“She didn’t know—or maybe she didn’t want to warn you.”
“Liar!” His face flushed as his temper built. Claire knew he would lose control of it soon. She counted on it. “Aunt Rachel told me everything!”
“This ends here, James. You hurt the wrong person—” Her voice broke. She pushed back her fear for Zach, used the anger from it to steady her. “It will be the last thing you do.”
“And you think you can stop me? A witch who no longer has her power?”
Claire laughed, and he jumped, fear breaking through the temper. “I am much more than a witch. I am a demon, and your careless greed released what I thought was long dead.” The same but different. She understood now what Simon meant—and removing the amethyst finally freed it. The strength, the power, all of it at her fingertips. Everything but the black rage that once drove her. “Have you faced one of my kind, James? We don’t care about the niceties—like a fair fight.”
Using the power the demon gave her Claire flew forward and tackled him. They rolled across the grass, dangerously close to the edge. James screamed, and she gathered in the strength his terror gave her. She’d forgotten just how much a human’s fear boosted the demon’s power. Now she would use it against him; use it to win a battle she knew she had to fight. For Zach.
James clawed at her. She let out a harsh cry, but held on, searching for the deck. He had it on him—she could feel it. And she would figure out how the hell to destroy it when she got to that point.
“Let me go!” James slapped at her hand, kicked out at her. She ignored the bursts of pain, and kept her hold on him. “It’s mine—it was always meant to be mine! That’s why I had to kill her—she was going to keep it from me—”
Claire elbowed him, gained enough advantage to yank open his coat. Sweet heaven—he killed his own flesh and blood.
Her hand closed over the deck. A shock of hate and fear jolted her and she almost let go.
James dug his fingernails into her arm. “NO! You can’t have it!”
She bit back a scream when his nails broke through, her blood hot on her skin. The deck twisted into the fresh wound—and she understood its intent. It was testing out the possibility of a new wielder.
“God above,” she whispered. She pushed everything she was, good and bad, against the seeking, greedy power. It shredded through her defense like it was wet tissue. If it could overpower her, a centuries-old demon, how was she going to—
“You’ll never stop it.” James tightened his grip on her. “And it will always protect me.”
They rolled again, Claire fighting to stop their momentum. Another few inches would take them over the cliff. Maybe that was the only solution.
This time she planned on surviving the fall.
*
Simon burst through the trees in time to see Claire struggling with another figure—both of them headed straight for the edge of the cliff.
“Damn it—”
“Simon.” He whipped around at the faint voice, barely heard above the wind tossing his hair around his face. Zach lay on the grass, trying to push himself up. “Weapon—” He closed his hand over the hilt of the knife.
“No, Zach.” Simon sprinted to him and dropped, sliding across the last few feet on his knees. He caught Zach’s wrist—and saw it for the first time, the power shining around the hilt. “God—”
“Knife has—power. Will destroy the deck. Help her,” he caught Simon’s jacket sleeve, smearing blood on the travel worn denim. “Please—”
“Already on it, son.” He eased Zach back to the ground, gently moved his hand off the hilt. “This is going to hurt you, and I’m sorry for it. Hold on to that wound when the blade is free, you understand? And do whatever it takes to stay conscious.” Simon knew if he passed out, there was little chance of him surviving until Marcus got here.
“Okay.”
Before Zach had a chance to tense, Simon pulled the knife free. Zach’s raw scream tore at him. He shoved the emotions aside and slapped Zach’s right hand over the wound. “Press on it. Zach.” Red rimmed eyes stared up at him. “Use the pain, son. It will keep you awake.”
“She’s not—evil, Simon.”
“I know. We just have to convince her. Stay put.”
Simon stood, the knife humming in his hand. He had never felt the power like this before; his talent was seeing it. But his instincts told him this knife was different. Like the deck was different. An object with its own agenda.
He was about to change that agenda.