Free Imp Forsaken (Imp Book 5) by Debra Dunbar

only stunned, and I felt… fine.
    I looked down and saw hands. Two hands attached to arms, breasts, belly, legs, and feet, all familiar. It had worked, and as happy as I was to be mobile, I was just as unhappy to realize whatever Feille had planned for the demons would probably work too. I grabbed at the energy in the air around me, thrilled that I could grasp and hold a modest amount. I still had no demon offensive skills, but was confident they would be possible in my near future. Right now I was a human, fragile and without the ability to fix any wounds, but mobile. And I didn’t need demon abilities to fight and kill. Forty years among the humans had taught me I could be just as lethal with my own bare hands.
    It might not be much, but I’d take it. Jumping to my feet, I sprinted across the hot dungeon floor, feeling blisters form on the bottom of my feet. Seeing the sorcerer defenseless, an old man in a crumpled heap of embroidered robes, I had a second of doubt. I didn’t want to kill this man, but I desperately needed the time his death would buy me. Jumping on him, I pressed a shin across his neck, my full weight on his windpipe. He came to with a start, and struggled. I pressed down harder, hearing the thud of hurried footsteps on the stairs beyond the blasted dungeon doors, seeing Feille stir just a few feet away. Killing him this way wouldn’t work. Elves have healing abilities second only to angels, and Feille, or even one of the approaching guards, could resurrect the sorcerer with a flick of a wrist. I planned to do something drastic. Something to make sure there wasn’t enough of a body to resurrect. I just didn’t want the sorcerer to be conscious for it.
    Finally, I saw the light go out from behind his eyes, felt the relaxing of his body under mine. Feille lifted a hand to his head. The guards threw themselves against the melted dungeon door, trying with magic and might to create an opening. I grabbed the largest rock I could find from the partially collapsed ceiling and brought it down over and over on the sorcerer’s head, hearing the sickening crunch of bone and feeling the soft give of the tissue beneath.
    I heard a scream of fury beside me. I didn’t stop. I pounded the rock into what no longer resembled a human head until the whack of a staff against my side threw me off the sorcerer and against the wall.
    Feille stood before me, wielding the staff like a golf club. My side throbbed from the impact, and a deep breath sent a sharp pain through me—at least one rib broken. With a snarl that would have done a demon proud, Feille reversed his grip on the staff and beat me with it. Blows rained down on my head and body as I frantically tried to grab the weapon.
    “You spawn of Satan, you lowly piece of offal. I’ll drag you behind me in chains for centuries, impale you in the square for everyone to beat. I’ll kill everyone you know while you watch.”
    “You’re next, Feille,” I promised, rolling about as I tried to evade his blows and snatch something I could use as a weapon. The only thing handy was the staff smacking me on my back and head. I managed to roll onto my knees and get to my feet, all the while trying to grab the staff as I deflected it with my arms.
    We danced in time to the clanging noise of the guards trying to gain entrance to the dungeon. My hands and arms were numb from the blows, and I was pretty sure I had a few fractures in addition to the broken rib or two. Trying to ignore the pain-induced nausea, I narrowed the distance between the high lord and me, causing him to back up in order to get the best impact out of each swing. If I didn’t get that staff from him soon, he was going to tire of beating me and employ whatever magic he’d used to explode the guard’s head on me. While he screamed in rage, I left myself open to a particularly hard smack to my left side, rolling along the length of the staff to bring Feille’s arm around my body with his momentum.
    I might