Jennifer Estep - Kiss of Frost

I dove to my right, Preston pulled the trigger on the crossbow, and the Fenrir wolf bumped into his side, making Preston stumble. I don't know if the creature did it on purpose or not, if it was trying to help me or not, but the wolf screwed up the Reaper's aim and the bolt zipped over my head and disappeared into the semidarkness.

I scrambled to my feet. For a second I thought about running, about getting as far away from Preston as I could. Then my gaze dropped to the floor, where Oliver still lay, more and more blood pooling underneath him as he fumbled with his phone. Yeah, maybe the Spartan had scared me, but I couldn't leave him down here, helpless and defenseless with a barbed bolt sticking out of his shoulder.

So I did the only thing I could think of: I withdrew Vic out of the leather scabbard strapped to my waist.

"Well, it's about bloody time," Vic muttered, glaring at me with his purplish eye. "I was wondering if you'd forgotten about me, Gwen."

Yeah, I kind of had a little bit, but I wasn't going to admit that to him.

"What was I supposed to do? Whip you out right in front of Preston?" I hissed. "My hands were up in the air, in case you didn't notice. And hello, he had a crossbow aimed at my head. Crossbow beats sword in that case."

Vic just sniffed.

"Oh, look, the Gypsy has a sword," Preston said in an amused voice. "Good thing I do too."

The distinctive, raspy whisper of metal sliding free of a scabbard made my heart drop like a stone in my chest. I whirled around and raised Vic. Preston had climbed back to his feet and drawn his own sword. He must have been wearing the weapon underneath his long, flowing, black coat. The edge of the blade touched one of the cracks of sunlight. Maybe it was my imagination, but the metal seemed to wink at me, even as it took on a bloody, reddish tinge. I shivered and tightened my grip on Vic.

Preston walked closer and closer to me, picking his way through the construction debris and nonchalantly swinging his sword from side to side. "You know, I'm kind of glad I missed you with that bolt," he hissed. "It'll be so much more fun to cut you into pieces."

I really, really wanted to scream, drop Vic, turn, and run. But I couldn't leave Oliver to the Reaper's mercy. Besides, Preston would just stab me from behind anyway. All I could do was stand and fight-or at least try to.

I glanced past Preston, wondering what the Fenrir wolf was doing. The creature sat upright on its haunches, like it was an ancient statue that had been frozen in place, like one of the gryphons outside the Library of Antiquities. Its red eyes met mine. Something like sadness flickered in its gaze, and it let out a low whimper. I might have helped the wolf during the avalanche, but I knew I couldn't count on it to come to my rescue. Not again, not here, not against its master. Spoiling Preston's aim was the only aid the wolf was going to give me. I'd just have to make sure it was enough.

Preston looked at me, taking in my stance and focusing on the sword bobbing up and down in my trembling hands. A cruel, cruel grin curved his face. And then he attacked.

Clang-clang-clang!

Preston launched himself at me, his moves a shadowy blur in the semidarkness. Maybe some of my weapons training had finally sunk in, because I was able to deflect his blows. But Preston was two years older than I was, six inches taller, and totally ripped with muscle. Not to mention the fact he was a Viking. He was stronger than I was-so much stronger -and his blows jarred me from my wrist, all the way up to my shoulder. Every stinging, ringing clash of his sword threatened to rip Vic out of my hands. I could feel Vic's mouth moving underneath my palm, trying to shout out words of encouragement, but I had such a death grip on the hilt that my hands muffled his voice.

"Not bad-for a five-year-old who just got her first toy sword to play with," Preston sneered. "I can't believe you're supposed to be Nike's Champion. Start saying your prayers to that stupid goddess you serve, Gypsy, because you won't last another minute."

I blinked. "How do you know I'm Nike's Champion? I never told you that."

Daphne, Professor Metis, and Grandma Frost were the only people who knew the truth. Well, them and Vic, of course.

Preston's eyes narrowed, and something red and evil sparked to life in the depths of his gaze. "Oh, we know all about you, Gwen Frost, and what you're supposed to do."

What I was supposed to do? What the hell was he talking about? I didn't have time to think about it before he charged me again.

Clang-clang-clang!

I managed to block all of his attacks once more, although I was panting from the effort. Sweat slicked my palms, and my arms felt heavy and slow, like lead weights attached to my shoulders. I didn't know how much longer I could stop Preston from running me through with his sword. He was right. I wouldn't last another minute.

He came at me a third time, his sword whistling through the air, getting closer and closer to my neck with every single blow until-

CLANG!

Preston finally broke through my defenses. He smashed his weapon into mine so hard that I lost my grip on Vic, and the sword sailed off into the shadows.

"Gwen! Gwen!" Vic shouted, his voice getting fainter and more frantic the farther he slid into the darkness.

I started to lunge after him, but Preston grabbed me by my hair. I shrieked and then punched and clawed at him, but he just laughed at my weak blows. Preston jerked me back, then threw me forward. I tripped over one of the bags of cement on the floor and hit the wall hard. My legs slid out from under me, and I landed in a heap.

Before I could even think about moving, Preston was on top of me, his sword an inch away from my throat. I kept my head perfectly still, scarcely daring to breathe.

"Like I said," Preston sneered. "Didn't even last a minute."

A flash of movement caught my eye, and a shadow broke free of the wall, creeping closer and closer to Preston.

The Reaper stared down at me and frowned. "What are you smiling at? I'm about to slit your throat, you stupid Gypsy."

"Nothing much," I drawled. "Just my hero."

Logan erupted out of the darkness. The Spartan slammed into Preston, knocking the Reaper and his sword away from me. The two of them fell to the floor, punching, kicking, and rolling over everything in their path. Oliver must have texted Logan and told him what was going on. That was the only reason I could think of as to why he would be down here right now. Despite the fact that Oliver had done his best to scare me, I was totally forgiving him for everything.

"Vic!" I shouted.

"Here! Over here!"

I scrambled to my feet and followed the sound of the sword's voice. I plucked Vic out of the pile of sawdust he'd landed in. Out of the corner of my eye, I spotted a hammer lying on one of the sawhorses, so I grabbed it, too, then turned and ran back the other way, so I could help Logan.

The Reaper and the Spartan had both gotten back on their feet and were slowly circling each other. Eyes narrow, faces tight, lips drawn back in silent snarls. Logan had his fists up, while Preston was doing that annoying, wavy-wavy thing with his sword again.

Smack! Smack! Clang!

The two of them clashed together. Logan landed two solid punches to Preston's face, but the Reaper lashed out with his sword, making Logan jump back. And on it went. The more I watched, the more worried I got. Preston had his Viking strength to rely on, and he was a good fighter, almost as good as Logan. I hadn't been at Mythos Academy long, but even I could tell that.

Plus, Preston had a sword and Logan didn't. That was what was tipping the scales in the Reaper's favor. Logan just couldn't get in close enough to do much damage to Preston, not without getting cut up in the process. I stood there and bit my lip, swallowing my screams, not daring to do or say anything that would distract Logan.