The demon lifted the sword. “Needs more power. Blood of the chosen one.”
Greyson let out a caustic laugh. “More power?” He glanced at what was left of the Sea Dog. “What the hell are you trying to cut through?”
“Time…” he hissed. “Home.”
What the hell did that mean?
Aura grabbed Greyson’s shoulder, her nails digging into his skin. Her voice was tight. “He’ll destroy the world as we know it.”
“The fuck he will. We’re not giving that blade any more power.” He looked over his shoulder, at Aura. “Be ready to take the Tyrfing.”
She nodded. Sweat ran down her face, but her jaw was tight, determined. He hoped she could fight against the mental onslaught of the sword long enough to lift the curse. If this was going to work, he’d have to trust her.
He scanned the deck for the rest of the crew, but no one else was topside. Maybe they’d retreated to the galley to help Bob. No time to search for them now. He needed to distract the abomination before he destroyed what was left of the ship.
“I’ll send you home, beastie. In pieces.” Greyson pulled back the slide on his gun. “Nobody fucks with the Sea Dog. Drop the sword.”
The demon threw his head back and laughed. Greyson fired three shots in rapid succession across the beast’s exposed throat. His earlier bullets at the meeting place had barely slowed the creature, but maybe if the demon lost his head, he’d be just as dead as Greyson and the crew would be.
Flesh blew out of the back of the demon’s neck, and his head snapped up, wobbling inhumanly from side to side like it was…loose. “Your weapons can’t stop me, mortal.”
Mortal. The demon didn’t know Greyson couldn’t die. As long as Greyson kept his head on his shoulders, he’d recover. His gaze wandered down to the demon’s grip on the Tyrfing. If he couldn’t get the creature to drop it, maybe he could take it from him.
He glanced over at Aura. Her face was pale, her shirt wet with sweat, but she still had her weapon raised as she moved around the fallen mast. So fucking strong. Pride and love blended into a tempest of unwanted emotions he didn’t have time to examine right now.
Time to make the demon drop the sword so Aura could grab the hilt.
He took a deep breath, steeling his nerve. This was going to hurt like a son of a bitch.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Aura’s head throbbed. Between the bobbing of the ship and the frenetic buzzing inside her mind, her balance was off. She didn’t know how much longer she could keep this up. Her ears ached as if her eardrums might burst at any moment.
With each step closer to the sword, the intensity increased, the pressure building.
From the corner of her eye, Greyson shot forward. Her head snapped in his direction as he ran directly toward Mamon.
Shit. What the hell was he doing?
Chosen-one-chosen-one-destiny-blood-chosen-one-chosen-one.
She winced as the vise around her head tightened. Stumbling closer to the demon, she kept her gun raised and ready. With its chest in the sights of her Glock, she squeezed off a round.
The bullet hit its mark, but it barely slowed the creature.
“I’m over here, asshole,” Greyson shouted.
Mamon spun toward him, raising the Tyrfing. Her eyes widened, realizing what was about to happen.
“That’s it, ye ugly bastard.” Greyson goaded the demon closer. “That sword wants blood, not lumber.”
Mamon rushed him, and Greyson got off four shots. Three hit the demon’s wrist and forearm and one struck the cursed blade, ricocheting off. The buzzing in her head became a piercing squeal.
Chosen-one-chosen-one-come-come-come-come!
Aura dropped to her hands and knees, retching, unable to bear the sudden onslaught of agony.
She lifted her head just as the Tyrfing slid all the way through Greyson’s abdomen. He fired three more shots at close range right into the demon’s wrist, severing it from the beast’s arm before Greyson’s legs gave out.
Greyson crumpled onto the deck, taking the demon’s amputated hand still gripping the hilt of the Tyrfing with him.
“No!” she screamed, forcing herself back up.
Mamon spun around as a fountain of blood spilled from where his hand had been. He lumbered in her direction. She pulled the trigger on her Glock, hitting him over and over. His body shuddered with each bullet, but he didn’t go down.
She needed the sword. Greyson had gotten it away from Mamon, just as he’d promised he would. The rest was up to her.
The demon hissed with a twisted, bloodied grin. “Yesssssss, chosen one. It hungers…for you.”
She planted her feet and lifted the sights on her Glock a little higher. “Fuck you,” Aura snarled as she squeezed the trigger.
The bullet found its target right between the demon’s eyes, and blood poured down his face, blinding him. He no longer resembled the man she’d once known. The man she thought had been her partner. Chunks of flesh drooped, exposing brown scales underneath as he swiped his arms, still searching for her. She ducked, dodging around his last remaining hand, and ran past him, to Greyson’s side.
She fell to the deck, his still-warm blood soaking through her pants as she rolled him over so she could see his face. His skin was pale and cool to the touch.
He looked…dead. Why wasn’t he healing?
The demon roared behind her, still hunting blindly for his prey. She needed to stop that thing so she could tend to Greyson, but how? They’d both shot it multiple times. How could you kill something that obviously couldn’t die?
She ground her teeth against the buzzing in her head, struggling to think clearly. Greyson couldn’t be killed, either. But he wasn’t healing right now. Why?
The Tyrfing.
The curse. Had to be. She pried the demon’s severed hand free of the Tyrfing’s hilt and threw it aside.
Chosen-one-chosen-one-destiny-blood-chosen-one-chosen-one!
Tears wet her cheeks as the volume in her head turned up a few decibels. Too loud.
Pain lanced through her head like it might finally explode and relieve the building pressure. She opened her hand, flexing her fingers before she finally gripped the handle.
Power jolted through her arm, as if she’d been struck by lightning. Her entire body seized, and suddenly, the world went quiet.
No buzzing, no groans of the demon, no wakes from the ocean lapping at the hull of the Sea Dog. No sound.
Maybe her eardrums had finally burst from the pressure. Or maybe this was how the world ended. Not with a roar, but with the deathly still of silence.