Page 113 of Slaying the Shifter Prince
I’d cried in his arms that night and many after. I’d given him my virginity, thinking it might soothe me, thinking he wanted me, thinking if nothing else, it was payment for his kindness. I’d shared my plans for revenge with him as they’d built and come together year by year. I hadn’t loved him—I couldn’t in my deadened state—but it had been the closest I could manage, and I’d called him my friend.
But he’d… he’d been the one behind it. He’d taken my sister. He’d taken my virginity—a stranger in my bed, in my underwear. He’d listened to my grief and anger and hurt and my plans, and he’d taken them all.
No wonder he never liked hearing about my violent fantasies about what I’d do to the killer. No wonder he cringed away from my righteous wrath.
It should’ve been aimed at him.
Well. Now it was.
I sprang forward, pulse surging, dagger glinting.
As agile as he was on the trapeze, he bent away, evading me even on this narrow catwalk. His grip closed on my wrist as Sepher’s had.
Not this time.
I twisted, lashing out with a kick at the same instant. He couldn’t dodge that and keep hold of me. I pulled free.
Despite our fitness, we were both panting within seconds. I lunged and slashed, but he was always just out of reach. My burning need wasn’t enough to give me immediate victory.
He caught me across the belly when he swung from an overhead bar I hadn’t spotted. Breath bursting out, I fell against the catwalk. The only thing I saw was him arcing through the air, feet-first, aiming for my head.
No time for thought, I let instinct throw me off the catwalk.
For a stomach-plummeting moment, I fell.
But my grip closed on one of the upright supports, and my fall became a swing down and around, bringing me to the walkway just behind him.
Barely reaching my feet, I swiped at his exposed back. Some instinct must’ve warned him, though, because he rolled out of reach.
Our fight might’ve been beautiful to an observer. We spun and swung from the catwalk’s scaffolding. I flipped away from his punch so it only grazed my cheek. He leapt to another walkway, and I followed, dagger clenched between my teeth. I couldn’t work magic with the iron blade touching my skin, but I didn’t need magic to cut his fucking throat.
Still, the touch made my gut turn, and I landed heavily.
It was the chance he needed.
In a blur, I hit the timber, a weight upon me. The impact jolted my bones, pushing a grunt from my throat.
The dagger fell.
Somehow—some-fucking-how my hand snapped up and caught it by the blade before it dropped to the stage thirty feet below.
Teeth bared, Eric clambered up me. “Your sister was a treacherous fucking bitch, as well.”
“Shut your unworthy mouth.” I fumbled with the dagger, righting my grip so it was on the hilt. “You don’t get to speak about her.”
As he rose above me, I slashed.
A grip closed on my wrist.
No. Not again.
The dread cold of defeat welled up in me like water flooding a sinking ship.
I twisted, but his grip tightened. He had my body pinned, too.
But not my other hand.
I dropped the dagger.
