reveled in their minute flashes of power.

Only, he didn’t have time to collect his thoughts, his gift, and those tiny bursts of electrical ammunition. The Pet landed another blow in the form of brass knuckles against his breastbone. Thudding pain shot out from the center of his chest and infected the rest of his body with paralyzing quivers. She landed two more strikes, one against his temple and, as he rolled—again by instinct, away from his attacker—one to the base of his spine. He couldn’t see, and he couldn’t move.

She landed atop him, squatting. Her boots were heavy. They fortified her slight weight. Beneath his dress shirt, the skin of his back was stretched by the industrial treads of their soles.

The Pet grabbed a fistful of hair and yanked his head off the ground. “You’re bleeding.”

“That would be your fault.”

“The rock’s fault. I take credit for making you fall.” She shoved his head back down, then smeared her palm across the back of his shirt. He caught the distinctly coppery smell of blood.

His blood.

Anger wasn’t a strong enough word for the fire gathering in his hands. That’s where his gift started, and where it found its full manifestation. His palms felt as if beetles and maggots wiggled across his skin. The only way to make that feeling go away was to let the electricity build and burn—then hurl it away.

He flipped over. She didn’t lose her balance, but needed to jump away. She was agile, petite, and canny. The way she’d recovered from his initial blast was impressive. She stood in a loose fighting stance. Only, now she held a switchblade.

“You don’t experience pain,” he said, standing and squaring off against her.

“I experience pain. You’d rather think that I don’t.”

He called on deep muscle memory to fight her hand to hand. Another concentrated, precise strike took time to build, but his power was already prepped and ready to burst. At that moment he could’ve blown up a mountain, but he didn’t want to lobotomize her. Martial training was the only alternative.

He swept his leg to try to catch behind her calves, but she jumped straight up like a leaping frog—then landed with the ease of a cat. That cat attacked again, twirling to one side and stabbing him twice in the shoulder. Her control of the blade was faster than he would’ve thought possible, which meant she was a deadly combatant. Only after that thought registered did the sharp, burning spike of her assault make his nerves scream. He grunted.

Mal snatched out and caught her trailing wrist. He yanked her against his body, spun, and used that momentum to slam her against one of the half walls. She caught her balance with both hands gripping the razor- sharp shale. Her scream was as wild as it was anguished. She dropped the switchblade. Mal tried to pin her, but the attempt wasn’t fast enough, wasn’t sure enough. When was the last time he’d used his body to fight? His muscles were unfamiliar weapons, but they were weapons he relished rediscovering.

She twirled and launched off the wall, throwing that propelled power into a punch. Brass knuckles connected with his jaw.

He reeled. His lip was split.

They squared off again, circling each other like two starving wolves whose only option was cannibalism.

“I’m walking away now,” she said simply.

“I can’t let you do that.”

“Then we keep fighting until one of us is a cripple. How long until you lose your temper and do too much damage?”

Mal breathed heavily through his nose. He would’ve rather been dangling over a volcano than have his options so limited. Let her walk away or risk debilitating her. She might as well have been carrying a bag of butterflies that would be crushed by too much force or would fly away forever if he let her escape.

“Why are you here?” he asked. “You didn’t bother to cover your tracks. You could’ve bribed any bus driver or boat captain who helped you escape the mainland.”

“I have nothing to use as a bribe.”

“Women always do.”

Her eyes became slits, her expression murderous. “I’ve had enough of that life.”

Mal chose to put that eerie comment aside. “Why are you here?”

“I’m looking for something.”

“For what?”

“I don’t know.”

“Don’t play games with me,” he said. “Nothing good will come from testing me. Because you’re right. I might lose my temper. I might destroy the only link I have to the Aster cartel and the answer to Dragon King conception.”

“A tempest in a suit. Does the Council know who sits at the head of their table?”

“Probably not.” He stepped forward. “Do you think I need you in particular? You’re convenient. You’re valuable. Yet other Dragon Kings are connected with the cartels. I’ll find them, one by one, just like I found you, until I get the answers our people need.”

She tsked as if patronizing a child or a simpleton. “Altruism propels you, I’m sure.”

“What do you mean?”

Standing at her full height for the first time, which wasn’t very tall at all, she smirked. She packed so much disdain into the single lift of a midnight brow. “Our people? No. In your heart, Honorable Giva, you only want to win. At any price.”