I can hear Wade lumbering down the stairs, still cursing as I clear the porch and turn right. I run past the garage and to the open backyard, having chosen it as there’s a floodlight on the back of the garage that is motion activated. As soon as I hit the patch of grass behind it, the area is flooded with the light I need to see what I’m doing.
By the time I turn to face my adversary, thong of the whip resting on the ground, Wade is coming out of the house. But this time, he’s not running. He sees me and walks slowly, not in the least bit intimidated by the weapon in my hand.
He would be if he knew the thong was coated in iron scales and the fall covered in iron plates. He’d most certainly be a bit more cautious if he knew I had an iron dagger hidden within the handle.
Clearly enjoying the fact I chose the privacy of my backyard, secluded by six-foot wooden fencing and tall, unruly hedges that haven’t been trimmed in years, he feels like he has all the advantage.
His stride is confident, despite the fact his face is smeared with inky blood. His eyes are hateful.
Wade’s gaze goes to the whip, and his lips curl into a sneer. “Seriously? You a rodeo girl or something?”
“Or something,” I mutter, gripping the iron handle a little harder as my hands are starting to sweat.
“Think that’s going to hurt me?” he taunts. “I’m not afraid of a little stinging leather. In fact, I kind of like it.”
I force myself not to show my cards, because this fae has no clue I can see beneath his glamour, nor does he know there’s iron everywhere on this whip.
Taking a deep breath, I let him continue to saunter toward me, his expression confident I’ll be a snack before it’s all said and done. I wait until he’s only about six feet away before I let loose an extremely fast side flick with the whip.
It doesn’t have the flourish of an overhead maneuver and certainly doesn’t wow like a figure eight, but it’s so fast because it’s mostly done with my wrist that his cheek is sliced open before he even realizes the thong has moved.
Wade bellows in pain as he slaps a hand over his cheek. While that iron won’t sicken or slow him down, I know it hurts like hell, and it’s made him think twice as he takes two steps back.
Eyes red with fury, he holds his other hand out, making a claw and turning it inward as if he were reeling me toward him with the power of his mind. He lifts his chin, and I feel the wave of sexual compulsion wash over me. For a second—maybe two—I feel all my resolve start to melt, but then I push back against it.
Hard.
I use the adrenaline rushing through me and the burn of rage that he hurt—possibly killed—Adira, and I collect all of that energy deep within me.
The feather on my leg burns, and I thrust the compulsion back at him. I don’t know if he actually feels it, or he’s merely surprised I don’t willingly come walking toward him, but his eyes flare wide as he asks in disbelief, “What in the hell are you?”
“I’m your worst fucking nightmare, incubus,” I snarl. His eyes bug out of his head, bolstering me by the tiny bit of uncertainty there. It’s not outright fear, but he’s considering he might have chosen the wrong victim.
I don’t let him ponder on it, now having the advantage as he’s off-balance mentally.
I pull my arm up, let the thong and fall arc over my shoulder, and instinctively toss forward before it hits my calf. My first strike is aimed right at his face, and he manages to get an arm up just in time to defend himself. The thong actually catches his arm, but his long sleeves protect his skin from the iron scales of my whip. Had I a better crack on that toss, I would have sliced through his shirt, and I vow to myself to start putting clothes on the dummies at the gym so I can practice shredding shirts and exposing skin in the future.
I launch two more strike attempts at his face, but he successfully blocks them as well. He knows that’s where he’s most vulnerable, so he’s ready.
As I bring my arm up once more to do an overhead toss, he assumes my target is once again his head and holds his arms up defensively.
At the last moment, though, I step toward him, snapping the whip sideways and down low, and manage to coil the thong around his ankle perfectly. Before he can even understand what just happened, I hold the handle in a death grip, wrap my other hand around the thong, and heave as hard as I can.