Night of the Tiger(60)
Still, she had to be truthful with him. It would also do him no good to bury his head in the sand and possibly get blindsided at a crucial moment. “All I know is he told me his name was Mordecai. He didn’t seem concerned that he’d betrayed the rest of you, tainted his honor. I think in some ways he respects you. Deep down, he knows you’ll die rather than go over to the dark side.”
Roric grunted, but said nothing. She could sense the restlessness in him.
“I think that’s also the reason you couldn’t sense any lingering taint of evil in the bedroom. He spent thousands of years being honorable, and I don’t think he’s quite rotten to the core yet. Although, now that he’s started down that slippery slope, there’s no going back. Hades won’t let him walk away from his agreement. Those contracts don’t come with loopholes.”
“You seem to know a lot about such things.”
She noted that he didn’t comment on Mordecai and let it drop. She’d done all she could. He could believe her or not. The choice was his.
“Hey, I’m a graphic-novel illustrator. I read all kinds of dark fantasy.” She smiled, trying to lighten the mood.
“You like to read dark fantasy, do you?” One corner of his mouth kicked upward.
“Yeah, I’m a sucker for wounded warriors and hopeless quests. I guess that’s why I got the job of setting you free. I’ve been prepping for it my entire life.”
Roric shook his head. “That is fiction. This is reality.”
“Believe me, I’m well aware of that.”
The air around them began to shimmer. The sun dimmed as a huge black cloud rolled in front of it. The wind picked up, tugging at her sweatshirt like a hundred unseen hands, ruffling her hair.
Roric turned in a circle, the swords winking into existence in a heartbeat. He held them slightly in front of him, ready to fight. “They’re coming.”
Her heart began to pound. Taking a deep breath, she watched the woods. What was once safe and familiar now appeared dark and foreboding. She needed a weapon, a way to defend herself. No way was she meeting one of these creatures empty-handed again. Somehow she knew the time for negotiating, for cajoling, was done.
The battle had truly begun.
She glanced at Roric, but he wasn’t paying her the slightest bit of attention. He swiveled his head from side to side. His nostrils flared, and she realized he was sniffing the air. The tiger within him would be able to scent danger before it arrived.
The woodpile was just off to the left of the porch. Sticking out of the chopping block was the splitting maul. It was like an axe and sledgehammer combined. The blade end was sharp, and she knew how to swing it. Aimee gave silent thanks to her father for teaching her to take care of her tools.
She could almost see him standing by the woodpile, tall and strong, swinging the maul down in a short arc. Wood split apart, falling to the ground. He’d wait until she picked up the pieces and piled them aside before swinging again. They’d spent many an hour like that.
Daddy’s little helper, he’d called her. After he was gone, she’d cherished the memories of those times spent together. She could almost hear his deep voice instructing her, “A dull blade is more of a hazard than a help, Aimee. You want to keep it sharp. You’re less likely to hurt yourself and it makes the work easier.”
“I hear you, Daddy,” she whispered as she went down the three steps to the yard.
“Where are you going?” Roric’s sharp voice broke the silence. He had been watching her after all.
“To get the maul.” Ignoring his muttered curse, she hurried to the woodpile. The air thickened and the sky turned so dark it seemed more like night. The sunny day of moments before vanished in the blink of an eye.
Rustling sounds came from just beyond the edge of the woods. Aimee grabbed the handle of the maul and yanked it out of the block. There was no sound behind her, yet instinct had her gripping the hickory handle and swinging it in one smooth motion. She whirled around, letting her body weight add to the momentum. The blade flashed and buried itself in the gut of a horrific creature straight from her nightmares. Blood spurted, and she knew she’d hit something vital. The shock of the hit reverberated up her arm. Aimee kept both hands on the handle to keep from losing her weapon and yanked it free.
The creature threw back its head and roared, shaking the very ground beneath her feet. Towering above her and casting a long shadow, the demon was about seven feet tall with gigantic, red-tinged eyes and a large, protruding jaw. Two rows of sharp teeth were exposed as he howled in pain. They were all pointed and looked razor sharp. He stood upright, his long fingers tipped with nails that were more like blades. This guy was a cross between Godzilla and Freddy Kruger.