Hugh jerked his axes up, hafts crossed, caught Curran’s arms, and pulled the axes apart, letting Curran’s blow slide off. Curran kicked with his left leg, sweeping Hugh’s leading leg out from under him. D’Ambray rolled on the ground and sprang back up. Curran chased him. They moved across the overpass, cutting and blocking, each blow fast and hard enough to knock most fighters out of the fight.

The undead horde behind us was growing closer and closer.

Curran was cut in four places. His blood was all over the overpass. Hugh favored his right leg, but he showed no signs of tiring. His axes cleaved, chopped, and carved, one second aiming to sever an arm, the next threatening Curran’s chest. I began to pace back and forth. It was that or I’d explode.

Another graze of the axe. Another open wound. More blood.

Curran was taking too much damage, even for a shapeshifter. I wouldn’t lose him on this stupid bridge. This wasn’t the way it ended. It couldn’t be. Hugh would not take him from me.

The door behind us shuddered under the press of undead bodies. Finish it. Finish it, Curran.

Hugh reversed the blow and rammed the top of his right axe head into Curran’s midsection. Curran staggered and Hugh smashed the haft of his left axe into Curran’s skull.

My heart clenched into a painful hard ball.

Curran bent forward, dazed.

D’Ambray smiled, his grin demonic, and swung the two axes at once. Stupid flashy move. In my mind the blades connected, like razor-sharp scissors slicing closed. Curran’s head slid off his shoulders . . . My throat closed. I couldn’t take a single breath.

Curran surged up, grabbed Hugh’s wrists, planted his foot into the left side of Hugh’s stomach, and fell back. Hugh tumbled forward, pulled by Curran’s weight. Curran swung his right leg over Hugh’s neck. Hugh crashed to the ground on his back and Curran rolled up on top of him, Hugh’s arm clamped in his hands, one leg over Hugh’s throat, the other over his chest. Juji Gatame, the most powerful armlock in judo.

Curran bent back and pulled the arm. Hugh screamed as his shoulder joint came apart. His rotator cuff must’ve torn. Triceps too, probably. Curran arched his hips. Hugh’s elbow joint popped like a chopstick snapping. Yes! Heal that, you sonovabitch.

Hugh roared and tried to chop at Curran with his remaining axe.

Curran rolled clear.

Hugh staggered to his feet. His left arm hung useless. It was over now. Curran would take him apart piece by piece. Hugh’s face was ashen. He was beaten and he knew it.