Duel At Grimwood Creek (Book 2)

Duel At Grimwood Creek (Book 2) by Lucas Thorn

Book: Duel At Grimwood Creek (Book 2) by Lucas Thorn Read Free Book Online
Authors: Lucas Thorn
sleep. Shouldered the old door closed and crawled toward the corner closest to the warlock. Buckled against the wall.
    Stifled a low animal sob of pain in the back of her throat.
    The hole in her shoulder was an angry hive of hot rushing sensations extending down her arm. As though boiling worms squirrelled through her flesh. Her cheek added an extra dose of punishment she didn't think she needed.
    But which she endured simply because she had no choice.
    Tugging a ragged strip of cloth from one of her many pouches, the elf dropped the shoulder of her jacket to reveal her damaged skin. Pressed the rag hard against the leaking wound caused by Torak's hook. Held it for a moment while it soaked blood, then balanced it in place as she leaned back. Winced. Left the cloth pressing between her open flesh and the wall.
    Figured she'd use the ancient furniture in the room to set a fire as soon as she'd passed through the vicious curtain of agony to a point where her nerves had swollen into numb acceptance. At that point, she'd be able to move. Slowly, but without feeling like the pain was about to strip her guts clean of meat.
    She winced as she reached up to touch her fingers against the old scar on her cheek. The fresh bruising below appeared to be just that. Bruises.
    She'd feared Torak's punch had cracked the bone, which would have meant a long delay in healing. Wasn't sure her body could take much more.
    She'd gotten lucky, the elf thought. If not for the sudden distraction given by the quaking ground, she reckoned she'd be strung up on Torak's cursed hooks and screaming as he peeled the skin back from her body.
    With a shudder, the elf accepted she'd come too close to death.
    A few years ago, she'd never have made that mistake. Never have walked into an obvious trap. The half-closed door. The relatively clean floor in a dusty old ruin. The muted cough as bait.
    It had been a stupid decision brought about through impatience and desperation. She wanted to kill Raste so bad she could taste it not just in her mouth, but in the marrow of her bones. And she was experienced enough in the art of hunting prey to know that impatience and desperation only got you killed.
    She had to hold on. Had to keep alive.
    In the meantime, she sat motionless as she waited for the wound to calm its savage throbbing. How much time passed, she couldn't say. There was nothing to measure it by but the uncertain threading of her pulse as she listened to the warlock's sawing breath.
    Her gaze travelled the shadows creeping across the dusty stone floor.
    Tried to divide her chaotic thoughts into something coherent.
    After the explosion of violence and the resulting loss of blood, the elf's coffee-coloured skin was pale to the point of ghostly. But in her violet eyes there was a glint which hinted at an untapped source of strength left in her lean frame.
    That strength hadn't always been there.
    Her first years scrounging on the streets of Lostlight were years of constant fear and exhaustion. She'd wandered like a mindless undead corpse for much of it. But she learnt her lessons. And found once the door had been opened, it could never be closed. So she learned to be ruthless.
    And that ruthlessness had saved her life many times before tonight.
    The elf rubbed at her eyes, scrubbing away the grisly echo of bloodshed and wiped the sweat and grime from her face with the back of her fist. Gave no more thought to the lives she'd so recently taken. Instead managed to channel her thoughts back to the wound in her shoulder. It beat angrily at her flesh and bone.
    Reached back to remove the makeshift bandage which had been soaking the blood.
    And frowned.
    There wasn't enough blood.
    Dropping the wad, she touched her fingers to the wound. It wasn't as bad as she'd thought. Which was strange in itself, because the pain had been so severe it'd almost crippled her as she'd descended the stairs. She explored the edges of the narrow tear in her flesh. Wetness leaked, but not

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