Reckoning (15 page)

Nicolae heaves Fane to the door and kicks it open.
 
He shoves Fane’s unconscious form into the dark hall beyond.
 
He turns.
 
“I’m coming back for you.”

“I know.”
 
She waits for the door to slam shut behind him.
 
Diving into a forward roll, she comes up right in front of the door.
 
She snatches a pool cue from its rack on the wall and jams it through the door handle.
 
“Goodbye, Nicolae.”

Chapter 16

Roseline shrieks as her face is smashed into the door, her teeth rattling in her gums.
 
Davros’ stale breath burns in her nose as he presses his chest against her back.
 
“You let my snack escape.”

Rearing back, she slams her head into Davros’ nose.
 
Blood and bone fragments spurt down his lip, spilling over onto the floor.
 
His grip on her arm loosens as he tilts his head back to slow the flow.
 

With a swift elbow to his abdomen, Roseline waits the span of a human heartbeat before she shoves back from the wall.
 
Davros stumbles, his higher center of gravity tugging him to the floor.
 

Pointing her toe, Roseline spins and slashes a boot heal line across his jaw.
 
A trail of blood seeps from his new wound, mingling with the crimson trail from his nose.
 
“Come back here, you little wench,” he grunts, his hands flailing to latch around her ankle.

Roseline flips backward onto the wall and perches atop the pool cue rack.
 
“Looks like you’ve gotten a tad rusty, old man.”

Davros retrieves her fallen sword and bellows as he flips up onto his feet.
 
The vein coursing down his forehead pulses as his hands clench around the hilt.
 
He swipes at his cheek, staring at the swatch of red along his palm before his forked tongue flickers out to taste it.
 
“Vladimir isn’t here to save you this time.”

Roseline’s eyes narrow.
 
Like she needed
that
reminder.

He crouches, poised to attack.
 
Davros flips Roseline’s sword in his hand so that he grips the tip of the blade and hurls it at Roseline’s heart, like a javelin.
 
She leaps to the beam above and snarls down at him.
 
Her sword quivers as it buries nearly to the hilt in the wall.
 

She locks her remaining sword in a death grip as she plots a new strategy.
 
If he disarms her completely, she is done for.
 
Deciding she has greater options with her hands free, Roseline tucks her sword into the sheath at her back and watches Davros pace beneath her.

“Enough of the games, Roseline.
 
My dinner is escaping.”

Her feet swing low, hands braced against the wooden beam as she attacks.
 
Her legs wrap around his head as she slams upside down into his back.
 
Her fingertips reach for the ground, desperately trying to toss him over her head, but Davros whips around, twirling her straight into the pool table.
 

Bubbles of darkness pop before her eyes.
 
Pain renders her incapable of self-defense as Davros leaps into the air and lands elbow first into her chest.
 
Her torso screams in agony while his fist closes around her sword harness and yanks it free.
 
The leather bites into her flesh before finally snapping.
 
He tosses it aside and the crowd scatters as the sword spirals past them.
  

Roseline’s scalp ignites as Davros yanks her to her feet by a fistful of hair.
 
“Just like old times, eh?”
 
He grins, pulling her up next to his face.
 
He breathes deeply, his tongue flickering out of his mouth, tasting her scent.
 
Roseline screams, bucking in his grasp.

“Now, now,” he coos, gripping her chin, forcing her to look at him.
 
“There will be plenty of time for that later.”

His fingers clench tightly around his spike-tipped bronze knuckles.
 
With a roar that rattles storefront windows on the street above, Davros buries his fist into Roseline’s side.
 
She gasps, sucking in air as the sharp tips burrow through the leather corset.
 
The metal boning stops the spikes just short of piercing her skin, but does a number on her ribs.

Davros growls, yanking his fist free to wind up for another blow.
 
Roseline slumps in his hand.
 
Her vision distorts as blood pools from her scalp where strands of hair have ripped free.

His fist blurs as he strikes again.
 
Roseline arches her back, narrowly creating a gap. Davros howls as his fist slams into the brick, embedding the spikes deep into wall.
 
Her palm slams upward on his broken nose, shoving splinters of bone into his brain.
 

Blood pools behind his left eye.
 
As the pressure builds, small beads of blood form in the corner of his eye.
 
Roseline yanks free of his grasp and falls to the floor.
 
It is hard to think around the pain, to plan her next assault.
 
She knows she is not strong enough to overpower Davros in a fair fight.
 

Play dirty
, her mind screams.

Roseline’s gaze flickers around the room in search of a weapon.
 
Her eyes light on the severed bar top. She crawls forward on hands and feet, scurrying just out of Davros’ reach.
 
Her ribs are on fire as she struggles to gasp full breathes.
 
His growl reverberates through her chest cavity as he lurches to his knees.

She spins, tossing the oak tabletop like a Frisbee.
 
Davros dives to the side just as the wooden disk explodes overhead.
 
Roseline whips around, snatching drinks from the patrons hands and hurls them at his head.
 

