Page 67 of Kingdom of Chaos (Creatures of Chaos #2)

With one last look at Talon for courage, I force myself to break from cover, sprinting toward where I think Kerrim is lurking. The problem is, the darkness feels thicker than before, a suffocating blanket swallowing the clearing. I can’t see him.

There’s a flash of motion to my left, then a blinding bolt of faelight streaks toward me, aimed at my heart. I throw up my faelight shield just in time, the blast ricocheting off the barrier with a crackling snap that leaves my ears ringing.

I know where the attack came from, but I still don’t see him. Shadows swirl in the air in front of me and I realize he’s using them to conceal himself, twisting the darkness into a weapon, cloaking his presence.

I grit my teeth and reach for Talon’s magic, pulling hard, feeling the threads between us blaze brighter, hotter. The surge of power floods me, igniting my core, and I shove it outward in a blast of light. The shadows recoil, splintering like smoke under a sudden gust.

And there he is.

Kerrim stands in the open, face twisted in a sneer, Shadow Striker gripped tightly in his fist, surrounded by a pulsating black mist that I’ve never seen before.

Our eyes lock, and without hesitation, I charge.

Kerrim doesn’t come at me. He waits for me to reach him before lashing out with his magic.

A dark bolt of electricity erupts from his hand, shooting toward me like a dagger, but I anticipated the attack and dodge to the side, not letting it slow down my momentum.

Within two more quick strides I’m in his face, and rather than attacking with magic as he probably expects, I strike with what I know. A sharp punch to the gut.

Kerrim may have the magical advantage, but I’ve trained nearly my whole life in hand-to-hand combat.

He doesn’t know how to block or absorb the hit, so he staggers back, losing his footing, barely catching himself before falling.

Still hunched over, he tries to lift his hand to launch another attack, but I’m already there, slamming my knee into his face before he can recover.

His head snaps back, his glasses flying off, a cut opening above his brow. Blood spills down his face. A quick jab to his nose sends more gushing out, and he finally collapses, landing hard on his side.

I’m mid-swing with a kick aimed for his gut when he throws out his hand and a blast of wind slams into me. The force sends me flying backward. I hit the ground hard, the impact rattling my bones and driving the air from my lungs.

I cough, struggling for breath as pain blooms through my ribs.

We scramble to our feet, both of us bruised and battered, both of us fueled by a savage will to survive.

Kerrim’s eyes flash with rage, madness, and something feral. For a split second, I swear they glint red in the dim light.

Diving at each other, we clash again. Magic and fists, light and shadow. My training gives me an edge, at first—ducking, weaving, landing blows that knock him off balance.

But it’s not enough.

With Shadow Striker in his grasp, Kerrim is relentless, his power growing with every strike. Even with Talon’s magic flooding through me, I can feel myself slipping, my body slowing.

Kerrim drives me back, each blow heavier than the last, his magic crackling hotter, stronger, my strength draining with every clash. My hands tremble. My lungs burn. My arms scream from the strain.

This might be it , my mind whispers. The end.

No.

I won’t give up. Not now. Not ever.

But the truth is, I can’t win like this. One-on-one against Kerrim and Shadow Striker, I’m outmatched. Out-magicked. Too drained.

Every second we fight, he gets stronger, and I lose more ground.

I search desperately for a weakness, a flaw in his technique I can exploit. But there’s nothing. Every time he sends a wave of power at me, I stagger, closer to collapse. Every slash with the blade, he gets closer to cutting me. Closer to victory.

In the midst of everything, a memory bursts through the fog of battle. Talon’s voice in my parents’ shop, the day he told me the legend of Shadow Striker and the first Vampire King. The one who ruled through terror. The one who couldn’t be killed by brute force, no matter how many tried.

“The one caveat of Shadow Striker was that if anyone willingly sacrificed themselves for the wielder, the power he or she had gathered would be stripped from them.”

Sacrifice.

Not everything Talon told me that day was the complete truth. Some were half lies and misdirection, but I know in my heart sacrifice is the key.

It wasn’t brute strength that defeated the Vampire King. It was the love of the one who gave her life for him.

It wasn’t about being stronger, faster, more magically powerful. It was about being willing to lose everything for someone else.

I’m not sure how it works or why, but I’m suddenly sure that’s the dagger’s weakness.

And my only hope.

My heart clenches as the truth settles deep inside me. I don’t love Kerrim, but I would give my life to save those I love. That has to be enough.

I barely have time to process the thought as Kerrim drives the blade toward me, aiming low, a vicious strike meant for my gut.

I have time to twist out of the way, but I don’t, even as my instincts scream at me to dodge, to run. Instead, I root myself in place.

Someone shouts my name. Talon, his voice raw with terror.

I glance up, and there he is, sprinting toward me. The silver-and-gold threads connecting us flare like wildfire, leading him to me. His face is twisted in a look of horror, a silent plea in his eyes.

He thinks I’ve given up.

He couldn’t be more wrong.

I hold his gaze, hoping he understands, praying he forgives me.

And then it happens.

A white-hot explosion of pain tears through my gut as Shadow Striker sinks deep. My breath catches in my throat. It feels like fire and ice colliding inside me, a searing agony that radiates through every inch of my body.

My muscles lock, my vision dims. It’s not just my body the blade has sliced into, but my magic as well. I feel it being ripped away, drained like water through a sieve. It’s as if Kerrim is tearing my soul out through the blade.

A triumphant grin spreads across his bloodied face as he wrenches the dagger free. My knees buckle, and I collapse backward, but strong arms catch me, lower me gently to the grass.

Talon.

His hands cradle my face, trembling as he leans over me, his breath ragged, his eyes wild with desperation.

“Freckles,” he chokes out, voice breaking. “What have you done?”