He joined her in the realm of super-speed one more time, turning around to look up at her. He did it just in time to see the purple-gray fist hurtling through the air before it smacked him in the jaw. Cheyenne’s blow sent the Nightstalker to his knees and then skidding backward across the loose earth, his deadly silver claws dragging through the dirt to slow him before he reached the massive crevice she’d opened behind him. They both dropped back into normal movement, and Cheyenne took a staggering step to keep from sliding down the mountainside.
For a moment, the only sound in the forest was the cascading rush of more leaves and needles tumbling down the hill, plus the occasional rock thwacking against a tree. Corian’s bowed head didn’t move as he clung to the mountainside on his hands and knees, breathing heavily.
Oh, shit. I fucking hit him.
Then a low chuckle rose from the hunched Nightstalker. Two seconds later, he threw his head back and roared with laughter.
Cheyenne took another step up the hill. No way! I socked the sanity right out of this one.
“Well played, Cheyenne. That was…” Corian nodded and flashed her that predatory grin again, his silver eyes blazing even as he blinked heavily. “Very well played. What the hell made you think of that?”
The halfling shrugged. “Four out of five times, you darted left.”
“Ah. If you’re saying I’ve become predictable, I have failed you.”
“Not really. I guessed.”
He laughed again and pushed to his feet. The corner of his mouth had split open under her fist, and in the darkness of the woods, it was impossible to tell the color of the blood trickling toward his chin.
Silver wouldn’t surprise me.
The Nightstalker dabbed the corner of his mouth with two fingers, glanced at the blood, then dropped his hand. “That’s not fighting like you’re half-drow.”
“You’re right.” The halfling let out a chuckle and spread her arms. “That was me fighting like Cheyenne Summerlin.”
“Huh.” His silver eyes narrowed for a split second, and his smile widened. “I think you’re on to something.” Corian sucked in a hissing breath. “It’s been a long time since I’ve been hit like that.”
“Yeah, I bet.”
He pointed at her. “Your head’s the perfect size just the way it is, kid.”
When he turned around, they both studied the long, jagged rift that could have cut the mountain in half if Cheyenne had ripped it farther. “Should I do something about that?”
“I’m not gonna stop you. As long as whatever it is doesn’t involve your fist in my face.”
With a snort, the half-drow centered her focus on the purple Nimlothar seed, let out a long breath, and opened her hands. Almost instantly, she felt that magical pressure in the air, the resistance just waiting for her to reach. Cheyenne hooked her fingers around its edges and curled both hands into fists again.
The ground trembled. Another tree snapped somewhere and toppled to the forest floor before sliding down the mountain. The fissure stretching in front of her slowly shrank, bits of pine needles and twigs shivering over the edge of the crevice and falling into darkness.
The halfling’s arms trembled, her hands aching as if she’d been hanging from them for minutes. Finally, the massive crack closed with a muffled thump and a groan of earth and rock somewhere far beneath their feet. The ground rocked, sending Corian and Cheyenne sliding down the loose layer of vegetation.
She stopped herself by falling on her ass and digging her fingers into the ground. Better than passing out. That was close. Shaking off the next wave of dizziness, she looked and couldn’t find where that huge crack had just been.
“Yeah.” Corian wiped the side of his mouth again and nodded. “It’s a lot easier to tear things apart than to put them back together, isn’t it?”
Cheyenne shrugged. “Guess you gotta really mean it.”
“No truer words, kid.” He offered her a hand, and she didn’t hesitate to take it. “I think we’re done for the night.”
“Seriously? You’ve spent hours throwing me around a field and Alcatraz and now Yellowstone, and you can’t keep going after one punch to the face?”
“Not my drow trials. And as the person guiding you through yours, I’m calling the shots.” As the Nightstalker opened another portal on the side of the mountain, Cheyenne found her legacy box in a pile of leaves.
It was cold to the touch, without any of its expected flashing lights or whirring, turning parts. Really? I finally hit the Nightstalker, and still nothing? She shook the leaves out of her black Vans and stepped back into them.
Corian watched her return to him and the open portal with a grin, gesturing for the halfling to proceed.
Cheyenne raised an eyebrow, then stepped briskly through the shimmering oval of dark light.
He snorted. “Yeah, you’ll be using that look all the time soon enough.”
“What?” She stepped over the ring of candles in his unfinished basement apartment, looking at him over her shoulder.
“Nothing.” A surprised chuckle escaped him. “You hit me really hard, you know that?”
“Go drow or go home, right?”
“Well, now it’s both.” Corian gestured around the basement, then his gaze fell on the basket of her magical supplies and the hardened leather case. He nodded toward them and rubbed the corner of his mouth again. “It’s probably too much to assume you’ll be happy with a raincheck on those spells.”
“One point for the Nightstalker.” Cheyenne walked toward her supplies and grabbed the basket by the handle.
“Just leave it there. The floor makes a better workspace than anything else.”
Frowning, the halfling flicked her gaze toward the only piece of furniture in the basement—that crappy, wobbly folding card table. “Clearly.”
“You say
