Night of the Tiger(61)

This was so not good.

She heard Roric’s battle cry and the crash of his swords. He yelled her name, but she ignored him. She was a little busy herself at the moment. Without hesitation, she swung again and buried the axe head in the creature’s gut, jumping aside as he swung one of his great arms in her direction. Aimee ducked and fell to the ground, rolling to the edge of the woodpile, the heavy maul still in her hand. The creature was losing blood steadily, and his entrails were half spilled on the ground. Not that he seemed to notice. He just kept coming.

“This isn’t fair,” she muttered as she swiped her free hand over the leg of her jeans. Her palms were sweaty and covered with a combination of blood and stuff she really didn’t want to identify. It burned slightly, but she ignored it. The beast advanced on her, one plodding step at a time.

“Go for the head,” Roric shouted.

She risked a quick glance his way and was stunned. Roric was shirtless once again, swords moving so fast they were a blur as he chopped and hacked through the three demons attacking him. Like the one trying to make mincemeat out of her, they were like something out of a prehistoric nightmare. Their skin was thick and scaly, like alligator flesh, their jaws filled with those incredibly sharp-looking teeth.

“Look out!” he yelled.

Too late, Aimee realized she’d let her focus stray from her opponent. She jumped back and felt his lethal fingernails graze her stomach. Fabric ripped. She didn’t dare glance down to see how badly she was bleeding. Her stomach was wet, yet she didn’t feel any pain. Adrenaline rush. It would hurt later. If she was still alive.

A sense of calm enveloped her. She could do this. There was no other choice. Either she killed the creature or it would kill her. And she wasn’t ready to die, not if she could prevent it. The woodpile was right next to her and, as she looked at it, her eyes widened as a crazy idea went through her head. It could work. It would work.

Not giving herself any time to consider the pitfalls of her half-baked plan, she moved. She took a running step and jumped, gaining the top of the woodpile. Planting her feet, she whirled. The extra three feet in height was all she needed. The creature had predictably followed her and was now in her sights.

The axe head whistled in the air as she swung with all her might. The blade bit deep into the creature’s neck. She felt the slight hesitation and her stomach dropped. If this didn’t work, she was dead. Before she could even complete the thought, the blade sank deeper, slicing through bone, muscle and sinew.

The creature jerked back. Aimee was dragged forward. She toppled over the edge of woodpile, falling to the ground as the maul slipped from her grip. Dirt and small rocks bit into her palms as she caught herself. The beast clutched at its neck, yanking at the blade embedded there. Inhuman sounds came from its mouth, a cross between a roar of rage and a cry of pain. Blood flowed freely down its body, spilling onto the grass and pooling slightly on the ground.

“Die already!” Aimee shouted. Panting for breath, she pushed to her feet. Ignoring the various aches and pains running through her body, she staggered back to the dubious safety of the woodpile. There was no way for her to retrieve her weapon.

The creature tried to roar again, but blood filled its mouth, pouring over its bottom jaw. The sound was more of a wet gurgle, like water going down a drain. He took one plodding step toward her. Then another.

“Shit!” Won’t this thing ever die? Aimee grabbed a piece of wood from the top of the pile. It wasn’t quite two feet long and wasn’t much of a weapon, but it was all she had. And it was sure as heck better than nothing.

The beast advanced slowly. Suddenly, it stopped. Like a great tree being cut down, it heaved to one side and toppled to the ground, raising a cloud of dust as it settled in the dirt. Its breathing was ragged as it stared at her out of hate-filled eyes. She felt sorry for it. The creature was only doing what was in its nature, what it had been commanded to do. Still, she was glad it was the beast lying there and not her.

She jerked back when a flash of steel whipped thought the air in front of her. Roric’s sword cut through what was left of the creature’s neck, putting it out of its misery.

“You’re hurt.” Roric’s concern pulled her gaze from the dead demon. She glanced toward the back deck and saw three other carcasses littered across the ground like garbage. Her stomach roiled, and she dragged herself around the far end of the woodpile and lost her breakfast.

Her throat burned as she vomited several more times. Roric came up behind her and wrapped his strong arms around her shoulders, his deep voice murmuring words of comfort in her ear. How embarrassing. She wanted to be a strong, kickass heroine and ended up puking her guts up instead.