Trail of Lightning (The Sixth World #1)(4)

He reaches a massive pawlike hand under the sleeping bag and pulls out a long wicked-looking ax meant for chopping through trees and little girls’ windows. I have no doubt it will slice through my flesh nice and easy. I don’t plan on giving him the chance.

In one practiced move, I slide my shotgun into the holster across my back and draw my B?ker. Seven inches of curved steel, down-weighted for a machete-like strike. But before I can attack, he pivots toward the girl, scoops her up, throws her over his shoulder, and runs.

“Shit!”

I take off after him, struggling to put my hunting knife away and get the small quick knife tucked in my moccasins. I throw the obsidian blade fast as lightning, smooth and spinless in an underhanded release. Grim satisfaction as it flies true and hits him in the back of the knee. He roars and stumbles, almost drops the girl, who shrieks in terror. But he keeps on going. Faster than he should be with a knife in his leg. Faster than he looks. Quickly disappearing into the dark woods. So I do the only thing I can do. I chase.

And with my need, Honágháahnii comes. Like a streak of wildfire through my veins, churning through my muscles, turning me into something more than I am without it. My eyesight sharpens. My lungs expand. And I fly, feet light, barely touching the ground. Instinctively I dodge trees, leap felled branches and dense underbrush. I am close to the monster too fast, in the milliseconds between breaths. I stutter step and then launch myself at his broad back.

Impact, and the three of us crash to the forest floor. The girl goes flying from his arms as he smashes face-first into the ground. His big body cushions my fall, giving me a moment of advantage that I take. I roll, drawing my knife even as I get my legs under me. I’m ready when the monster gets to his feet.

His eyes flicker between my knife and the girl. She’s sprawled out facedown, silent. Maybe already dead, but I can’t tell for sure. His eyes dart between us again, and this time when his gaze settles on the girl, he licks his lips.

I swing my knife for his throat, still Honágháahnii fast, but he throws out an arm to block me. I adjust, twisting before the blade hits, nimble as a mountain cat, and invade his inner guard. I plunge my knife into his belly and rip. Again. A third time. Hard and fast and merciless like I’ve been taught. My hands grows slippery with his blood. The stench of his innards is overwhelming, and my eyes water and blur, but I don’t stop. I don’t pause between strikes to see if it’s working. I just wait for his body to hit the ground.

No luck, as huge arms wrap around me and squeeze. The barrel of my shotgun digs painfully into my spine. I fight to breathe. Fire blazes across my shoulder as he clamps down, trying his best to bite through my leather jacket.

I scream. Pure and instinctual as I thrash helplessly in his massive arms. Panic judders through my bones and stars burst and flame out on the edge of my vision. He squeezes harder. Uses his teeth to worry my shoulder like a dog with a bone. I’ve still got my B?ker in my right hand. Desperate, I shift my knife to my left, shimmy that arm loose. And with all my strength, I take a swinging hack at his neck. It’s awkward and clumsy, but it works. He releases me with a bellow of pain. Hurls me away. I go flying, arms and legs paddling wildly.

I strike the ground hard. Agony jolts my side. I can’t catch my breath and my shoulder is throbbing, but I scramble to my feet, fumbling to put my knife between us.

But there’s no need. He staggers, hand clumsily shoving to contain the flesh and tendons of his neck, and I realize I’ve severed his head. I watch in awe as he crumples to the ground.

Dead.

The monster is dead.

I drop to my knees, exhausted. Because what Honágháahnii gives, it takes away, and even that limited use of my clan powers has left me drained. My heart pounds like a big drum in my chest. The roar of a windstorm crashes in my ears, and the shakes are ridiculous. They rattle through my muscles as the adrenaline melts away.

I scream, exhilarated, obscenely euphoric. I know this high. K’aahanáanii, my clan power, a bloodlust that revels in the kill. Guilt and horror suffuse me, and I try to mentally push K’aahanáanii away, but it won’t be denied as long as I am covered in the blood of my enemy, his lifeless body at my feet. I listen as my voice echoes back to me through the trees and wait for the perversity of my killing clan power to pass.

For a while the only sound is my own breath in my ears. The soft rustle of wind through the trees.

Dirt and rocks stick to my blood-soaked leggings and poke painfully at my knees as I crawl over to retrieve my knives. I clean them both as best I can, sheathe the obsidian blade.

I use the B?ker to hack at what’s left of his neck until the head comes off. I’m not sure what kind of monster I just killed, but I do know he took too damn long to die, and that makes me cautious. Taking the head is about the only way to guarantee he won’t stand up the moment I turn my back.

There’s a shuffling behind me.

I whirl, too fast, and my head throbs. If there’s another monster, I’m in no shape to fight it.

It’s the girl. I forgot all about the girl.

She’s dragged herself upright, back braced against a bare tree trunk. Her nightgown is torn and filthy. Her hair hangs in stringy blood-clotted clumps. The color in her face is an awful ghostly chalk under her brown skin. I can see her wound now, the black blood, the white of bone and tendon showing through where the flesh has been scraped away by the monster’s teeth. I shake off a shudder of horror and wonder how she’s still alive. The monster wasn’t just gnawing at her. He was trying to dig out her throat.