Page 153 of Cold Curses

But he jerked, and I risked another glance. He was staring at me—no, not at me, but at the magic.

I screamed again, put my free hand on my head. “Please, don’t take it! Please. I need it. Please!” I conjured up tears, looked at him through them. “Please.”

Black looked at me for another moment, and then he jerked again, stumbled backward, ripping his hand away in the process—and severing the spell’s connection.

Damn it, I thought. And hoped he’d been drained enough.

“What are you doing?” he asked.

“What?” I asked innocently, and reached out for his aura. But before I could tell how much magic he’d lost, he felt the inquiry and slapped me back with magic. Then he lashed out at Swift, tightening the man’s chains until blood seeped from his arms.

“You think you can trick me?” Black said, voice echoing through the buildings and the cargo containers. “You think you are better and stronger?”

Ugh. I was sick of pretending.

I stood up, shook off the remainder of the spell. Then I tossed back my hair, unsheathed Bloodletter, and let my eyes silver. “No, you selfish asshole. IknowI am.”

Monster did a little jump, sending a sound like the peal of a bell across the port and cleaning out the residual echo of Black’s voice.

“It’s all swim!” I called out. “Everybody in the pool!”

Engines roared and footsteps thundered as cops, Ombuds, and shifters—an entire fleet of them on bikes—circled us. Lulu ran to help Swift. Petra took a position between those helping Swift and me facing Black.

For a moment, Black looked stunned and confused. Then that bled away, leaving only hatred. He turned sideways, gathered a ball of black smoke in his hand.

And the game was on.

We both attacked, me with a two-handed upward slice, him with mist. We both mostly dodged what came at us; I cut a stripeinto his arm and reveled in the scent of his blood in the air. But the edge of his fireball grazed my shoulder. I sucked in a breath as the fire burned through my jacket, making my skin blister immediately.

I bared my fangs at Black.

I whipped forward, giving him no time to rest or regroup, and slashed up, then down. I caught his chest, the edge of his jaw—and some of those creeping obsidian streaks. They emerged as mist, dissipated. He grunted, but threw out an elbow that had me staggering sideways. I stayed on my feet, but Bloodletter’s tip scraped the asphalt, sending up a shower of red sparks.

“Sorry,” I told it, righting myself again.

Black looked at me, then at the sword. And lust flared in his eyes.

“You want it?” I asked. “Catch.”

Trusting Bloodletter, I threw it like a spear. Black instinctively reached out a hand. The blade sliced a line through his palm. To his credit, he spun and caught it with his other hand, dark blood plunking onto the asphalt. And then he screamed and released the sword.

I dived, caught the sword, came up again.

“It burned me!” he shouted, staring now at his hands.

“Nicely done!” I told it earnestly, and enjoyed the warm purr.

Black lifted his gaze, fury fueling him now, and groaned as he gathered magic in his wounded hands. Then the black fireballs were moving. I dodged the first, but the second caught me in the hip, and the pain of shattering bone sucked the breath from my lungs.

I hobbled, trying to balance on one leg with a sword in my hand and tears in my eyes. I willed the bone to knit faster.

Teeth bared in anger and pain, Black rushed forward. I blocked, but he used magic to shove the sword aside. He grabbed my free hand, wrenched it, and put me on my knees.

“Can’t fight a woman on her feet?” I asked.

“You talk too much. You have too much. Youaretoo much. It’s done.”

“Is it?” I asked blandly.