“I am not a coward,” he snarled. “I am a scientist.”
I clucked my tongue at him. “Could have fooled me. Here I am, offering you the biggest, baddest prize in all of Ashland. Me, the assassin, the Spider. So why are you hesitating, Beau? Unless you think that you’re not up to the task of taking me on.”
Everyone sucked in a collective breath at me so openly, so boldly, identifying myself as the Spider.
Silence.
And then the crowd roared.
It was so loud for a moment that I couldn’t hear anything, not even Finn, Owen, and the others murmuring to one another through my earpiece. But the explosion of emotion quickly died down to a series of taunting jeers and harsh, accusing shouts rising up from the crowd, egging me on. Some of Benson’s own guards started looking at him sideways, wondering why their boss wasn’t salivating at the idea of killing me. But Benson was too busy staring at the people behind me to pay attention to his own men. His eyes glowed a faint blue as he reached for his vampiric Air magic and used it to feel all the emotions surging off the crowd—the same mix of excitement, anticipation, and derision that I could hear in their catcalls, shouts, and jeers.
Benson frowned, realizing the same thing I did: that the people on the street, the ones he’d lorded over for so long, were very close to openly sneering at him. And that if he didn’t do something soon, the crowd would turn against him completely, thinking that he was weak. And so would his men.
“Come on, Beau,” I called out, mocking him one final time. “I’m here, and I’m ready to go. So why don’t you man up and face me? Winner take all.”
Benson stared at me, his face calm, but more and more of that anger sizzled in his eyes, even hotter than the blue burn of his magic. He didn’t like being so openly and directly challenged, especially not on his home turf.
“Oh, very well,” he huffed, as if I were a mere fly that was annoying him. “If you insist.”
“Oh, but I do.”
Benson snapped his fingers.
Nothing happened.
He snapped them again.
And still, nothing happened.
After a few seconds, when he realized that no one was obeying his command, probably to bring him a white lab coat, Benson turned his head and glared at his guards. They swallowed, but none of them scurried forward.
Benson gave them all another cold look, then started unbuttoning his shirtsleeves. He rolled up the fabric, revealing his pale, skinny forearms. His movements were slow, deliberate, and meant to intimidate me. Didn’t work. Never did.
I looked at Bria and rolled my eyes. She grinned back at me.
Finally, when he deemed himself appropriately ready for the fight, Benson glanced over his shoulder at his men clustered behind him. “If anyone interferes before I kill her, shoot them.”
Concerned whispers shot through the crowd at the thought of a firefight, but the large majority of people crept even closer, wanting to have the best view possible.
Benson stepped forward so that he was standing about ten feet away from me, directly on the other side of the center lines. He let out a loud, put-upon sigh and started swinging his arms back and forth, loosening up for the fight. He flexed his fingers, rolled his shoulders, and even cracked his neck a couple of times, the dry snap-snap-snaps almost as loud as gunshots in the eerie, absolute silence that had descended over the street.
I arched an eyebrow, more than a little bored by his show, but I kept my gaze on him the whole time. Because I wouldn’t put it past him to try to lull me to sleep with his exaggerated stretching routine.
As if he could hear my thoughts, Benson smiled, an evil light flaring in his eyes, then stepped forward and launched himself through the air at me.
I’d been expecting some sort of sneak attack, and I immediately reached for my Stone magic and used it to harden my body.
Still, for a split second, everything slowed down but was somehow magnified at the same time, almost as if I had the enhanced senses that so many vampires did.
The pearl-white gleam of Benson’s fangs in his mouth. The smell of car exhaust mixed with that metallic tang of autumn and the vamp’s own lemony scent. The rush of air flowing over my face as he leaped toward me. His looming shadow blotting out the sun and sky overhead.
It was that last small sensation, that cold touch of darkness on my face, that snapped me back to the here and now. I spun around, whirling out of the way of Benson’s first attack.
I didn’t know how many other folks’ blood and emotions Benson had been snacking on besides Silvio’s, but they gave him enough strength to leap the ten feet that separated us like he was stepping over a crack in the sidewalk. And it made him fast too, so fast that he was able to pivot back in my direction and slam his open palm into the center of my chest like he was some sort of kung-fu master.
The force of the blow knocked me back ten feet and sent me careening down the street like a ball of tumbleweed. I rolled to a stop facedown on the pavement, trying to shake off the jarring impact. Benson wasn’t playing around, and he would have caved in my rib cage with that one crushing blow if I hadn’t been using my Stone magic to protect myself. My power also saved me from splitting my skull wide open on the asphalt, but I still felt the hard smack of the landing, and it took me a few seconds to stop my eyes from spinning around in their sockets.
“Dude, is she down already?”
“Stay back!”
“Watch out!”
The crowd’s excited chatter was all the warning I had, and I heaved my body to the side just in time to avoid his feet landing where my head had been a moment ago. I shook off the rest of my daze and got back into the fight.
Before Benson could leap at me a third time, I scrambled up onto my hands and knees and lashed out with my foot, kicking him in the side of his left knee. Benson staggered forward, and to my surprise, some enthusiastic cheers rose up from the crowd.
“That’s it!”
“Get that bastard!”
“Kill him!”
Apparently, home-court advantage wasn’t all it was cracked up to be, and Benson wasn’t nearly as beloved in his little kingdom as he thought he was. I grinned. I was starting to like these people cheering me on.
I palmed a knife and threw myself at Benson, hoping to slam the weapon into his back and end him, but he used his enhanced speed to snap back up onto his feet and slide out of range of my weapon. I was too committed to the blow to stop, so I staggered past him, although I managed to right myself and regain my balance. Knife in hand, I whipped around. Benson did the same, and we faced each other in the middle of the street.
His hands clenched into fists, and he cracked his knuckles a few times in anticipation of hitting me again. I twirled my knife around in my hand, in hopes of doing the same to him. I would do the same to him.
Or I’d die trying.
The people pressed forward, forming a loose ring around us, hooting, hollering, and cheering at the tops of their lungs. Bria, Xavier, and Owen held their position by the sedan, alternating between keeping an eye on Benson’s guards and shooting worried looks at me. Through my earpiece, I could hear Owen murmuring. I didn’t focus on his words, but the sound of his voice was more than enough encouragement for me.
Meanwhile, Benson’s guards had formed a line on the sidewalk in front of his mansion, their guns out but down by their sides—for now. They still thought that their boss was going to kill me, so they weren’t going to interfere. They couldn’t, not if Benson was going to continue to be the king that he’d portrayed himself as for so long.