“And what the fuck would that be?” Slater growled.
“You know that night that I stopped you from killing Bria Coolidge?”
The giant nodded.
Finn just smiled. “You forgot that I had a partner then — and still do now.”
28
That was my signal to move. So I pulled myself up onto the banister that overlooked the living room and leaped. I hung in midair for a moment before gravity took over. On my way down, I grabbed the edge of the iron chandelier. My momentum propelled me forward, like I was on a old-fashioned rope swing, and I pumped my legs to get the arc I wanted. Elliot Slater’s head snapped up at the noise, but the two giants were too focused on their boss to do the same. Slater shouted a warning. Too fucking late.
I dropped right on top of the two giants. One of them stumbled to the left and slammed into a table. My silverstone knife ripped into the other one’s back and sliced all the way down, like I was a sailor and his flesh was some sort of heavy canvas I was cutting into to slow my own fall.
He screamed with pain and bucked like a bronco, but I jumped up, grabbed his hair, and climbed on his back. The man tried to throw me off, but I had a death grip on his greasy locks. The giant paused a second to scream and gather his strength, and that’s when I reached around and slit his throat. His scream turned into a gurgle, and I felt the fight and power drain out of his body, along with his blood. The man pitched forward, and I got off the rodeo ride.
One of my knives was still stuck in the giant’s back, and the other had fallen from my grasp when he’d lurched forward. So I grabbed the two knives hidden in my boots and turned to face the other man. He’d picked himself up and was getting back into the thick of the fight. The giant roared with rage, charged, and swung at me. Sloppy, sloppy, sloppy. I slithered forward and popped up inside his nonexistent defense. One knife went into his heart. The other severed his jugular. I shoved him away and whirled, ready for Slater’s onslaught.
But Elliot Slater stood in front of the column where Finn was chained, just staring at me. His hazel eyes regarded the dead bodies of his men, then flicked up to my face. It took him a second to recognize me through the grease and blood that coated my features like a rubber Halloween mask. But once he did, the giant’s eyes narrowed, and a red flush crept up his pale, chalky neck.
“Blanco!” he hissed.
“You were expecting someone else?” I mocked. “And here I thought the idea that all giants were big and dumb was just a vicious stereotype.”
My eyes flicked behind him to Finn, who was jumping up and down, trying to slip his handcuff chain off the peg that secured it to the stone column above his head.
“I’m the big dumb bastard who’s going to rip you to pieces,” Slater snarled, his hands curling into fists.
“Promises, promises,” I mocked again.
I needed the giant to focus on me. Not do something smart and use Finn as a human shield.
Elliot Slater charged at me. I waited until the last second, then threw myself to one side and rolled up. I turned and immediately flung one of my silverstone knives at him. The weapon sank into the giant’s chest. With a low snarl, he ripped it out and threw it to one side. I grabbed the knife in the small of my back and tossed that one at him too. It also landed in his chest, but I wasn’t done yet. Two more knives came out of the pockets on my vest and whistled in Slater’s direction as well.
Solid chest hits, all of them. If Slater had been human, he would have been dead by now. But he was a giant and a tough one at that. He merely pulled out the knives and let them drop to the floor at this feet. Once that was done, he smiled and started in my direction.
And that’s when I drew the swords.
Elliot Slater had kicked my ass twice now — once at the community college when I’d let him and then again at Bria’s house the night that he’d come to kill her. But I’d taken something away from both of those beatings — the fact that I couldn’t let the giant put his hands on me. Not if I wanted to win. Not if I wanted to live.
Sure, I could use my elemental Stone magic to harden my skin, to make it tougher than granite. But Slater was arguably the strongest man in Ashland. He could keep punching me until my magic wore down. And when it was gone, when my strength and magic were exhausted and my concentration slipped that one precious second, my skin would revert back to normal. And then the giant could kill me with one well-placed blow. I couldn’t let that happen, couldn’t let him get close to me. Which is why I’d grabbed the two long swords from Owen Grayson’s wall of weapons. I needed a way to cut Elliot Slater down piece by piece and keep out of reach of his long arms at the same time.
Now I was going to see if Owen was as good a craftsman as I thought he was. Going to stake my life on it, as a matter of fact.
Slater pulled up short at the sight of the silverstone swords glinting in my hands. Then a cruel smile spread across his face. “You think those little toothpicks are going to stop me?”
I twirled the swords in my hands. “Come here, you sick bastard, and we’ll find out.”
And then we danced.
Around and around we circled, our shoes squishing into the puddles of blood already on the carpet. Unlike his men, Slater didn’t rush at me, thinking his superior strength and size would be enough to carry him through the fight. Instead, the smart, cagey bastard feinted in and out, testing me, trying to see how good I really was with the swords. He got the message when I sliced his bicep with one weapon and nicked his thigh with the other one.
Slater’s hazel eyes narrowed. “There’s more to you than meets the eye, Blanco.”
I smiled. “Every day’s a new surprise.”
We kept testing each other. I got a few more wounds in, content to slowly bleed the giant out. Slater realized what my strategy was and decided to up the tempo and use his incredible speed to his advantage. He came at me swinging in a lightning-fast pattern. Punch-punch-punch. I dodged the first two, but his last quick blow caught me in the shoulder before I could sidestep away. The hard hit rocked my joint, and my arm and hand went numb from the sudden pressure. Owen’s beautiful sword slipped from my fingers and thumped to the carpet. I darted forward and kicked it back and behind me, well out of Elliot Slater’s reach. The speedy giant was dangerous enough by himself. If he got his hands on a sword, well, it wouldn’t be good for me.
“Seems like you lost your toothpick,” he mocked.
“And you’ve lost more blood,” I replied, trying to shake the numbness out of my arm. “I’d say that makes us even.”
Slater looked down at his shirt and pants. Blood covered both of them, and the rips that I’d made in the fabric made him look like a castaway whose clothes had been shredded by the elements. The giant smiled.
“Not for long, bitch,” he replied. “Not for long—”
And then the worst thing in the world happened — Finn decided to get into the fight.
While I’d been circling around and nicking Slater, Finn had managed to get the chain holding his hands up off the peg above his head. Finn’s hands were still bound together by the silverstone cuffs, but he used the heavy chain like it was a piece of garrote wire. He leaped up onto a sofa, threw the chain over Slater’s head, and crawled up on the giant’s back like a monkey.
I’d give Finn points for style, if not substance, because Slater immediately backpedaled and slammed him into the closest wall. Once, twice, three times in rapid succession. Finn groaned, and the chain slackened around Slater’s neck. The giant threw off the metal and Finn, who fell to the floor, completely limp. Slater turned and stomped on Finn’s ribs with his massive foot.