Dangerous Games (Riley Jenson Guardian #4)(53)

“If you are the death head of the dragon, how did you retain your soul when the others did not? And why didn’t you tell your dark master that I was a guardian?”
He stepped past Jin’s body. Just one step, but it was enough to have my heart just about leaping through my chest. “That’s three questions.”
“In the scheme of things, it’s not going to kill you to answer a couple more questions.”
“In the scheme of things, you will die slowly, in agony, with the full knowledge that the help that waits just beyond these doors will never ever find you or this place. And you will die with the knowing that I will kill all that you hold dear, and then I will kill as I want. Because no one will be able to stop me. I am death, and you are mine.”
“You know, this death spirit you’re sharing body-space with has made you a lot more eloquent, but he sure as hell talks as much shit as you do.”
His gaze narrowed, just a fraction, but the sensation of danger swirled around me and the hairs along the back of my neck stood on end. It had never been a sane idea to annoy Gautier, but how much stupider was it now that he shared space with the spirit of death? Still, if I was going to die, then I sure as hell was going to die spitting in his eye and throwing barbs all the way.
“We will enjoy killing you.”
“But are we going to answer the questions?”
He smiled again, and it was the smile I knew. All oily confidence and belief in self.
“The others were human and easily swept away. I am, as I’ve already said, a lab-born vampire. It is not so easy to get rid of me.”
Didn’t we know that. “And not telling Kingsley who I was?”“He has other victims upstairs. He will not take mine. And in this place there is no cavalry to save you. It’s just you and me.”
I stared at him for a moment, then took a deep breath, gathering courage, and stepped over the stones, moving into the center of the circular cavern. It was bigger than I’d originally thought, filled with shifting shadows that wouldn’t do either of us any good.
I rolled my shoulders, trying to ease the ache, then shifted my feet, letting the grit and dirt dig into my heels and enhance my grip. Once I was ready—or as ready as I was ever going to get—I lifted my free hand and gave him a quick “come on” sign. “Let’s do it, stinko.”
He laughed, and it was the most joyous sound I’d ever heard escape his thin lips. In one smooth movement, he sheathed the knife behind his back, then he came at me, a blur of energy and heat and sheer bloody murder.
There was little I could do but try to survive. I weaved and dodged and blocked, using every skill pounded into my body over the last few months, every instinct, every ounce of speed. He was fast, super fast, with instincts and fighting skills honed far sharper than mine ever would be. But I was fighting for my life, and that gave me a huge advantage in the survival stakes. Enough to survive, anyway.
We moved, weaved, dodged around the room. Dirt clouded the heavy air, making it thicker, harder to breathe. Or maybe that was simply fear, weighing heavier and heavier on my flesh. Our dance was a vicious one, done in silence, except for the occasional smack of flesh against flesh or the heavy thump of a step against dusty ground. Blow after blow got through my defenses and rained upon my body, cutting and bruising but not breaking. Not yet. And every time he hit me, every time his teeth or nails scraped me, I kept the pain inside. If he wanted it, he was going to have to work a darn sight harder for it.
It was a frightening thought that he probably could. And would.
Still, after long minutes of heavy fighting, I was still upright, and still relatively unhurt. But God, I was thankful when he paused. As much as the wolf within begged to attack, to slash and bite and generally tear chunks off his stinking form, common sense held sway. I couldn’t keep such intensity up. I might have the strength of a wolf and a vampire within me, but Gautier was a whole lot more now—who knew what strengths the dragon gave him? I had to pace myself, had to play this his way, until I got the chance to play it mine.
He breathed deep. Rapture flared in the depths of his flat eyes. “Ah, the sweet taste of your fear, Riley. So much more exquisite than blood.”
I backed away a little farther, and swiped at the sweat running down my forehead with a bloody arm. Confidence fairly oozed from his pores, and, really, who could blame him? I stunk of sweat, effort, and blood, as well as the aforementioned fear, and there was no point in denying any of it. 
“Enjoy it while you can, psycho, because it’ll be the last time that you do.”
He reached back behind him and drew the knife free once again. In the flickering torchlight, the silver blade seemed to glow with an odd red-gold luminescence. As if it were already coated with my blood.
