We froze only for a moment, a fraction of a moment before we propelled into action. Agnes clamped her hand around my arm. She trembled slightly, but I could feel her efforts to breathe normally.
"Go," I mouthed and gestured toward the bed with my chin. She looked toward a small door I only guessed led to a bathroom. She'd never make it. Quickly she scrambled onto her knees and scuttled under the bed.
I sat delicately in a tall wing-backed chair and crossed my legs. I remembered the knife in my hand and tucked it down behind the cushion then relaxed my hands over the armrests. I breathed slowly and listened to the hinges softly squeak as the door opened.
Petro stepped into the room and stopped suddenly when he saw me. He wanted to smile but didn't. No, Petro would never want to let me see that. Not yet.
"Good Evening," he said.
"Is it?"
"It certainly is for me." He had a small stack of papers in his hand and walked over to a round table and set them down. "Is there a reason for this surprise visit?"
"Yes."
"Good." His eyes flashed. "You want something from me." It wasn't a question. His breathing quickened ever so slightly.
"Many things, but I'll start simple." I thought he would sit, but he didn't. He stood in front of me, looking down. His expression was inscrutable.
"First, I want your greasy henchman to keep his stubby fingers off me." He didn't move, but I saw something menacing flash across his face for just a moment and then was gone.
Yes! Petro is possessive. I can use that.
"He touched you?"
"Not successfully," I answered with a slight shrug of my shoulder.
"Which one?"
"The ugly one."
He laughed. "Alright. I will personally guarantee he never gets another opportunity to touch you again."
"That's alright, I already made my own guarantee."
Petro's smile this time was slow and purposeful. He stepped forward and bent over, placing his hands on the armrests. I turned my face up toward his only inches away. "Any other requests?"
"A shower."
He squinted down at me as his eyes lingering over my breasts and belly. "Why? Do you feel unclean now that you're here with me?"
"That's putting it mildly."
He smirked. "You don't like me." He tisked like a parent would to a young child. He grazed his fingers gently over my thigh. Could I do this? Could I go to bed with this man to keep him distracted and away from Agnes? I prayed I wouldn't have to.
Make him work for it.
I placed the tip of my index finger against the middle of his chest and pushed him away.
"That was a simple request for soap, not an invitation."
"You think I need to be invited?"
"No." He half-closed his eyes. "I think you want to be invited."
Petro opened his eyes. Then he stood up and moved away from me. "Maybe." He slid a hand into his pocket. "Alright, I promise not to bed you until you ask me to." He walked casually to the other side of the bed. "And you will ask me to. You will be amazed at how patient I can be."
My heart thrummed, and it took every ounce of will power not to look at the space under the bed next to his feet.
"You can use my shower." The muscles in my stomach started to unclench. "But in the meantime, what should I do with her?" He bent down and reached under the bed. Agnes shrieked as Petro pulled her out by her ankles. He pulled her up and held her by the throat as she struggled and kicked at him.
I rushed toward him, and he blocked me with his other hand. Petro called out Bernard. The door burst open, and a guard ran in. Petro tossed Agnes to him like she was an unwanted rodent, an infestation.
My head flew back painfully as Petro knotted his hand around my hair from behind and pulled, forcing me to look up at him. Agnes was screaming, but I couldn't turn to see what was happening. Her legs flew through the air past me. Petro's other hand crushed around my neck and pushed me into the mantel above the fireplace. My arms flailed, and my body crumpled as it slammed sharply against hard marble. I tried to draw in air, but my throat had half-collapsed. My lungs burned, making me struggle for breath. A sharp pain registered, and it took me a moment to recognize it. The skin on my shoulder and arm peeled away as I was dragged across something sharp.
I shrieked and tried to pull away. Petro dragged me the rest of the way across the mantle then bent me backward against the back of the chair I had been sitting in. Petro smiled, bright and jovial. His breath smelled of mint and tobacco. He swept his fingers lightly, gently across my skin, along my neck, and over my jaw.
