She tried to block out the pain coursing through her shattered side. Hell of a birthday. She’d been fired, stalked, assaulted, kidnapped, and now she’d be mauled to death by a creature made of smoke and wrath.

I didn’t even get a chance at life. Rage roiled inside her, simmering away her fear.

“It’s my bloody eighteenth birthday!” she shrieked.

As far as she knew, no one had ever baked her a cake. That somehow seemed like the worst offense of all, and anger simmered. Three years. I only had three years. As her right hand grew hot, heat burned through her veins. From her palm, fire surged into the sword and flames licked along the blade.

The fiend shrank back, and Ursula stepped forward, emboldened by the flaming sword. I am an angel of death, her mind whispered.

The pain in her side threatened to rip her apart, but she held the blade before her like a priest holding a cross to ward off evil. Fire engulfed the whole blade. The few snowflakes that drifted onto the metal sputtered and popped in the heat. I am wrath.

The fiend took another step away, pressing its back against a stone. Despite the glow of the fire, the beast’s edges were still difficult to make out—a mass of dark hair, muscle, and sinew surrounded by shadows. Its yellow eyes blazed, but no longer just with hunger. She saw fear there, too.

The fiend’s shoulders straightened almost imperceptibly, then it leapt. She thrust the sword up just in time to shield herself as the wight grabbed for her. She was ready for it this time, and her blade sliced into its forearm.

Grunting, the fiend slammed its arm into her, sending the sword skittering across the circle. She turned to run for the weapon, but a strong hand grabbed her ponytail and flung her to the ground.

She landed on her broken ribs, and agony fractured her body. I’m broken. Gasping for breath, she tried to roll onto her front, desperate to stand, but the fiend leapt on top of her, crushing her lungs and shattered ribs into the icy soil. Long, clawed fingers reached for her throat, and Ursula gasped for breath.

In desperation, she kicked her feet, struggling to free herself, but the fiend slipped its fingers around her throat. It squeezed, like a snake constricting its prey.

Inching toward her face, its golden eyes stared at her with a primitive intelligence. This is the face of my executioner: bestial and merciless. Slowly, it opened its mouth, revealing jagged rows of nubby teeth. She braced herself for the bite, until she realized this repugnant display was a smile.

It squeezed harder. Ursula’s windpipe flattened with a soft popping noise, and pain splintered her mind.