Davros roars, batting away the shower of crimson glass.
 
“Come back here.”

Already on the move, Roseline backflips onto the wall and springs forward.
 
Her fists slam into Davros’ stomach.
 
He flies backward into the wall as she staggers back to her feet.

Her hands tremble as she pulls herself up by the side of the pool table.
 
The muscles in her arms quiver from exhaustion, nerve endings scream in more places than she cares to count.
 
She swipes away blood pooling in her eyebrows, marring her vision.

Something slams into her back, hurtling her over the table.
 
She shrieks as she crashes to the floor, impaling her arm on a broken chair leg rising from Davros and Fane’s earlier demolition.
 
Blood seeps from the wound, dripping onto the floor.
 

His hulking form appears around the end of the pool table, leering down at her.
 
Roseline bites through her lip as she wrenches the spike from her arm.
 
Tears burn her eyes as she tries to flex her fingers.
 
Splinters are buried deep into her flesh, refusing extraction.

With an enrage howl, she launches it at Davros but he easily ducks aside.
 
Giant hands reach down to ensnare her waist and lift her overhead.
 
Air squelches from her lungs as he slams her onto the pool table.
 
The slab shatters, the felt rips and a cloud of dust rises into the air, coating her bronze tresses.
 

Cracks form along the wood frame and with only a small amount of pressure Davros snaps it in two, burying Roseline.
 
The cue ball races toward her, connecting with her temple.
 
The others drop out of their leather pockets and pelt her at random places but she barely notices the added pain.

She hugs her side, fighting for breath as her broken ribs pierce her lungs.
 
Her wheezing draws a smirk from Davros.
 
“So fragile.
 
Vladimir was wrong to protect you.”
 

He leans down into her face, eyes ablaze with disgust.
 
“He made you weak.”

Her hand flutters around beside her in search of a weapon.
 
The billiard balls have escaped down the length of her body and spilled out onto the floor, rolling in all directions.
 
The torn felt offers nothing more than tiny shards of slate.
 
Her skin tears as she jabs her palm onto the broken tip of a cue stick.
 
Her fingers clasp around it as she arches up to spit in his face.
 
“I. Am. Not. Weak.”

Davros’ jaw falls slack as she plunges the pool cue deep into his chest.
 
The jagged tip slips between his ribs as he falls to the side.
 
Gasping, Roseline rolls up onto her knees.
 

She grips the cue protruding from his chest and leans into it, slowly piercing his heart.
 
Davros’ eyes widen in panic, his hands weakly trying to shove her away.
 
Roseline holds firm, shoving with the last of her strength, until the cue reaches the floor.

Blood gurgles from Davros’ mouth.
 
Vacant eyes stare up at her.
 
The only sound that remains is the dripping of his heart expelling the last few drops of his lifeblood, pooling into his chest cavity.

Davros falls limp.

Roseline slumps to the ground, wiping the blood from her face.
 
She glares at the crowd, spitting a wad of blood in their direction and they scatter.
 
Some flee for the dance floor while others race on past and escape through the main exit.
 
None attempt to inch past Roseline to head for the rear exit.

Her arms give out on her, spilling her to the floor.
 
Her chest wheezes loudly as she stares up at the ceiling above.
 
The lights dims as a shadow crosses her blurred vision.

“Well done,” a masculine voice praises. Gentle hands cup her head.
 
A cool glass presses against her lips.
 
She protests, weakly fighting to pull away.
 
“Don’t,” he whispers, tilting the cup.
 
Its taste is sweet, unlike anything she has ever experienced before.
 

The delicious blood pours down her throat.
 
Pain instantly gives way to need as she clings to the cup, slurping down every last drop.
 
She cries out, rolling onto her back as her right side is set ablaze with rapidly healing fires.
 
Her ribs snap back into place, skin regenerates and missing strands of hair rapidly regrow.
 
Her vision clears.

A man of unearthly beauty stares down at her.
 
His face is veiled by long, flowing raven black hair.
 
Pale skin, more exquisite than the finest silk, caresses her cheek, wiping away a drop of blood from the crease of her mouth.

“How do you feel?” the stranger asks.
 
His accent is clipped, foreign, despite presenting a perfect English accent.
 

Roseline sits up.
 
Flexing her muscles, she winces at the lingering pain, but that will soon fade.
 
“Much better. What did you give me?”

He does not answer.
 
Instead, he offers his hand, kneeling to help her rise. Roseline hesitantly accepts.
 
Her eyes widen at the spark his touch induces.
 
Some unknown power electrifies his skin.
 
He smiles knowingly but offers no explanation.

“Thank you for your help,” she replies, stepping back.
 
His piercing eyes sweep over her, marking the receding wounds.
 

“You are welcome.”
 
He turns, crossing his arms over his chest.
 
The tailored black suit pulls taut over his lean body, as he observes her fallen opponent.
 
“A friend of yours?”

Roseline chuckles, rubbing the tension from her neck.
 
“Yeah, we go way back.”