“With a dozen arrows pointed at me?” it demanded.
“None flies unless you try to run. Are you afraid to fight a human on equal ground? Would you have run that night if my mother had held a sword?”
“She was weak, but her blood was rich.” His eyes slanted to the left, to his companion, still chained and staked too far away to be of any help. “It was meant to be you.”
The knife from that had already been in her heart. The words only twisted it. “Aye, and you killed her for nothing. But now it could be me. Will Lilith have you back if you taste my blood tonight? You want it.” Deliberately she cut a shallow slice across her palm. “It’s so long since you fed.”
She watched his tongue flick out to lick his lips as she held up her hand so the blood would drip down her arm and onto the ground. “Come. Strike me down and feed.”
He yanked the sword free, and raising it, charged.
She didn’t block the first blow, but pivoted aside, kicked out to send him sprawling.
A good move, Blair decided. Add some humiliation to the fear and the hunger. He came up, rushed Moira with that eerie, preternatural speed some of them possessed. But she was ready for him. Maybe, Blair thought, she’d been ready all of her life.
Sword struck sword, and Blair could see that while he had more speed, more strength, Moira had the better form. Moira drove his sword up, aside, then plunged her own into his chest. She danced back, once more took her stance.
Showing the crowd, Blair knew, that while such a wound might be mortal in a human, it barely broke a vampire’s stride.
She ignored the screams, the shouts, even the sounds of panic and running feet and watched the combat on the field.
The vampire cupped a hand on his wound, brought the blood from it to his mouth. From behind her, Blair heard the sound of a body hitting the ground as someone fainted.
He came at her again, but this time he anticipated Moira’s move. His sword nicked her arm, and he cracked the back of his hand across her face. She stumbled back, blocking the next blow, but was driven back toward the second vampire.
Blair lifted her crossbow, prepared to break her word.
Instead, Moira dived down, rolled aside. She came up with her legs pistoning in a hard double kick that simply made Blair’s heart sing.
“Atta girl, atta girl. Now take him out. Stop fooling around.”
But it had gone beyond that, beyond merely showing the people what a vampire was capable of withstanding in battle. Moira brought her sword down to cleave a gash in its shoulder, and still she moved back rather than strike a killing blow.
“How long did she live?” Moira demanded. “How long did she suffer?” She continued to block, to drive even when the hand that gripped the hilt of her sword was slick with her own blood.
“Longer than you will, or the coward who sired you.”
He charged through her shock. She barely saw the move, would never know how she defended herself against it. There was pain, the sting as the sword grazed her side. There was her own scream as she swung her sword through the air, and took its head.
She went to her knees as
much with the sudden tearing grief than from any wounds. She shook from it, and the roars of the crowd were like a distant ocean.
She gained her feet, turned to Blair. “Unlock the other.”
“No. That’s enough, Moira. It’s enough.”
“That’s for me to say.” She strode over, yanked the key from Blair’s belt. “It’s for me to do.”
All sound dropped away as she started across the field. Moira saw the sudden light, a kind of glee in the vampire’s eyes as she approached it. The hunger, and the pleasure of what was to come.
Then she saw the arrow whizz by, and strike its heart.
Moira whirled, the rage of betrayal ripping through her. But it wasn’t Blair who held the bow. It was Cian.
He tossed it down. “Enough,” was all he said before he walked away.
Chapter 17