Just. Like. That.
He stalked toward me, menace in every step. I backed away, rounding to the right and moving toward the door. It was closed, probably locked; I wanted it open and unlocked. Wanted to lead Benjamin into the hallway, away from Cole—please be okay—where we were more likely to be seen and heard. But he angled, too, forcing me to go in the other direction or be stabbed. Eventually, the backs of my knees hit the edge of the bed.
He stopped a few feet away, his smile returning. “Poor Ali,” he said and tsked. “Nowhere else to go.”
I knew it would be suicidal to try to kick the knife out of his hand. That was all Hollywood and stupid. My dad once told me to use whatever was nearby as a weapon. Anything. Everything.
“I’m going to enjoy this,” Benjamin said. And then he did it. He swung the short sword at me. I arched away from the blade and grabbed his wrist, stopping his momentum. Then, with my free hand, I punched him in the throat.
Gasping for breath, he stumbled away from me.
I used what was nearby—a candle. I flung the hot, melted wax over his face. He grunted, wiping at his eyes, temporarily blinded. Then I kicked the sword out of his hand. Like this, I didn’t have to kick as high, which meant I had a better chance of staying on my feet if he dodged.
He didn’t dodge.
As the blade skidded across the floor, I moved in for another strike and kicked him in the nuts. He growled low, like a wounded, angry animal, but didn’t hunch over. Somehow able to work past the pain, he drove me to the bed. I bounced on the mattress until his weight bore down and pinned me.
I could have panicked, but I knew emotions were my worst enemy right now. So, I stayed calm, even when he delivered a solid punch to my jaw.
Pain. A burst of stars. In a flash of violent motion, I bucked, creating a gap between our bodies. He was forced to grip the headboard to remain upright. Without his hands holding me down, I was able to clasp him by the hips and pull myself between his legs, sitting up behind him and turning.
I flattened my hand on the back of his head and shoved. His forehead banged into the headboard, the entire bed rattling with the force of the blow. But again, he wasn’t as injured as he should have been. A slayer ability?
He grabbed my arm when I reached for him and flung me to the floor. Impact escorted the air right out of my lungs.
Benjamin jumped to his feet.
“Ali!”
I looked. I didn’t mean to, but finding Cole whenever he called was habit. Absolutely essential. Our gazes met as he raced from the bathroom, and the world faded away—
—suddenly Cole was striding down a narrow corridor. I was hanging over his shoulder, beating and kicking at him.
“Let go,” I demanded.
“Never again,” he countered.
“You keep saying that. What do you want with me? What do you want from me?”
“What I’ve always wanted. Everything.”
“Well, you can’t have it. I don’t know you, don’t want to know you—”
—what! I almost screamed.
The scene instantly morphed—
—we were standing nose to nose, shouting at each other.
“Yes! Dang it, yes!” I stomped my foot. “You remember what the pages said. One person will give her life to save many.”
“That person isn’t going to be you.”
“It is!”
“No,” he repeated more firmly—
—the second vision vanished, and again I wanted to scream. Because I might be the one, the “she.” We’d lost track of the assassin, and I probably had knife wounds all over me.
I blinked rapidly and looked down at myself. I was on my feet, warm blood trickling from my neck. My gaze found Cole. He stood a few feet away, his hands clutched at his sides, his expression murderous. He fought to reach me, but Bronx held him back. There was a smear of crimson on his temple.
“Cole.”
“He’s fine.” Frosty moved in front of me, studied my features.
“The assassin—”
“Dead,” Frosty replied with relish. “He was a split second away from cutting through your jugular. I wasn’t taking any chances and shot him between the eyes.”
One mission...over...almost died...wouldn’t have had...chance to say...goodbye. Something was wrong with me—and only getting worse. I struggled to breathe, my thoughts derailing. Every ache and pain I’d received during the fight roared with new life, driving me to my knees.
“I think...Cole...concussion,” I managed to say. My eyelids became heavy.
“I don’t care about me,” he said, and I knew he was beside me now. He’d probably shoved Bronx and Frosty out of the way.
Sharp pains exploded through my head. “Something...wrong.” I opened my mouth to say more, but I didn’t have the strength.
“Ali?” he demanded. He sounded far away. “Talk to me. Tell me what’s going on.”
I floated away from him, going higher and higher, no longer able to hear him or feel him. It sucked. But it also didn’t suck. Up here, I felt nothing.