Lifeblood (Everlife #2)(95)

We circle each other, two predators unwilling to bend. Around us, Deacon, Kayla and Reed remain unmoving, each surrounded by a pool of Lifeblood.

Can’t react, can’t react. “How did you take them out?”

“Easily. You’re all so gullible.”

Son of a Myriad troll! “Why wasn’t I affected?”

“Why else? You’re a Conduit.”

The flicker of Light. Had he somehow hit everyone with a bomb of darkness?

Enough stalling. I swing. He spins to the right, and I yank the staff apart. I toss a sword, end hurling over end. The blade slices through his chest and comes out the other side. He wobbles on his feet and stares at me with confusion.

I close in on him, intending to stab him with the other sword.

Suddenly, I’m in my bedroom, and Victor is standing in my doorway. I’m holding my swords, and he’s holding his guns. We’re both uninjured.

Shock puts me in a choke hold, my brain whirling with—

The answer slams into me. This is a blessing. A second chance. A chance to start fresh with full knowledge of what will happen if we fight.

“How did you do that?” he demands.

“I didn’t do anything. The sword did. It’s giving you a chance to walk away. I suggest you take it. Otherwise I will kill you.”

His eyes narrow, his fingers twitching on the triggers, but he doesn’t fire. “Or I will kill you. I’ve had multiple opportunities. I convinced Elizabeth to attack you. As she ran away, I could have beheaded you and no one would have known. The time I came over, I could have poisoned you. I let you live—I knew you could aid Myriad.”

Killian, yes. Myriad, never. “You can’t return to your precious realm without going to court. Will anyone sign on to be your Barrister?”

“I never planned to go back. I’ll be put to death here.” He lifts his chin. “A punishment to fit the crime, because I will never be remorseful. An end I’ll gladly endure for Myriad.”

Banging at my front door. “Ten!” Levi calls. “Ten!”

Time hasn’t started over, I realize; only we have. “Last chance,” I tell Victor.

“Ten!” Bang, bang, bang.

Victor’s teeth flash, a menacing growl leaving him. He hammers at the triggers. Boom! Boom! Boom! I rotate my swords to block the bullets. I force Victor to back out of the bedroom while avoiding my own traps. Too cramped in here, need more space.

This time, he trips over Elizabeth. As he falls, I strike, using the swords as scissors, slicing through his wrist. Thud. His severed hand lands on the floor, the gun within his useless grip.

He bellows, Lifeblood gushing from the wound. I slash, and he rolls. Rinse and repeat, until the tip of my sword wedges in a floorboard. I jerk to no avail. He aims the second gun and fires.

I swivel, but it’s too little, too late and a bullet burns through my hip. Agonized, I lose Lifeblood at a rapid pace. Adrenaline and determination become my only means of strength.

Victor fires another shot. I dive over the couch, pain wrecking me.

Midair, the Book of the Law appears. I pass through it, my arms stretched to catch me when I land; one of my number brands glows over the open page, and in that split second, a lightbulb goes off in my head, the cypher suddenly clear.

The first number of every sequence is a page number, and the others will correspond with either a letter or a word.

Excitement unfurls, every fiber of my being ready to decode.

Later!

The seven, Lina said. I need the seven if I’m going to survive this.

I land and roll, ending up under the coffee table. I’m about to crawl to the other side, intending to upend the table to use as a shield, when its legs catch my attention. They are wooden and, because of the way they are anchored underneath the tabletop, they are angled...creating the number seven.

Yes! I kick, kick, kick at a leg and...zero! It refuses to budge.

Victor grabs my ankle and drags me out from under the table. A mistake. I kick him. He’s weak and already winded, and as he doubles over, I deliver another swift kick to the table. Sweat trickles from my temples, and my muscles tremble. Finally the hinges bend, the metal loosening from the top, sticking out.

Not the miracle I needed. Victor drags me out a second time. I claw at the wooden leg, desperate to hold on, but he uses my momentum to flip me over and jam both knees into my shoulders, pinning me down.

The cold end of a gun presses into the back of my head.

No, no, no! I can’t lose. Not like this. Not to him.

Panting, he says, “Round one, Ten. Round two, Victor.”

Boom!

Victor falls off me. I jump up, confused. Elizabeth is leaning against the kitchen counter, a gun extended, smoke curling from the barrel.

No time to rejoice—she’s alive!—and no time to thank her. Victor lumbers to his feet and aims his gun at her.

“No!” I smack into him. We slam into the wall but remain on our feet.

With his good arm, he punches me once, twice, thrice, and I topple. He follows me down, lifting the gun he dropped earlier. I work my leg up and kick his arm, and the shot flies past me.

He puts all his weight into his heel, preparing a kick of his own, but I push to my knees and shove him with all my might. He stumbles, trips over a body and—stops. Just stops. The wooden table leg I dislodged has cut through his middle and now sticks out of his back.