“Excellent,” he murmured, not the least bit upset. If anything, interest lit his face. “Very good.”
She didn’t waste time with pointless words. Instead she attacked mercilessly. He blocked every blow, fighting with expertise she couldn’t hope to match.
When his blade sliced across her upper arm she bit back her cry, not wanting to give him the satisfaction. Her blood ran down the length of his sword, spattering onto the ground. He eyed the red stains with a grim smile.
Bastard, she thought, ignoring the weakness in her wounded arm.
“I don’t need this to best you,” he said, tossing his sword onto the bed.
“You’ll never best me.” Warm blood trickled down her arm.
In reply, he cast out his left hand.
Her lungs froze. Darcy opened her mouth to breathe but couldn’t suck in any oxygen. She dropped to her knees as she gasped for air. He was suffocating her without even touching her. How? she wondered as she clawed the floor. Fire demons didn’t have that ability.
The edges of her vision were darkening as her cells cried out for oxygen.
“Goodbye, hunter,” the demon taunted in his velvety voice.
No, she raged. She was not dying like this. Summoning the last of her strength, she launched herself at the demon. His eyes widened in surprise, obviously not thinking she had the power for such a feat, seconds before her dagger slid into his shoulder.
He hissed in pain and air flooded back into her lungs. She gasped for breath, pressed against his chest. For a moment neither moved, both shocked by the position they found themselves in.
Darcy all but straddled the demon’s lap, clutching the dagger sticking out of his flesh. His body was hard under hers with no inch of softness. She looked up into his beautiful face, too stunned to move.
For a second he looked down at her without rage clouding his eyes. His hand rose to her hips and she inhaled sharply, feeling the heat of his skin through her jeans.
But the pleasure was quickly banished as panic rose. She remembered his affinity for fire and knew he could torch her in a heartbeat with their bodies touching.
She moved to jerk the dagger from his shoulder but he was faster. Wrapping a hand around her wrist he growled, “Mine.”
Darcy stared at him, painfully aware of how easy it would be for him to crush her wrist. But instead the demon tilted his head and studied her. Under his inspection she felt far too vulnerable. He was too close, too dangerous. Now was no time to be awed by the enemy.
She inched her free hand closer to the small of her back and the last knife sheathed there. The hold on her other wrist was firm but surprisingly pain free. How long, she wondered, before he changed that?
The hand at her hip moved to tilt her chin up. His thumb ran along the length of her jaw as he studied her. Again, the touch was far too gentle for a creature like him. It was a caress meant to soothe, not frighten. Completely at odds with the man who had just tried to skewer her.
Darcy read the confusion in his expression, mirrored, no doubt, in her own. She didn’t want to be cradled against him when confusion gave way to anger. As fascinating as the demon was, she had to get away before he decided to barbecue her.
Quick as she could, she drew the knife at her back. The demon saw the blade and cursed. Before she could stab him he sent her sailing.
She rolled into the wall below the window hard enough to knock her already pounding head against the wood. She cursed at the impact but forced her body to move. No way was she going to last another round with the demon. She needed out. Now.
She glanced around frantically before her gaze settled on the chair to the right. The demon hesitated as she grabbed it but instead of attacking him, she swung it at the window behind her.
Both of them shielded their eyes as glass shattered, spraying the room. Before he could stop her, Darcy dived through the broken window. She hit the slopped porch roof hard only to start rolling uncontrollably down the incline. Cold stunned her, and snow hit her face like a slap. She flung out her hands and grabbed the gutter by sheer luck as she went over the side.
A cry left her as her shoulder protested the sudden weight of her body, suspended only by her desperate grip. For a moment she dangled over the snowy ground before she let go.
She crashed into the garden, every bone in her body objecting to the rough landing, but she didn’t let herself stop. Limping to the porch stairs, she grabbed her jacket with the car keys in the pocket and then ran down the driveway toward her car as fast as her battered body could carry her. Every step she expected to feel a hand on her shoulder, hauling her back into the house, but she made it to the car without an attack.
Before she slid into the waiting driver’s seat, she paused and looked back at the bedroom window.