Little Saint Bride [Death and the Maiden, #1]

Chapter Forty: Stalemate

A/N: Here we go, guys! Last chapter of Little Saint Bride...until the sequel! Media is Hadrian holding Nerissa in his arms.

'Nessie,' Nate sees my stance, my readiness, and speaks a warning. 'Don't! You're not strong enough.'

Thankfully, I'm still wearing the mask. Despite my anger, it's still helping me see.

Mercer, despite looking sick, also grabs my wrist. 'No way am I letting you take that maniac on.'

I shrug him off, snarling at the two of them. 'Don't tell me what to do.'

And, anger boiling over, I scream in rage and leap forwards.

Hecate doesn't move; her tendrils do. They flick towards me but I roll past them, moving quickly so that she can't catch me unawares. I knock her feet from under her— she falls with a satisfying crunch.

The boys shout in alarm, stepping towards me protectively, but once again, I shoot them a glare.

Before Hecate can move, my vines erupt from the ground.

Responding to my anger, they're thorny and painful, wrapping around her arms and squeezing tightly. With relish, I manoeuvre into a crouch, ready to grapple the woman who ruined Nate's afterlife.

Mercer grabs my hair and pulls me hard, back to the floor.

I let out a muffled scream of fury and pain— and betrayal. Stars dance above my eyes as the sky tumbles into view, then Mercer's cold eyes, leaning over me.

'What—' I cough, winded by the attack, '—are you doing?'

Mercer attacks again.

He's above me, so he has a supreme advantage, and I'm still staggered by him coming to Hecate's rescue. His first blow hits me square in the nose, and I feel blood erupt from my nose, spattering across my face. His second blow I dodge by instinct; I roll into a ball and seize his body, tipping him off me with as much force as I can muster.

What is wrong with him?

Mercer rolls back and onto his feet. He turns, moving to work at freeing Hecate from the vines. Blood pours from his fingers as the thorns tear his flesh, splitting his palms in two.

I realise that Nate has faded, although his voice still calls my name—

I've lost sight again. My anger is blinding me from seeing the bigger picture...

But how in hell am I not supposed to be angry? This woman, among others, ruined our lives.

She deserves a butt-kicking.

She deserves a painful, slow, death by butt-kicking.

Whack. I tackle Mercer like a bull, throwing him wide of Hecate. We land next to each other, both scrambling to our feet to get the best advantage. I'm quicker, and deftly use my speed to hit him squarely in the face back.

But as he falls backwards, I see Hecate standing, a demon risen, behind him.

How are her legs that long and athletic? The humorous yet insensible side of my frontal lobe states in outrage. And she's just been attacked by angry plants. How does she not have any scratches? Or at least grass stains?

Hecate laughs, a deep resounding sound.

Mercer groans at my feet. Immediately, reflexively— I look down.

Then, the mask is snatched from my face.

Cool air and rain hits my cheeks.

Time seems to slow, my hands rising tremblingly to my features in disbelief. Without the mask, I can't see Hecate's tendrils, and Hecate herself is a dark shadow.