The Ripple Effect (Rhiannon's Law #3)(62)
Revenald motioned me forward and waited until I stopped beside the now-unchained necromancer. “This is your first test, servant of my blood. Matthew has defied his mistress more than once, meaning he is challenged by death—the same as you. I’ve been told you prefer violence, which works nicely in this case. The two of you will engage in battle in this room, but there’s a catch.” There was a sinister spark in Revenald’s eyes when he said, “Only one of you will survive. It’s a fight to the death. Win and you will be given the opportunity to absolve yourself of your crimes against my home. Die and, well...” He chuckled, shrugging. “You die.”
“Kill her and I’ll release you, Matthew.” Victoria tossed out. “Her life for your freedom.”
Why did she have to do that? My palm twitched, itching to connect with the side of her face. Matthew’s gaze went from intent to lethal. She was going to reward him with the very thing he’d done to get himself in trouble in the first place—the thing he wanted most.
Damn it to hell. I was as good as f*cked.
“Stand back,” Revenald commanded. “Give them room.”
“You can do this,” Disco whispered in my mind. “End things here and now so we can leave this wretched place.”
“You got it,” I thought back, more than happy with the thought of leaving Revenald and The Land of Oz. “Let the games begin.”
Disco, Marius, and Paine moved away from me, so that I was alone with the man that looked like he was ready to bust my nuts. We faced each other, neither of us afraid.
Damn it. So not good.
Either he didn’t realize I could hold my own, or he knew and didn’t give a shit.
I kicked off my heels, sending them sailing toward the center of the room, when Matthew lunged. Fuck me. He was faster than I thought. His knuckles grazed my cheek as I dove to the side, out of his range. The big bastard didn’t give me time to decide what to do next, charging me like a bull intent on staking its horns through a red flag.
Crap.
I hated running in circles and fleeing like a coward, but the truth was I had to wear this one down. I couldn’t let myself get anywhere near his fists. His first punch told me exactly what I was dealing with, someone who’d trained in the ring on a daily basis. Street brawlers and gym boxers were the worst types of people to fight. They had no rules—anything goes. I heard Revenald’s jeering taunts as I bobbed and weaved, dodging the * who had to kill me or die. It wasn’t easy. Despite trying to stay one-step ahead, Matthew landed a couple of bruising blows to my shoulders and ribcage.
“Enough of this,” Revenald said after a few minutes. “Corral them.”
I heard footsteps and saw the vampires who had been standing at the far wall form a circle around us—closing us in.
No, no, no!
I had to rethink my strategy. Balls to the wall the motherf*cker.
This time when Matthew came at me, I waited, timing it so I went into a saddle split just as he stopped inches from me. To my relief, my leather pants didn’t rip or tear, gliding with the motion like a second skin. I reared back, aimed, and delivered a punch to his family jewels.
Boo-yah.
He grasped his newly crushed balls, howling in pain.
Bringing my legs together, I rose to my feet. The next part of my plan was something the movies made look easy—total bullshit, by the way. Breaking someone’s neck was damn hard, nearly impossible. Matthew tried to pivot when I swerved around and launched onto his back, wrapping one arm around his throat and fisting fingers through his hair with my free hand. Although I tried to get my legs around his waist, I failed. I shook it off, focusing on the positives instead of the negatives. I’d practiced this move afterhours with my trainer and self-defense coach, Mike, but I knew it wasn’t as simple as putting weight behind a swift jerk and getting the job done. The angle had to be just right, the motion along with the pressure in equal amounts.
I screamed when Matthew lowered his head and used one of my own dirty moves against me—biting down hard on my forearm. His teeth broke the skin and he didn’t ease up. It hurt, a pinching sensation that radiated up to my shoulder, but I couldn’t let go. He’d kill me if he gained the upper hand. All he needed was a nice, level punch to my nose. He’d send bones into my brain and it would be game over.
He wrapped a fist in my hair, twisted his wrist and thrust his upper body forward. I slid with the movement, my abdomen resting against his head, and the world spun as I landed on my back. Within a second, Matthew had his hand around my throat, his thick fingers applying pressure. He didn’t want to break my neck, he wanted to f*cking strangle me.
Dots swam before my eyes and I reached out with both hands, trying to grab onto something—anything. A couple of times my fingers swept over feet which quickly moved away. I brought my hands up and tried to gouge out Matthew’s eyes. He prevented the connection, using his elbows. Left with nothing else, I clawed at Matthew’s fingers, digging my fingernails into his knucklebones.
“Next to your head,” Disco thought frantically. “Let him go and reach above you.”
What position was I in to argue? Abso-f*cking-lutely none.
I released Matthew’s fingers, reaching over my head. I came in contact with a thin piece of wood—one that was attached to a shoe: the heels I’d removed before the fight. It was a miracle, a saving grace. Grasping the heel in my right hand, I gripped the shiny layer of leather and made my decision.