Free The Destiny (Blood and Destiny Book 4) by E.C. Jarvis Page B

to slash his throat with a dagger. He grabbed at the attacking
arm, pinning the body beneath him with his own weight, angry grunts of
frustration ringing in his ears.
    Holt shifted to the
side and let one hand drop. He curled his fist into a ball and shoved his elbow
into the ribs of the man beneath him. The man groaned, and the pressure on the
threatening dagger released for a moment. Holt took advantage, barrelling
round, throwing his weight into the arm, and sinking his teeth into the wrist
of the hand holding the dagger. The man screamed, and the blade released,
falling into the mud. Holt turned and smashed his fist into the face of the man
beneath him; the man was almost twice his size, a great hulk of a body, and if
it had been a pirate, Holt would have grabbed the dagger and slit his throat,
but the uniform was clear. The Marine lay stunned but not knocked out. Holt
grabbed the dagger, unintentionally clutching a handful of mud with it, and
stood up, backing away.
    “I’m one of you,” he
said to the Marine, who looked at him quizzically, blood pouring from a cut
beside his eye.
    “You’re a pirate. You
were in the brig.”
    “Mistaken identity,” he
said. He flung the blade at the back of a nearby pirate who was gaining the
upper hand over a young Marine private nearby. The dagger turned end over end
and lodged neatly between the man’s shoulder blades, sending him crashing to
the ground.
    “There aren’t many who
can best me,” the Marine said as he stood.
    Holt had already
retrieved his sword and now headed back towards where he hoped Larissa would
still be. He twitched nervously when he saw the bigger man following.
    Holt snaked his way
across the battlefield, weaving towards the burning wreckage and avoiding small,
skirmishing groups as best he could. He slashed at the neck of a pirate who
stumbled into his path and stepped over the flailing body as it fell at his
feet. Up ahead, someone’s voice boomed over the noises of battle—someone
shouting commands.
    “Regroup!” The
Admiral’s voice rang clear. Holt hesitated, unsure if he should attempt to join
the Marines or not. Something bumped his shoulder; a body flew past his vision
as he stumbled to the side. The large Marine stood battling four pirates who
had thought to gang up on him. Two tried to climb up the man’s back and hack
his head off with axes.
    Holt sighed and back-stepped
towards his new friend, sword at the ready. He drew the blade down the back of
one pirate clinging to the Marine’s shoulder, a line of bright blood soaking
through the mottled beige shirt in an instant. The man fell backwards into the
mud, and Holt stamped on his head for good measure. He pulled the second
attacker off with one swift yank, the axe in the man’s hand almost cutting
Holt’s nose off in the process. As soon as the man landed with a splatter of
mud, Holt jabbed the point of the sword into his neck, putting an end to one
more pirate.
    The Marine spun around
and smiled, then clapped him on the shoulder “Ayers,” he said as he grabbed the
axe from the hand of the dying pirate, blood spurting from the hole in his
neck.
    “Holt.” He nodded back.
At least he’d convinced one person which side he was on.
    “To the Admiral,” Ayers
said, making a move towards the ship but in the wrong direction. Larissa was at
the bow—at least, that was where he’d left her—and the Admiral was near the
stern, a collection of Marines surrounding him, gathering into a formation.
    Holt jogged alongside
Ayers, keeping watch for pirate attackers and straining to find Larissa. When
they reached Vries, a collection of at least twenty Marines had gathered to the
Admiral’s call. Vries nodded to Ayres, then nodded a second time at Holt.
    “I want every last
pirate dead, do you hear me?” Vries yelled.
    The group of Marines
called, “Aye,” in unison, and Holt answered as well, forgetting his place for a
moment.
    “Attack,” Vries shouted.
The men charged forwards