Oh crap. I’m so not ready for this shit. Remember my training. Empty my mind. My body knows the moves. Let it take over. Don’t overthink. React. Protect. And get the hell out.
My brain stopped working. There was too much. Where did I go? Which person did I fight? Who did I help first? There were too many thoughts… too many bodies tumbling over each other… blood, grunts, the sound of flesh hitting flesh. I swallowed down the bile that rose in my throat.
Get it together. Your group needs you. You can’t stand here like a wuss. Do your job.
And then she walked up to me with her pretty, blonde hair and a small smile. I couldn’t believe someone who looked as sweet and innocent as she did could be one of Azazel’s army… until she launched a round-kick to my head that sent me to my knees. My ears rang from the hit and the side of my face throbbed. I decided she didn’t look so sweet and innocent, after all. Anger bubbled from a place deep in my belly. I shook my head once and forced myself to move. Swinging my arms, I jumped to my feet.
Once I was standing, I didn’t waste precious seconds returning her kick. She fell back a few steps before advancing again. I deflected two of her strikes before she landed another across my jaw. I was all at once thankful for the years my parents forced me to take Tae Kwon Do and every other type of martial art instead of the piano lessons I wanted to take.
The next time she tried to kick me, I was ready. I grabbed her foot and yanked her forward, knocking her off-balance. As she fell toward me, I landed an uppercut to her nose, knocking her backward. Blood spurted, and she screamed in pain. I winced. I really disliked physical violence, but I wasn’t going to stand on principle and get my butt handed to me either.
I looked to my side and saw Jen had her fight under control. Shayla seemed fine too. I turned in a circle, looking for Muriel. I couldn’t find her and worried she’d gotten separated from the group and needed help, but I couldn’t go look for her.
I saw my dad get hit so hard that he fell to the ground. A huge guy bent over and hitched him up by the arms, holding him for a second guy—who was built like a model for a bodybuilder magazine—to land another hit.
Dad! Two against one. I’m coming. Hold on… hold on.
Anger shot through my veins, and I sprinted toward him. Heat ran through my body. I could feel the map of my veins as my fiery blood shot through them. But a weight sat in the middle of my chest, heavy and painful. As hot as my blood was shooting through my veins at an inhuman rate, the rock in my chest was just as cold, freezing the area around it, constricting the tissue, hardening the muscle it touched. But it was there, from my ice-cold center, that I tapped into the rage that zinged down each nerve, turned my sight red, and cleared my head of everything but the fight and protecting my group—my family.
My dad’s attacker’s back was to me. When I kicked my foot up between his legs, he crumpled to the ground.
Doesn’t matter how big they are. A swift kick to the frank and beans does the trick every time.
“I didn’t think you’d be the one saving me,” my dad said with a wry smile. His lip was already swelling, blood trickling from the side of his mouth and a cut high on his cheekbone. The demi-demon still held him from behind. “This is gonna hurt,” my dad muttered before he bent his head forward and threw a wicked head-butt into the guy behind him.
“Think of it as teamwork.” I threw a jab at the guy still holding my dad and his hold loosened enough that he slipped from his arms.
“Milayna!” my dad yelled, his eyes wide.
A pair of strong arms wrapped around me from behind and lifted me off the ground. Helpless, I watched as the two much younger demi-demons regained their strength and attacked my dad, throwing punches and kicks so quickly and often that my dad wasn’t able to keep up. His knees crumpled beneath him, and he collapsed against the sandy ground.
I struggled against the person that held me. I kicked and screamed, but my arms were pinned and my feet didn’t connect. I tried to head-butt him, but he anticipated the move and kept his head tilted and out of reach.
I looked around the football field. Everyone was in the middle of their own fight. I was alone with the kid, locked in his iron grip. He dragged me to the middle of the field and tossed me down on the grass. The hobgoblins ran over, jumping up and down on their short, stumpy legs.
“Milayna,” they called. “Finally, you’ve come to play.”
I looked around, frantic. “Chay!”
“He’s busy. It’s just you and me.” The gigantic boy smiled and rolled his shoulders.
I screamed again. But no one could hear me over the noise of the fight.
“Come with us, Milayna, and all this ends. Your friends walk away and live normal lives. We’ll let your parents live in peace, and Azazel will treat you like a princess. You just have to say the word.”
“Go to Hell,” I whispered.