"You are mine," he whispered slowly, his breath sticky hot. "Esther was with me for two thousand years," he breathed seductively. "You owe me at least that much."
I gagged and flinched, pulling away from him. Agnes was sprawled on top of a table, kicking, crying, and snarling at the man. I stopped for a moment to think of his name... Bernard. His forearm was pressed down against her chest over her sternum. She tried to roll sideways, and he wrapped his fingers around her neck to still her. She stopped kicking and reached her hand up to his face, clawing deep red lines down his cheek and neck. Blood welled up from his skin in scattered dots. The man roared and reared back. She kicked again, aiming for his jaw. It connected but slid along the side of his face.
He lurched toward her again, with a gun that appeared from some hidden place on his body. He pointed it at her with a snarl then turned to Petro.
I tried to focus on Petro's face, but the light in the room seemed blindingly bright. He raised his eyebrows in question as he watched my expression. I pulled back, allowing a few inches of space to appear between us and then thrust the palm of my hand against his jaw with every shred of strength I could summon.
He staggered back, surprised. "You are alive. So many long for death." A smile lit up his face. "I'm delighted I decided not to kill you. You are quite the hellion."
He laughed and grabbed my hips, closing off the few precious inches of air between us.
Agnes whimpered, softly crying as she stared up at the gun.
I turned to Petro. "Stop this! Stop! Just let her go."
He pulled back, stunned. He turned and looked at Agnes with the same expression he had with the young girl in my vision. Agnes was shaking in terror. Petro cupped my chin and tilted my face up.
"What are you?"
"Please, Petro."
Petro turned to the guard, considering, and then shook his head. A breath later, the guard unceremoniously pulled the trigger. Agnes' arms and legs fell limp against the table.
"Um," he snarled at her.
My legs shook in anger as I stared at her limp body.
"Sorry about the mess," Petro said politely. His gentle sincerity galled me.
"You bastard!" I screamed, clawing at his face. He chuckled as he tried to grab my wrists and pin them down.
Without warning, Petro flew into the air and landed awkwardly, sliding across the floor. He crashed into the table and stopped himself by grabbing a tall armchair. Ezra flew at him, and the two men grappled, rolling on top of each other. Arms and legs flashed faster than I could follow. The room echoed with loud cracks as furniture was flung out of the way.
Agnes' murderer rushed forward and then stood gaping at them in shock. The next instant Petro and Ezra rolled toward him. He pulled his gun up and managed a single shot that went wide before they crashed into him. A moment later, his body lay as limp as Agnes'.
And then the room exploded.
Petro grabbed Ezra and flung him into the wall over the fireplace. If it had been possible to hear anything amidst the din, the crunch of his bones cracking against the brick would have been sickening. Ezra dropped to the ground and rolled. Before Petro could attack again, Ezra soared across the room toward him, bulky metal items that looked like pieces of the grate from the fireplace in each hand. Petro's eyes had only a fraction of a second to widen before his hands came up to block the attack. Ezra rained lightning blows on him from above then landed lightly on his feet. Petro swept at Ezra's foot with a heavy boot as he landed, and he fell rolling to the side. Ezra thrust the palm of his hand upward and missed, Petro deflected the blow by driving downward with his arm against his wrist. Ezra's other hand darted forward and made a cracking sound as it connected to Petro's arm. He made a low guttural sound and drew up his knee, slamming with brutal force into Ezra's chest.
