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avoid injuring the man parts. They re just so damn vulnerable. Plus, Dave once explained
to me in excruciating detail exactly how it feels to be kicked there. Which is why I totally
understand now why guys cringe just seeing it happen on TV. Give it any name you want.
My definition is torture, and I just haven t gotten to the point where I m willing to cross
that line.
On the other hand, this battle had everything to do with saving my brother. Keeping that
thought firmly at the front of my mind, I knew I d do damn near anything to keep the
Magistrate from grabbing his soul when the moment came for him to climb that rainbow-
colored cord to Raoul.
As the Magistrate loosened the whip from his belt, sauntering toward me from the visiting
team s locker room, I had maybe thirty seconds to consider whether or not Raoul and I
had calculated correctly. If we were right, this would be a quick, aggressive fight. Like
most of my opponents before him, he d assume I was weaker, slower, and more likely to
give quarter than take it. The very fact that I was standing there showed it never hurt to be
underestimated.
 You annoy me, little gnat, the Magistrate snapped as he strode toward me, uncoiling his
whip with a whoosh of air that sounded painfully lethal.  Summoning me away from my
duties as if I were some sort of common rail.
A rail, as I d learned on one of my previous missions, was a hell-servant. I d thought they
were higher up the hierarchy. Like reavers, and with the same ultimate goals. But
apparently the Magistrate saw them more as clean-the-toilet and mop-up-the-puke sorts of
demons.
Raoul had advised me,  Do what you do best. So I taunted him.  And yet you re here.
So who really has the power, huh? I m thinking the skinny redhead with the kick-ass Spirit
Eye.
Oh, that brought the purple to his face. He charged me like a blitzing linebacker, belatedly
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remembering the whip. He swung it around as I brought my sword through and the
weapons clashed. My blade bit into the leather-wrapped handle of his whip. And stopped.
Whatever hid under that overlay was as strong as steel.
I jumped back as he reached out to grab me, slashing at him with the knife I held in my left
hand. At the last minute, Raoul had found me a long, thin dagger. Not a one-blow killer,
but a cutter, nonetheless. And, baby, did the Magistrate bleed when I strafed that blade
across his chest.
 Bitch! he screamed, spraying spit, jumping backward, giving me just the room I needed
to swing the shamshir again. He turned just before the blade bit into his heart, catching
most of it on his left shoulder. Though it disabled the entire arm, it didn t put him down.
Quicker than my eye could follow, he lashed at me, his whip cracking across my upper
back. The armor took it a helluva lot better than the T-shirt, which split in two and
dropped to the ground. The impact staggered me, and as I struggled for balance he struck
again. Twice. The first blow hit me across the upper chest and neck. Though only the tip
of the whip touched skin, it felt like a cowboy had pressed a brand to my jugular. Blood
began to stream from the wound.
I didn t have time to figure out whether or not it was serious before the third blow landed,
the hardest so far, striking me across the thighs so suddenly and painfully I looked down
to make sure my legs were still attached. The whip had wrapped around them. The
Magistrate yanked, taking me to my knees.
I countered by rolling away from him, out of his coil. As soon as he attacked again I
lunged forward. If I d been a hair quicker, I d have buried the sword in his abdomen. As it
was I left a three-inch slice that bled freely down his leg and brought another obscenity
from his lips.
 Where did you get that sword? he demanded.
 I have friends in high places, I said as I jumped to my feet. Afraid to give him any more
room to lash me, I rushed him, forcing him to use the handle of the whip to parry my
attack. I could see in his eyes he didn t want to deal with me anymore. Wasn t prepared
for this kind of fight. Hadn t expected me to be able to hurt him. Hadn t dreamed I d be
able to withstand his weapon.
I pressed my advantage, slashing at every vulnerable point I could reach with the dagger
as he blocked my sword swings. Within seconds his chest and good arm were covered in
red, while the blood he d lost from his left shoulder trailed down his back like a wet cape.
 You re going down, I whispered triumphantly.
He kicked at me and I jumped back, giving him the distance he needed to bring his whip
back into play. For a fleeting moment I saw him consider it. Realized he meant to go for
my face. Blind me if possible. It was a good strategy. I moved in, hoping to ward it off by
being too close for the strike to hit me clean when it finally came. Then the Magistrate
surprised me.
He wheeled around and ran back the way he d come, his injured arm flopping against his
side until he finally grabbed his wrist to keep it from moving.
 Oh no you don t! I sprinted after him, tasting the win like dark chocolate on my tongue.
 Jasmine!
What the hell? Still running, I glanced over my shoulder. It was Asha, standing on the
sideline, waving his arms like he wanted me to call time-out. I looked back at the
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Magistrate. He d almost made it off the field. If I let him out of this plane, I figured he d
go back to hell. And I didn t have anything left I was willing to sacrifice to follow him
there.  I m busy! I yelled. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]