Page 164 of Hellbound

They circled one another, Ksenia blocking the bedroom door, backing Milena toward the balcony.

Ksenia raked a hand through her hair. “It’s nothing personal, really.” She lunged.

“Get away from me, harlot,” Milena sneered, the corkscrew slashing across Ksenia’s cheek with a splatter of red.

Ksenia countered with Caromir, driving Milena onto the balcony.

The night air hit them both, carrying the scent of fresh garden blooms below.

“You won’t win,” Milena hissed, breaking the wine bottle against the stone balustrade. She brandished the jagged glass at Ksenia. “Karsan will hunt you down.”

She abandoned her corkscrew and attacked Ksenia with renewed ferocity. Ksenia caught her wrist, slamming her against the stone railing.

They grappled, both fighting for position. Glass crunched beneath their feet, the floor slippery with wine.

Milena’s free hand moved like a striking snake, a silver hairpin from her tresses in her hand.

The needle-like pin pierced Ksenia’s side and a sharp, burning pain spread like fire through her ribs, so hot it was freezing.

Ksenia gasped, her vision blurring for a heartbeat, Milena’s sickened grin swimming in her vision.

Poison.

“Imagine how well Karsan will reward me for turning you in. He’ll finally make me queen—”

Ksenia drove Caromir through the hollow of Milena’s throat. Her hand slackened on the poisoned needle, cold eyes widening with shock.

Ksenia’s knees buckled under the combined weight of power rushing through her system and the poison burning through her veins.

Milena’s body sagged against Ksenia, blood pouring from the gaping wound at her neck.

It ran hot and sticky down Ksenia’s front.

With her rapidly depleting strength and focus, Ksenia shoved Milena’s body over the balustrade, breathing hard.

She watched as it struck the ground with a crunch beside a grave marked with a pale headstone, painting it crimson.

Vezna Beranek. Terribly perfect.

The bloodlust and power that hadn’t yet settled into her body further added to the disorientation.

She had minutes—maybe less.

The ground began to sway, her breath stuttering as she swung her own leg over the balustrade, gripping the trellis full of roses.

The thorns bit into her gloves, but she kept lowering hand over hand, foot over foot. Each movement sent fresh waves of burning pain through her side, radiating from the puncture wound.

The trellis groaned beneath her weight but held. Rose petals scattered over her head.

Her descent was controlled chaos, hands desperately gripping thorns and vines, her boots scrabbling for purchase.

Halfway down, she faltered.

She fell the remaining few feet, hitting the garden path hard enough to drive the air from her lungs.

Karsan’s private garden surrounded her, eerily beautiful in the moonlight. The roses rustled, and the moon pulsed closer and brighter than before. The puncture wound at her side throbbed, every heartbeat spreading the poison further through her body.

Her vision wavered, then focused on Milena’s broken body.