The Winged [HIATUS]

Chapter Eighteen

“Out of suffering have emerged the strongest souls; the most massive characters are seared with scars.” -Khalil Gibran

[ C H A P T E R   E I G H T E E N ]

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Celsius immediately turns his head, locking onto our position. He grins and cocks the gun. “Who said that?”

Please, don’t do this, I beg, throwing Logan a desperate glance. It’s just one-

You have no idea who this guy is, she retorts. Both the Nightreaver and the Tropy are in her hands, thirsty for blood. He’s one of their best assassins.

I’m taken aback by this information. You know him?

Too well. Without another thought, she’s dropped to the ground and pulled the trigger. Celsius sidesteps the projectile and fires one of his own, which Logan dodges without batting an eye. They are caught in a stalemate, each centered in the other’s crosshairs.

“Let’s see if you can shoot me before I put a bullet through your brain,” Logan snarls. Her killing intent is unmistakable.

“Ah, Logan,” Celsius taunts, “you’re still as quick as I remember.”

“And you still can’t talk faster than my trigger finger.” They begin another deadly dance, firing shots and dodging blows. Logan lunges and swings her knife, managing to hack off only a handful of dark feathers. Her opponent deftly steps around her and drives the butt of the gun between her shoulder blades. She falters, granting Celsius the opportunity to grab her by the hair and yank her to his chest. He licks his lips, bringing her face closer to his.

Logan! I shout, ready to dive in and intervene.

NO! Her response sends a wave of pain rolling through my mind. I lift my hands and cradle my throbbing head. This is my fight, she asserts. I want revenge.

Revenge for what?

Logan doesn’t answer my question. She elbows Celsius in the ribs and breaks free, spinning around to connect her fist with his face. He spits at her, jamming his gun against her temple. She does the same to him, also holding the Nightreaver to his throat as an extra precaution.

“If you shoot,” Celsius says, “you’re going down with me.”

“At least I won’t be burning in the pits of hell!”

“Oh?” His tone is infuriatingly calm. “I thought you wanted to avenge your parents.”

Logan’s jaw is trembling. “Shut up…”

“You can’t very well exterminate the rest of us if you’re dead,” he croons, slowly removing the Nightreaver from his neck. “Can you?”

“I swear to God, I will blow your head off,” she snaps through her tears. “I’ve got nothing to lose.”

His fingers close around the handle of her knife. “You have everything to lose.”

Logan’s sanity flies out the window. All pretenses of self-control gone, she jerks the blade from his hand and plunges it towards the man’s chest. He catches it just in time, stepping back and pushing the knife away with his gun. Logan takes advantage of this and fires a bullet into his left shoulder, narrowly missing his heart. An agonized howl echoes through the trees.

Hurry up, Tempest thinks. The cops are bound to show at any moment.

Logan pounces, throwing Celsius to the ground and slamming his head into the hard earth. Her left hand closes around his windpipe; her right hand presses the Tropy to his skull. “Goodbye, you no-good son of a bitch.” She squeezes, causing a bullet to explode from the barrel of her gun.