Page 196 of A Courage of the Chosen

“It didn’t go well for you the last time you challenged me. Perhaps you might want to rethink your threat,” I coo through an elongated snout, now lined with sharp canines that hunger for his flesh.

“I won’t hold back this time,” Callahan bites back.

“Neither will I.”

I drop down onto all fours, my belly low and ready to pounce. I don’t need weapons to face him, and I want the satisfaction of his heated blood pouring over my skin when I kill him for daring to take what’s mine.

The Craobh Beatha swings forward as I stalk toward him, and Callahan’s eyes flick down to it for a beat.

“If you want it, come and take it.” I curl my lips to expose my teeth, tongue licking across them as I picture how soft his jugular will feel between them.

Callahan is fast, I’ll give him that, and he’s a blur of black-stained silver as he throws his considerable strength at my midsection. Our bodies collide in a thud that echoes deep into the earth, rocking some of those fighting nearest to us onto the ground.

His dagger aims for my ribs, and I catch him by the wrist to deflect the blow spearing for my heart. Callahan’s foot connects with my chest as he puts some distance between himself and the claws itching to shred him into fragments.

He readies another short sword and crosses it with the longer, heavier blade he bears in his right hand, while we circle each other, searching for an opening.

I make my move, arcing high into the air, shadow and darkness trailing in my wake. Narrowly avoiding the cross of his steel, I manage to rip into his exposed upper arm with the tips of my claws. Callahan rolls beneath me, missing the other paw I’d aimed for his throat.

It’s not enough blood to sate the burning need to make him suffer, but I bring my talons up to my mouth and lick the speckles of red from them.

“The first taste is always the sweetest,” I taunt, while he shakes out the arm I’ve injured.

He summons mist and light, both his magics coiling around his hands and dancing along the length of his swords. Sweat drips down his face and a muscle feathers at his temple. He wields it well, for someone who has hidden his magic for so long, and has killed many of my soldiers in doing so. He was careless, though. Got greedy as he saw the bodies stacking up and thought it would be enough.

“Used too much? What a shame.” The response as I call on my magic is instant. It snakes around his ankles before he moves, and then I yank.

Even above the din of battle, the smack of Callahan’s head as it slams against the floor is a delight. Yet he remains conscious, and fully aware of the position he’s in.

His power stings where it wraps around my wrist as I aim my claws for the center of his chest. More curls around the other arm, and I’m thrown back a few feet as Callahan uses his light to cut through the bonds holding him down.

“Cal, behind you!” Broderic shouts, as four Brollachan sneak up behind my foe.

They’re dead before I can free myself, short spears lanced through their core, and Callahan’s hand trembles though he tries to hide it.

Back and forth we trade blows.

He manages to land a few slices to my mid-section with his steel, and more of his skin opens beneath my talons.

Every gash and cut bleeds away any last familial bonds. We are enemies, as we have been from the minute he was born. It’s all we’ll ever be, and I vow to hate him in every lifetime as our fight wears on.

It’s only when his light begins to sputter, and his shoulders slump the tiniest bit, that things start to shift in my favor.

“Gallant effort, Cousin.” I lacerate deep into his forearm, nicking an artery as his broadsword is flung away.

The royal army is pushed further back down the hill, slaughtered line-by-line, despite their best efforts.

It won’t be long now, the end is in sight. I can feel it, taste it. A few more minutes and Elfayne will be mine.

Clutching the arm still bleeding, Callahan lunges at me with only mist and a short sword now. Small arrows dart for me, but they’re blocked by a shield of darkness that deflects them like raindrops on glass.

He swings again, steadfastly pressing his charge, despite the obvious exhaustion. That thing exists in me, too. A special place that keeps you going, even when your body is begging to stop.

That same kind of madness glints in his eyes, because he knows. Knows that if he falters even briefly, it’s all over.

I begrudgingly respect him for it.

We’re both a product of our circumstances. Shaped by the actions of the same man.