A violent shock shook the ground, making the room tremble. The wing-backed chair flew across the room and splintered into pieces. Ezra and Petro separated then crashed into each other again, hands, arms, legs, elbows, and teeth thrashing wildly, their bodies moving with speed and command that was deadly sharp. They rolled toward the center of the room, and Petro hurled Ezra up, spinning into the air. In that second of time, Petro slid across the floor and grabbed a short sword from the wall. He was on his feet and spun toward Ezra with the same smooth and effortless movement. Ezra jumped on top of a toppled chair and propelled himself in the opposite direction and then flew toward a set of pipes running along the wall from the floor to the ceiling. He pulled one away from the wall, as easily as if he was plucking a daisy, and ripped off a three-foot section of pipe. Steam erupted from the ruptured section and began filling the room with a horrible hissing sound. Ezra met Petro's thrusts as he lashed out with liberal slashes too fast and terrifying to follow and pushed him back.
They spun and slammed into each other with frightening precision. I didn't know where to look. Before I could understand what was happening, something slammed against my back and flattened me to the floor. I twisted and saw Sria on top of me, pinning me to the ground. She watched Petro grapple against Ezra, her expression open, showing deep longing, sadness, and just a hint of triumph. I tried to wiggle out from under her and aimed an elbow at her face. She growled at me.
The floor shook again as Ezra and Petro sailed across the room together and into a wall. Petro's sword was denting small divots into Ezra's pipe and slicing out small chucks with each thrust. Petro pushed forward, his attack becoming focused and cohesive. Ezra whirled his mangled pipe over his head and brought it down with millennia upon millennia of Avati strength. Petro reached down to take his sword in a two-handed grip and slashed at Ezra. Ezra managed to swirl and pivot just in time as the sword sailed past him. With a twist of his hips, he swung around and pummeled the pipe, two-handed, into Petro's back.
I flailed at Sria again, and she pushed me harder into the floor.
"Stop moving!"
Petro staggered forward with a groan and then righted himself in the next instant. Ezra's pipe whipped up from below and closed in, aiming for Petro's head, cracking the bone and stripping away the flesh from the side of his face. Petro pulled away in instinct as blood ran down his skin in thick clots. Ezra swung the pipe again and aimed a second debilitating strike when Petro's hand shot out and stopped the blow mid-thrust. They stood locked in steel stances as Petro's flesh stitched itself together. His flesh quickly knitted first in a vibrant red and then faded to the soft pink of newborn skin. Petro glowed in satisfaction as he absorbed Ezra's reaction.
Ezra swelled in fury, and he flung himself forward, shortening the distance between them, making Petro's next strike impossible. He pulled the pipe up and pressed it into Petro's throat, crushing his windpipe as he pushed him back against the wall. Petro reached around Ezra and awkwardly slammed the broad side of the sword against his back with hideous loud cracks. The sword slashed a small gash across Ezra's shoulder, and he twitched slightly. Petro bellowed in rage and pressed forward, taking the advantage and spun them into reverse positions. Ezra was bent roughly backwards and snarled with the force of absolute unreasoning madness.
Petro switched his weight to his left leg, and while twisting his hips, he pulled something glittering out from his waist. Time slowed as I watched it float, soft and tranquil through the air. It was the small silver knife he had tempted me to kill him with only hours earlier.
"You need to learn to have more respect for your elders," Petro snarled.
Ezra tensed and pushed forward, poised to kick out. Petro's knife slid forward, separating Ezra's ribs and sank into his side. Electricity sparked, and both men turned ridged. Ezra's eyes rolled into the back of his head. His skin and muscles trembled in the air as blinding pain rage through him.
I screamed as I tried to push my way toward Ezra. Sria held me down, her body pinning mine like a cage. I cried and thrashed against her. Everything I did was pitiful and useless. I shook in horror as Ezra's body shuttered and heaved. Smoke curled in wispy swirls up from his chest as the fabric from his shirt burned away in a blackened circle around the knife.
I spit as I strained against Sria. A long splinter of wood from the broken chair was nearby. I pulled forward as far as I could to grab it. Then I twisted back and stabbed the point deep into Sria's thigh. She screamed and fell off me. I scrambled on my belly to a large chunk of wood that had once made up the leg and back of the chair. I stood up, and using a spinning momentum, I swung it like a club, connecting with the side of Sria's head. A deep gash opened up on her cheek, and she dropped to the ground.
