Free Duel At Grimwood Creek (Book 2) by Lucas Thorn Page A

wounded, she thought, which would explain the blood.
    The short sword at her throat didn't move even a hair. He kept pace with her, but his body inched just slightly back from hers to allow some room for him to move without giving his stance away. His spare hand hovered somewhere near her head. Any move she could make would be easily countered if he was any good.
    And she figured he'd be good enough.
    So she waited.
    A steady rumble under the ground made the walls tremble and he paused with her as they shared a moment of mutual anticipation. The ceiling above creaked and the large wooden beams dropped puffs of grit and dust.
    Whatever was outside, it wasn't finished.
    The trembling faded and the swordsman behind her cleared his throat. “Torak? Wake up, boy. I got her. Told you I heard something. It was her, wasn't it?”
    “You got her? You ain't fucking with me, are you, Neckless? You really got her?” The voice was wracked with pain, but hardened as the wounded elf found strength in hate and the joy of potential vengeance. “Yeah. That's the bitch. Can tell from here. You hurt me, you fucking whore. Fucking hurt me.”  
    Her mouth was dry and a drop of sweat slithered down the nape of her neck. The muscles on her shoulder twitched and for a moment, she thought they would cramp. Frowned at the sensation.
    Then the shape staggered to its feet. In the dim light, she could see a stained rag covered half his face. A face which had once been handsome but which was now marred forever. Blonde hair hung lank around his head, stained with blood and muck. She felt a twinge of disappointment. Wished it could've been Raste.
    He edged closer, hunched over in pain. In one hand, he gripped Fulci's Last Joke . She gave a grunt as she recognised the blade.  
    “What's that?” the wounded elf rasped. He was close enough for his breath to wash over her like a cloud of rancid air. “Lost for words?”  
    “I'm sorry,” she said.  
    “Sorry?” he cried, reeling back. The blade flashed in the slender ray of light peeling through the dark from the curtained windows. “I've only got one eye, you bitch! I'm half fucking blind! And all you say is you're sorry? Piss on your sorry. I'm gonna kill you bad. Fucking bad. Your being sorry won't change a fucking thing.”  
    “Ain't sorry I got your eye,” she said evenly, feeling the man behind drift closer as he shifted on his feet. But the sword didn't move. “Sorry I missed your brain. Weren't my fault, though. Was a small target.”  
    Neckless gave an amused snort. “Feisty cunt, ain't she, Torak?”
    “Sure,” Torak spat in her face. “Feisty. Yeah. I get that. Well. This is what I think of feisty.”  
    His fist powered through the dark. The blade at her throat prevented her from avoiding the blow so she was forced to accept the punch. Knuckles smashed into her cheek and glanced off her nose. Pain shot into her brain and the muscles in her shoulders knotted and twitched recklessly as she rocked sideways, held on her feet thanks to Neckless grabbing her roughly by the shoulder.
    She stayed slumped, though her eyes thinned to dangerous slits. Spat a thick stream of blood at Torak's feet and sneered. “That's it? Best you got?”
    He showed his training by not responding. Instead, leaned close. Almost touched her nose with his own as he stared deep into her eyes. Seemed to be trying to read her mind.
    She would have spat again, but couldn't work her mouth. Her cheek already swelling. So she settled for glaring back at him.
    “I'll show you what I've got,” he said calmly. Pressed the tip of Fulci's Last Joke against her scar. “Don't you worry about that. I'll show you everything. And then, when you've had it all, I'll kill you. Neckless? You want to get my pack? I got a few things in there I think this bitch is gonna love.”  
    “She's dangerous,” Neckless said, unwilling to remove the blade from her throat. “Look at her. She's a raghead, Torak. I let her go, and