I shivered and ignored the blade, watching his hands instead. With normal psychos you watched their eyes for their moves, but Gautier was far too devious to give the game away so easily. If he was going to throw that blade, I’d get the warning in the brief flick of his fingers.
He didn’t throw it.
Just laughed. The sound rolled across the silence, sawing at my nerves.
I flexed my fingers and waited.
He smiled and casually swung the blade back and forth, back and forth.
When he finally came at me, it was so fast I barely had time to blink. I spun and lashed out with one bare foot. My heel skimmed his stomach, forcing him backward. His free hand chopped down, his blow barely avoiding my shin; then he was following the impetus of the movement, spinning and kicking and slashing in one smooth motion. My knife went flying from suddenly nerveless fingers. His knife whistled mere inches from my nose, and probably would have sliced open my face if I hadn’t bolted backward.
That angered me, for some reason. Beating me to a pulp I could handle, but cutting my face just went beyond the bounds of decency. I might not have a whole lot of prettiness to be worried about, but I was attached to what I had.
Gautier’s fingers flexed, just the once, around the blade’s shaft, then he blurred. His steps were featherlight on the dusty ground, little more than whispers of air. I wished I could say the same about his scent. It was thick with the reek of death, so vile that it snatched my breath and made it even harder to concentrate.
I tracked him with infrared, waiting until he closed in, then dropped and spun, lashing out with one foot, trying to bring him down. He avoided the kick easily, then his fist was arcing toward me. I dodged, felt the breeze of it scrape past my cheek, and dove forward, tackling him at knee height and bringing him down. We both hit the ground with a grunt and rolled in a mess of arms and legs and slashing teeth. I called to my alternate shape, felt her roil through my body eagerly, and slashed at his stomach with my teeth. Blood and flesh filled my mouth, a foulness worse than even his scent. Bile rose, and I hawked, spitting out his taste as I scrambled away. Silver glittered through the air. I dodged, lunged in a second time, tearing at the hand, the fingers, that held the blade.
He cursed, then his free fist was in my side, burrowing deep. Something snapped within, and everything went red as the force of the blow battered me away from him. I tumbled over and over in the dirt, changing shape along the way, until I hit the far wall in human form and with spine-jarring force.
But there was no time to lie there. No time to get my breath. The air was screaming with the scent and force of Gautier’s follow-up leap. If he pinned me, that would be the end of it. I knew that from the one and only fight we’d had before now.
I rolled away and slashed sideways with my heel. The blow connected low, smashing into his leg just below his knee. Flesh and bone gave way under the power of it, and I swear I heard a crack. He grunted, fury flashing across his dead features, then he spun and grabbed my leg even as I tried to scramble away. A gasp escaped my lips and he chuckled.
I twisted, lunging up, fingers like daggers as I went for his eyes. He reared back, and I changed the blow, chopping down on a pressure point instead, trying to break his grip on my leg.
He swore, and swung, throwing me across the room a second time. I hit the wall with a smack that knocked the air from my lungs and left me gasping. Or maybe it wasn’t the blow. Maybe there wasn’t any air to begin with, because my lungs burned and I couldn’t seem to breathe, no matter how much I gasped.And he was coming at me again.
Somehow, I got up. Somehow, I forced myself to move. I felt rather than saw the sweep of the blade, and threw myself out of the way. Felt the silver point slash my calves as it whooshed past, leaving a trail burning fire in my flesh.
I rolled to my feet, scrambled around the table, putting its bulk between us. There I stood, watching him as I gasped for breath, my body shaking, aching, and bloody. It didn’t matter. I was still standing, still fighting. The great Gautier hadn’t beaten me yet, and he fucking well wouldn’t. No matter what he did. No matter how bad it got.
He came at me again, and this time the knife was a deadly silver blur, leaving me with little option other than to back away. I didn’t expect him to lunge forward, and the move took me by surprise. I jumped backward, but my foot caught against something solid—Jin’s body, I realized with despair—and suddenly I was falling, sprawling, across the floor. Right next to the curved sacrifice blade—which was at Gautier’s feet.
He laughed, a sound of pleasure and victory combined, and raised the knife, the bloody blade glittering as the torchlight caressed it.