Free The Girl in the Box 01 - Alone by Robert J. Crane Page B

dirty shirt. No blood trickled out.
    I met Wolfe’s eyes as he lunged for me. I evaded and clipped him with my sword, ripping his shirt further. He didn’t even finish his landing before he reached for me again. His arms were long but my sword was longer and it dragged across his wrist as I dodged him again.
    I looked at the place where the blade had kissed him but there was no evident sign of contact; only immaculate skin with twisted black hairs all over it. He caught me looking and made a very predatorial tsk-tsk sound. “Wolfe has very thick skin, little doll. Bullets don’t hurt him much.” He reached down and lifted his shirt where the shotgun blast had impacted. It was very hairy, but the only things visible were small red discolorations – not even a break in the skin.
    My mind reeled. He’s not vulnerable to the shotgun , I thought. Maybe a pistol or a rifle – if I had one . Desperation filled me. My sword doesn’t seem to do much in glancing blows – but maybe a full on, impaling strike…but doing that would put me in reach of his arms, unless I did it from behind…
    I was faster than him, I reflected as he jumped for me and I dodged him again. Every time he lunged he had to commit all his momentum to his forward motion, and when he missed he was off balance for just a second. I slipped to his right on his next lunge and drove my sword down with all my strength, aiming at his Achilles tendon at the back of his leg. My sword blade sliced through his baggy, dirty pants and caught him right above the heel.
    I felt the blade stop against my gloves as though I had driven the sword into a steel block. A grunt from Wolfe was all the acknowledgment I got for my efforts and I rolled to my right as he turned and I narrowly dodged a wild swing from him.
    “Little doll,” he growled, the menace in his voice sending chills through me, “Wolfe’s amusement is running low…Wolfe is bleeding…and Wolfe doesn’t like bleeding…a few drops of his blood is of more worth than this entire, stinking gutter trash city…”
    I chanced to look down at my handiwork on his ankle, but what was there could scarcely be described as bleeding. A few drops no bigger than the head of a pin dotted the mat where he was standing. His grin had faded, replaced by a look of savagery that brought back the fear of our first encounter full force. I was face to face with a seemingly unkillable menace – what was I supposed to do now? Run for the stairs? He’d catch me on the turn.
    My breathing had become ragged, not from exertion but from fear. I put myself in this situation because I was sure I could beat him. Now I was almost sure I couldn’t. Unless…
    I lunged forward before he made another move, holding my sword at maximum extension and aiming for his eye. I might not be able to break his skin, but the eyes were always a weak point…
    Once more I felt the blade stop as though it hit an immovable object. I opened my eyes (I hadn’t realized I closed them when I lunged – Mother would have been very upset with me) and saw his hand wrapped around my katana, the tip stopped only inches from his right eye. I pushed it harder, and watched as a thin trickle of red ran down his wrist. He yanked the blade down to his chest level and pulled it toward him. I let it go, but not before he had pulled me off balance and brought me within his reach.
    This close to him, I had a revelation. Where a normal person would have fingernails, he had claws. They jutted out an inch or so above the ends of his fingers, black, with a pointed tip that looked sharp. They seemed to extend as I watched them.
    I tried to stagger back but he seized my right arm and his claws raked into the skin, shredding through my sleeve. I pulled away and fell down, rolling to my feet and slipping away just in time to avoid a slash. I felt my back bump into the wall and realized he had cornered me. I reached up by instinct and grabbed for a weapon, pulling down a dagger and