Vera Blackwood's Arc

Chapter 6 of 8

The demon charged. Vera dove sideways as its claws raked the doorframe. Wood split behind her. She rolled up with her blade ready. The creature turned, red eyes burning, and she knew she could not win this fight alone. Silas was somewhere in the dark trees, lost. Without him, she had no one to pull the demon's eyes away. She needed to find him fast, or she would die in this clearing. She ran into the woods. Branches tore at her face. Behind her, the demon crashed through the brush, faster than any man. She could not outrun it. She could only reach Silas before it reached her. "Silas!" she called. No answer. She skidded past a fallen trunk and dropped low. The demon's shape swept overhead, sniffing, hunting. She held her breath until it moved on. Then she saw him. Silas lay against a rock, one leg bent wrong, his black coat torn. Blood ran down his shin. His limp had been real by the end. He had not been fast enough to escape the trees. "You came back," he said. His flat voice was thin now. "You should have run." "I need you standing." She hauled his arm over her shoulder. "You wanted it looking the wrong way. So help me turn its head." He grimaced but got his good leg under him. "It reads scent. We can't hide." "Then we don't hide." Vera's mind worked fast. The creature hunted the wounded. Silas was bleeding. That made him bait, but it also made him a lure she could aim. "Can you throw?" Silas pulled a knife from his coat. "Once." The demon burst into the clearing. Vera shoved Silas behind the rock. "Throw high and left. Make it turn." Silas hurled the knife. It struck a tree to the left with a sharp crack. The demon's head snapped toward the sound. In that half second, its flank opened to Vera. She lunged and drove her blade deep between its ribs. The creature screamed. It twisted, tearing free of her blade, and swung a claw that caught her shoulder. She hit the ground hard. But the wound in its side ran black and steaming. It backed away, favoring the hurt, and fled into the deeper dark. Vera lay panting. Silas crawled to her side. "You hit it," he said. "You made it bleed." "Not enough." She pressed a hand to her torn shoulder. The demon had run, but it lived. And now it knew her face and her blade both. She helped Silas up. He could barely walk. Her arm burned. Their disguise was gone, their surprise spent. The archdemon had escaped wounded into its woods, and it would heal, and it would come for her next. "We can't chase it like this," Silas said. "No," Vera agreed. "We heal first. Then we finish it."