“And I in you, my love,” he replied, fingers closing around the sculpted handle. Tristan looked rather handsome with my scythe. The last time he’d been forced to use it, everything had happened so fast that I’d missed the chance to observe him this closely before.
The Ghoul Reapers were stunned. “What are you doing?” Hadras gasped, his black eyes round as marbles.
“Well, my champion needs a weapon too,” I said, deeply satisfied with their astonishment.
They hadn’t seen this coming, and it made an important difference. They’d hoped my beloved would fight them with only his claws and fangs. That they might play with him like a cat would play with a mouse before breaking its spine. Tristan was, in fact, adequately equipped to fight any one of them. He’d been by my side for two decades. We’d even battled the occasional rogue ghouls together on our journeys throughout the universe.
These were Ghoul Reapers, sure, and probably stronger than Tristan. But Tristan wasn’t an amateur. While he didn’t strike most as a fighter, he had what it would take to duel Hadras. Even so, it didn’t stop me from fearing for his life. We looked at one another in that moment, thinking the same thing: neither of us expected this to be easy.
Unending
“Some might consider this cheating,” Hadras said as he descended the temple’s steps. He didn’t seem to mind this unexpected development, however. Past the initial shock, he seemed genuinely amused, judging by his tentative smirk.
“Cheating is to demand a duel against a non-Reaper,” I replied dryly.
To the casual observer, Tristan often came across as the scholarly type. The passionate anthropologist who seeks reason and sense in everything. He was all that and more, and I was one of the truly fortunate ones to know his other, slightly darker side. My husband was fierce when it came to protecting those he loved. His vampire nature came out in those moments. His claws and fangs had been designed to tear into flesh and to break bones and to spill the blood of those who threatened his family, and he knew how to use them well.
In this case, however, he was fighting to get past the Ghoul Reapers, to get to the truth about the World Crusher. Even though he wasn’t defending my physical safety, he understood how badly this whole thing bothered me. How desperate I was to learn more about her. Death’s lies and secrets had hurt us both, and Tristan saw this as the perfect reason to fight Hadras.
By fighting the Ghoul Reaper, Tristan would also lash out at Death, though only symbolically. Tristan carried my honor into this duel, and I wanted him to prevail. I feared for his safety, of course, but loathed any attempt at coddling him. I’d always be the more powerful in this relationship—that didn’t mean I had any right to prevent him from taking risks. He wouldn’t want me to, and I respected that.
He swung my scythe around a couple of times, getting a feel for the handle’s grip and the weight of its blade. I liked the sound it made as it cut through the air, like faint whispers promising Hadras his own personal doom. The Ghoul Reaper had no idea what he was doing when he challenged my husband, and the thought brought a faint smile to my lips.
“Don’t let the husband scare you,” Deas chuckled, taking his seat on the steps again. His brothers joined him, though Eneas remained standing, nowhere near as relaxed as the others. I had a feeling he knew the odds weren’t fully in Hadras’s favor, but it was too late for him to withdraw the proposal. “He’s still just flesh and bones.”
“I know. The head will come off,” Hadras replied, circling Tristan several times, grip tightening on his half-moon scythe. “Sooner or later.”
I didn’t say another word, instead taking a few steps back to allow my husband the room he needed. It was his time now, and he knew he had my full support. Tristan had often said it was all he’d ever need.
“Ready to die?” Hadras asked.
Tristan shot him a cold grin. “Unending and I have been married for twenty years. What do you think I’ve learned from her in the span of those two decades?”
The question was so simple, yet the answer so rich, that Hadras didn’t immediately pick up on it. Just as well. Tristan bolted toward him, swinging my scythe across the Ghoul Reaper’s chest. Hadras only had a split second to pull back before the blade sliced through him.
He looked surprised, if not offended. “You’re bold,” Hadras muttered.
“Just eager to kick your ass,” Tristan replied, looking to anger him. He knew that a furious opponent would be weak and prone to mistakes.
Hadras came at him with enough strength to make me hold my breath. Tristan dodged his half-moon blade and swerved around, bringing my scythe out in response. He cut into Hadras’s side, pure light bursting from the wound. The Ghoul Reaper screamed from sheer pain, while the others shot to their feet and joined Eneas at the bottom of the temple’s steps. They were shocked, but quiet.
Tristan was light on his feet and ruthless. The fight excited him, and he bore his fangs at Hadras just to drive his point home—that he was not to be trifled with. The Ghoul Reaper reacted by charging at my husband, roaring furiously as he brought the half-moon down with both hands.
Please, let him win.
Hadras missed my husband by a hair’s thickness. I almost felt the blade myself. Tristan ducked and dodged the following slew of attacks. He spent about five minutes doing just that—pulling back, lowering himself, leaning backward, and generally using as little energy as possible—while Hadras unleashed his wrath with these attacks.
Clang! Suddenly, Tristan had my scythe up. He parried the ensuing blows with light-handed movements. Yes, he’d learned a lot from me. We’d often trained together,
