Marie Harte - Fortune's Favor

Images of him and Avery grappling came back to him, and as he danced out of the way of Malcolm’s reach once more, he realized the only way to beat the man would be hand-to-hand. No more weapons.

The next time his father came at him, he ducked and advanced. He took a fist to the face and a slice to his arm in order to knock Malcolm to the ground. But through it all, Nathan held on to his knife. A short stab to the man’s side satisfied, but it was a means to an end. To distract Malcolm long enough to grab on to that fucking sword.

The moment Nathan’s hands wrapped around his father’s and the hilt of Espada de Sangre, he tensed. Images and feelings not his own poured into him like poison.

“Nathan, fucking fight it!” Avery sounded far in the distance.

The rush of so many kills tasted sweet, and he suddenly understood Malcolm as he never had before.

“You need this. Energy, power. It fills you up.”

Malcolm stared into his eyes, and it was like looking into a mirror. The man faltered in his answer, as if seeing Nathan for the first time. “Yes. Fills me up. The way your mother used to.”

Nathan felt Malcolm’s loneliness, his antipathy toward everything. Only murder gave him the highs away from a monotonous existence. Because his time away from his wife had been hell. The constant kills, the work with so many deadly weapons, had eroded Malcolm’s ability to feel. His returns to Danielle had made life bearable, because only with her had he felt the love that brought him back to himself. But he’d been so greedy, so damn needy, that he’d refused to allow for the possibility of sharing her attention.

Michelle hadn’t been welcome. Nor had any of Danielle’s friends. They’d lived in virtual solitude for so long, and Malcolm had hated it. Hated what he was doing to her, but he couldn’t help it. And eventually he’d stopped hating their isolation and longed for it with every breath in his body. And then Nathan had arrived. A soft-spoken, handsome young boy just as deprived as Malcolm.

He’d hated Nathan, because in Nathan he saw himself. And now Nathan knew why.

Nathan yanked the sword from his hand and stood, leaving his father to grab the KA-BAR next to him.

“You can feel me in that, can’t you?” he asked Malcolm.

Malcolm nodded, his eyes wide. “You’re just like me.”

“No, he’s not,” Avery said in a hoarse voice. “Little bastard likes to think he can do anything, but he’s not a killer like you. He’s got the power, but he’s also got heart.”

Because I had the love of a great woman . Because I’ve got you, Nathan thought but didn’t say. It was a struggle to remain separate from the blade. The thing wanted blood. It wanted to kill. And it didn’t much care who sated that need. Overcome with exhaustion, it was all Nathan could do not to lean completely on it for strength.

Malcolm blinked rapidly. “I don’t care. You’re the reason Danielle left me. Because of you.” He stepped forward with the KA-BAR, a deadly killer with or without the cursed blade. He lunged.

Nathan managed to block his attack, but the deflection allowed Malcolm to slice into his side.

“Fuck.” Fury boiled over him, and he struck out. The blade found Malcolm’s weakness with ease, sliding between his father’s ribs and then again into his thigh through the femoral artery. It sang as it drank, letting the blood ease into the nicks and crevices of the ancient steel.

“Even the touch of it feels right,” Malcolm said with a sigh. The man didn’t act as if he felt pain. He came at Nathan again, graceful in step and form.

They fought for what felt like hours. Nathan couldn’t believe how powerful Malcolm was. Despite his age and injuries, he moved like a man possessed.

“For nearly thirty years, I’ve been dancing with death. You think you can take me, boy?” Malcolm attacked with well-oiled precision. He darted away to stand by Avery and stabbed into his bloody shoulder, no doubt hoping for a reaction.

Avery didn’t give him one, so Nathan wouldn’t either. But he needed to put himself between Malcolm and his lover. God, Avery hadn’t made a sound. Because he was disciplined or passed out? Because he was dead?

“Shit. Hurry the hell up,” he slurred, and Nathan breathed a sigh of relief.

Malcolm grinned. “In other circumstances, I might like the major. But I want my blade back before I finish our fight.”

And maybe that would be his downfall. Nathan tuned out the blade’s need for more blood and zeroed in on his father’s inability to work on his own. He needed to be filled, to work with an external device, a distraction that could cost him.

Nathan stopped and took a step back. “It wants you. It wants to be inside you. It’s promising me all sorts of things if I give it to you.” He listened and heard the whispered torment, the pledges of undying love and satisfaction if only Nathan would kill.

Malcolm tossed him the KA-BAR without missing a beat and stepped away from Avery. “I want it. See if you can beat me with that measly knife again. Once is luck, twice skill.”

“You don’t need luck, Nathan. Do it. Give him the blade.” Avery’s intensity sparked Nathan to action, and he followed his lover’s order without question.

Nathan put it on the floor and kicked it to his father, while at the same time, he dived for the KA-BAR.

Just as Malcolm picked up the blade, Nathan shoved the KA-BAR into his father’s leg. Then he pulled it out and sank it into Malcolm’s chest, where the KA-BAR whispered to strike. Since Malcolm had handled the knife, it knew his secrets. And now so did Nathan. Dextrocardia—the reversal of the heart’s position. The reason Malcolm hadn’t died all those years ago was because Nathan had stabbed him where a normal person’s heart would be. On the left side. But Malcolm’s was on the right.

Malcolm staggered but didn’t drop the blade, so Nathan dug the KA-BAR deeper and twisted. Then he pulled Malcolm’s hand holding the blade and positioned it so that the tip of it rested against Malcolm’s stomach.

“You want to be together with your precious weapon? Fine by me. Go for it.”

He didn’t expect Malcolm to actually do it, but when his father stabbed himself in the gut, he wasn’t exactly surprised. However, instead of peace, horror filled Malcolm’s eyes.

He screamed and screamed until death finally claimed him. And as Nathan watched, the blade seemed to glow, as if soaking up his father’s soul.

“Don’t touch it,” Avery rasped. “Leave it be and untie me.”

Nathan scrambled back from temptation, alarmed he’d been ready to pull the blade free and continue its work. The moment he left Malcolm and rushed to Avery, he felt woozy. Every cut and bruise throbbed, and he was more than tired. He managed to untie Avery and propped him up when his lover started to fall.

“Oh man. We have to get you to a hospital.” And me to a bed.

“No shit.” Avery groaned and put the entirety of his weight on Nathan. A clear sign Avery was in bad shape. “You’re not alone, are you?”

“I figure the guys are right behind me. I drove like a bat outta hell to save you, princess.” Nathan tried to joke, but he started to shake, realizing all he might have lost.

Avery sighed and rested his head on Nathan’s shoulder. “You know, I want to comfort you, I really do. But I wasn’t kidding before. I gotta take a piss.”

Nathan laughed and couldn’t stop laughing. He helped Avery upstairs and to the bathroom just as four of his friends burst through the front door, weapons drawn.

When Ian saw the two of them, he shook his head. “You’re in so much trouble, Kraft.”

“Sue me.” Nathan slumped against the bathroom door Avery shut behind him and grinned. “I’ve never felt better.” Then he passed out cold.