“What if I told you that I was Zacharel’s brother? His twin? His other half?”
One inch…two… “You’d have a better chance of convincing me that you’re Santa Claus.” Even though his claim solved the mystery of the essentia—why Zacharel had seemed to touch her before ever having met her.
That tail whipped out a second time, faster, harder. “Perhaps I am. I so love leaving little presents behind…like the bodies I left for you, all those years ago. Your parents, yes? Killing them was so amazingly sweet.”
Might vomit. But at least she managed to gain another inch.
“I could have left them alone, you know, but I wanted you trapped in one location. I knew you would be blamed and locked away, ready to be rescued by a beautiful dark-haired angel. And so you were.”
Might sob. “What do you gain from all of this?”
“Vengeance. Zacharel killed the man I used to be. I woke up in hell, forced to live with the very beings responsible for my torment.”
“No,” she repeated. “You lie!” That tail came at her once, twice, but she managed to jump both times. Zacharel had done the same to her, so she knew to leap backward, out of the way of a third strike.
She saved herself from injury, but she also put herself farther away from her blades. Dang it. There had to be another way. The burn—
The burn! She could have more than hands. She could have claws. And if she could have claws, she could have fangs, wings and horns of her own. All weapons of destruction.
She might have a chance of winning.
Part of her wanted to stop trying to subdue her fear and anger and simply unleash them. Fine, more than a part of her. But she wouldn’t do it. She would not fight evil with evil. That wasn’t who she was or who she wanted to be.
I can do this. I can. She launched herself into the demon’s body.
He hit the ground and rolled, smashing her, but her hands were free and she rammed her fist into his throat. He rolled again, placing her on top, but he didn’t leave her there. He grabbed her by the wrist and tossed her over his shoulder. She hit the far wall, plaster raining around her, pain shooting through her.
Not out yet. Up she jumped and raced toward him. He met her in the middle. She bit at him. She sliced at him with her nails. She swiped up pieces that had broken off the lamp and cut at him. She kicked at him. She fought with every ounce of strength she possessed—more than she’d ever before exhibited. All the while, he was a snarling animal, with no rules to hinder him, no hesitation to lessen the damage he caused. No considering a better path. And yet, still she managed to give as good as she got.
A few times, he tried to kiss her and once even succeeded. He touched her in private places simply to taunt her. Each time, she managed to maintain her cool, causing him to explode in anger.
Those explosions actually aided her. He forgot to block her punches, too focused on getting his hands around her neck to choke her.
“Look at you,” he taunted, circling her now.
“Check a mirror,” she taunted back.
She was bleeding, bleeding some more, and she was hurting, but he was bleeding just as profusely and had to be hurting just as badly.
“Just give up! Zacharel’s brought me nothing but pain and suffering, and I will do the same to him. I will not allow you to stop me.”
She wouldn’t, couldn’t, give in. “If you really are his twin—” can’t be, he can’t be “—then you asked him to kill you. Commanded it.”
“He did not have to heed me!”
“What did you expect him to do? You kept trying to kill yourself.”
“He could have tried harder to save me. He could have found a way to reach me in the darkness.”
For a moment, only a moment, she caught a glimpse of the man he used to be: tormented, pain-filled, ruined. He was a darker version of Zacharel.