Using the same sweeping motion, I swung the wooden leg over my head and slammed it down on Petro's arm. His elbow cracked as the force pushed him to the side, breaking his contact with the silver knife. Ezra and Petro's bodies looked contorted— shaking, pulsing, and stiff with rigor. Petro was splayed on his back, gasping onto the floor, with his legs still twitching. He looked over at Ezra in disbelief. Ezra heaved and panted, slumped against the wall by Petro's feet. His whole chest was shaking in irregular spasms. It looked like he was struggling to breathe. The charred black skin over his ribs pulsed and faded, crawling in at the edges toward the gaping knife wound. Ezra reached up and jerked the knife weakly from his chest. The slice between his ribs was less than two inches long. The blackened skin sealed itself at the edges and rapidly moved toward the center. Then it swelled bright red before settling into a rosy newborn skin color, and then a fraction of a second,it turned into a deep healthy bronze.
Petro's eyes widened, and he let out a snarl.
Ezra took slow deep breaths between clenched teeth. "You are not my elder."
Ezra glared at Petro with a look so cold and terrifying I hardly recognized him. I'd only seen that expression once before— a place I'd tried very hard to forget. Then he slumped down further along the wall, gasping and quaking.
Petro looked away from him and craned his neck to find me. He started laughing then heaved a couple times and sat up. His laugh wasn't sarcastic or teasing. He laughed with delight.
Splinters of wood, glass, and metal were scattered all around me. Petro reached over and weakly pulled me onto his lap, making my knees straddled his hips. "Such a warrior," he whispered. "You never shrink from a battle you can't win. You're perfect." He bent his head, resting his forehead against mine and ran his hand gently down the side of my face. I felt my fingers graze something cold and metallic on the floor next to me. I picked up Petro's silver knife and firmly pressed the point under his chin. His eyes met mine.
I didn't want this. I didn't want any of it. I didn't want a life full of viciousness and murder. I didn't want to kill him. Agnes' body was crumpled a few feet away. Her eyes were open, empty. The guard who killed her had his legs tangled with hers. His eyes were just as lifeless and empty. My throat shook as I gripped the knife tighter, stopping just shy of piercing his skin.
"Please don't make me do this."
"I can't make you. I can't stop you either." Petro's voice was so soft and gentle. "You are a warrior. Do what you must." My fingers trembled around the knife.
I looked across to Ezra. He was watching me, barely conscious, with heavy-lidded eyes.
"Don't."
"What?" I was too shocked to believe what I'd heard.
"Don't," he mumbled again.
"You want him to live?"
He shook his head. He was so weak it flopped awkwardly on his neck. "Not... you."
I looked back at Petro. He looked at me with absolute reverence. Petro watched my face then gently ran his thumbs along my cheekbones.
"Stay with me." Then he pulled me forward and kissed me, full of deep longing. I felt a heat shudder through him, and my own body responded.
"They are all terrified of you," he whispered when he pulled away. "I will fight beside you, blade for blade."
I looked at Ezra again. His head was slumped onto his chest, and he wasn't moving. "Alright," I answered and lowered the knife. "I'll stay with you if you let him live." Petro looked at Ezra. He was nearly lifeless.
"He is a fierce warrior. He understands the world the way I do." He shook his head. "I'm sorry. I can't. He'll never let you go." He pulled the silver knife from my fingers and pushed me off his lap. He was weak and moved sluggishly toward Ezra.
Splinters of wood dug into his arms as he crawled across the floor. Remnants of the winged-back chair were all around us. I spotted the dagger I had stuffed behind the cushion half-buried under its remains. I didn't hesitate.
I scooped it up, rolled toward Petro, and plunged.
Kaja, 2. Petro, zip zilch zero noooone.
Just one chapter left.