I wanted to cut Hugh into pieces. I owed him for Mauro, my broken sword, and seven days in the hole. But Curran owed him for seeing me disappear, for finding out where I went, for running after me across half the country not knowing if I was still alive, and then for fighting his way to Mishmar only to find me half-dead. Curran had a much bigger score to settle.

Blood rushed through my veins. I could hear my own heartbeat. The familiar metallic taste of adrenaline coated my tongue. Come on, Curran. Hit him hard. At least the magic was down.

“Can you take out the gunners?” Thomas asked Andrea next to me.

“No,” she said. “Not while they’re hiding behind the blast shield. I could get one, maybe.”

The two men collided.

Hugh spun the axes as if they weighed nothing and chopped with the right axe straight down, putting all of his power into the swing. Curran blocked the haft with his forearm, but Hugh’s left axe was already moving. The axe head bit into Curran’s stomach and sliced sideways right to left.

No!

The world slowed. I saw the bloody blade of the axe slide free, flinging the fine mist of Curran’s blood into the air. My heart was beating too loud in my head.

Curran dropped his guard. Hugh continued the stroke with his left axe, bringing it up and cleaving with dizzying speed. Curran knocked Hugh’s arm aside before Hugh could bury his right axe head in Curran’s side. Instead, the blade grazed Curran’s side. Move faster, baby. Move. Move!

Curran leaped back. His left side bled. The cut on his stomach couldn’t have been deep, but it bled, too.

Hugh flicked his axes and flung the blood at Curran. Red spray splashed over Curran’s neck and chest. He’d flicked Curran’s own blood at him. Asshole. Hugh smiled. Curran stepped forward, his hands raised, aiming for Hugh’s face. Hugh spun, picking up momentum, and sliced at Curran’s midsection in a horizontal cut with his right axe, leaving his face wide open. It’s a trap, Curran. Don’t!

Curran dodged and rammed his forearm into Hugh’s jaw. No.

Hugh staggered back, leaning back, turning the energy of the impact into his own blow, and chopped at Curran’s left side. The axe bit into flesh at least two inches deep. Damn it all to hell!

Curran danced back. Hugh lunged forward, slicing at Curran’s leading leg. Curran dodged left, jerked his fists up, and brought them down like a hammer toward Hugh’s head.

What was he doing? I kicked the snow. Curran was better than this. I fought him every day in our gym. He was better than this.