To Vanquish Darkness (Le Sombre #1)

Chapter 52

52

1836 MORDELLES, FRANCE

A malie scrambled to her feet, scanning the yard and the street for any explanation of what just happened. Marcel and Olivie ran back to the house, yelling for reinforcements. Were they under attack? By whom?

Amalie ran toward Theo, then skittered back as three more members of the Pourfendeurs bled from the house. She didn't have time to figure out who they were before striking out. "I'm sorry." She grunted as her fist struck home. They were blocking her way. She needed to get to him and somehow retrieve the sword and get away from Ren, and the Pourfendeurs.

She shouldn't have come. Theo had told her they should stay together, and she hadn't listened. But Marx had been right. Ren had killed her mother, he had made a replacement ring to hide the fact that his had gone missing.

Rage welled up inside her, whistling like a tea kettle and begging for release. There was a sharp crack as her elbow connected with bone, and the woman she'd been fighting dropped. Amalie didn't hesitate. She flew toward the steps, but before she could reach them, the light shifted, and she caught Ren hovering in the shadows behind Marcel and another Slayer.

He was letting them fight his battle? Her pulse quickened as she took in the weapons they wielded. Whips with barbed tips, batons that burned with white hot flames to blind and singe. These were new weapons, ones she'd never used. The smell of burnt skin and clothing filled the air, and Amalie nearly gagged.

A whip cracked, and a frustrated scream tore through the air. Amalie was nearly to the steps when she saw blood red lips. Clémentine. Amalie's jaw dropped as the vampire threw herself toward Ren, only to be hit again by the wicked barbs.

Clémentine was here. Was Etienne as well? Other members of Theo's coven? Hope bloomed in her chest. She was close. So close.

She reached Theo, and just as she threw out a hand, a blade flew toward her, nearly taking off her fingers. She whirled back, her eyes locking on Olivie who stood over Theo like a guard dog.

"Olivie, you have the sword. You don't need us."

Her friend flinched. "He won't leave this if he doesn't get what he wants."

Amalie scoffed. "He won't leave it regardless. You've hitched your cart to the wrong horse."

Olivie frowned, then tightened her grip on the blade. Amalie was ready when she lunged. She'd trained with Olivie for years, and knew her fighting style, though Olivie had the same benefit. Amalie spun, but Olivie was faster than she remembered. She twisted, her arm snaking out, allowing her to snatch Amalie's wrist.

Amalie grunted as Olivie wrenched her arm at the same angle Ren had moments before, and pain shot through her shoulder. She kicked out, her foot connecting with Olivie's shin. She stumbled, and Amalie took the opportunity to twist free.

They circled each other, their eyes locked. Amalie's heart bruised her ribs as she panted. When Olivie lunged again, Amalie met her head on.

"I don't want to fight you."

Olivie let out a huff of air. "Then you shouldn't have whored yourself to a vampire."

Amalie's eyes flashed. She gritted her teeth and pushed, using her weight to force Olivie back. Olivie snarled and twisted, the blade of the relic slicing through the air. Amalie ducked, but not fast enough. The blade caught her arm, and she hissed as pain seared through her flesh. She stumbled back, her vision blurring.

Olivie pressed her advantage, her strikes coming faster and harder. Amalie's muscles screamed in protest, but she pushed through the pain. She couldn't let Olivie win. She would not die like this.

Amalie's foot slipped on the slick cobblestones, and she fell to one knee. Olivie was on her in an instant, her blade arcing toward her throat.

Amalie's instincts took over. She rolled to the side, her shoulder slamming into Olivie's legs. Her friend yelped and tumbled to the ground, and Amalie was on her in a split second.

She straddled Olivie's chest, her hands wrapping around her throat. Olivie's eyes widened, and she clawed at Amalie's hands, but she held firm. Her muscles burned with the effort, but she didn't let go.

Olivie's face turned red, and her eyes bulged. Amalie squeezed tighter, her vision narrowing. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, Olivie," she murmured, looking anywhere but at her friend's face. Olivie's struggles grew weaker, and blood rushed in Amalie's ears.

Tears stung her eyes as Olivie's body went limp. She dropped her hands, shaking as she fell onto the stone. She wasn't dead. She hadn't held on long enough for her to die.

The sword lay on the stone next to her, and she lunged for the handle. Her hand caught only air as the blade skittered across the stone. Amalie growled, throwing herself after it and catching a boot to the ribs.

Her palms burned as she slid across the rough sand. She caught a flash of dark hair and leather before the heel of Marcel's hand caught her underneath her jaw. How was he coming after her? If Clémentine and Etienne were there, they should have taken out the Pourfendeurs easily.

Blood filled her mouth as she rolled, catching him in the stomach before scrambling again for the hilt of the sword.

"This is mine," he growled, but Amalie's hand closed around the worn leather.

This had to stop. She flew to her feet, swinging the sword from the ground. "Enough!" she cried, whirling the blade over her head.

She had sought this blade to protect. To avenge her mother's death and vanquish the darkness that plagued their villages, townships, and cities. She would not use it to kill her friends.

Marcel dropped into a ready stance, and Amalie fixed her eyes on his. "I don't care what he promised you, Marcel. This ends now." Marcel's eyes flicked to hers, then back to the sword. He took another step forward, and Amalie tensed. "Marcel?—"

"All of them will die," he hissed. Amalie spun as he lunged, bringing the blunt edge of the sword up to deflect his blow. She would not kill her friends. The force of the impact reverberated through her bones, and before she could recover, Marcel's knee cracked against her ribs. He was stronger, more experienced. This wasn't a fair fight.

The vision of her training in the room with windows flashed through her head. She'd found strength then. A force strong enough that she'd caught Theo and thrown him against the stone.

Marcel smashed his fist against her temple, knocking her to the sand, then ground his boot into her wrist. Amalie cried out in pain, forcing her fingers to stay clamped around the hilt of the sword.

Pain flashed in her head, sparking like kindling, making it impossible to think. Her thoughts fractured, stabbing like shards of glass. Her family. The guardians. They had hunted her. Theo watched for her. Her blood—someone had wanted her blood. The relic would vanquish. Theo had a plan. Her family needed him. They were defenseless. Theo was defenseless.

Those last thoughts ignited like absinthe, surging through her veins and scorching her insides. The thread of light became a beacon, and the shard that pinched her gut became a blade through her center.

Amalie reached for them both, wrenching against them until they snapped forward. Amalie gasped as energy crashed over her like a tidal wave, drawing her under, threatening to snuff her out.

And then the world went still. Marcel's boot against her wrist froze. Amalie blinked, the sounds of clashing bodies and feral growls heightening into a roar. Her vision sharpened, and she could suddenly smell the granite from the sandstone beneath her cheek. The leather of Marcel's belt, the salty sweat soaking his shirt.

Amalie flicked her hand, and Marcel stumbled back in slow motion. She gripped the sword and before she'd thought it, she was on her feet. Then her boot was in the center of his chest.

Marcel flew backward, crashing against the steps, his head snapping. She was there. Standing above him, the sword raised over her head.

"Amalie," a voice rasped, and she faltered. She knew that voice. Her head lifted to find dark eyes boring into hers. " Amalie. "

She blinked, and the world snapped back into frame and her body no longer felt weightless. Theo's finger twitched against the stone, and she spun, taking in her surroundings. Marcel cowered beneath her, gasping for breath, blood pouring down his face. Olivie pushed up from the ground, her skin bruised, her eyes bloodshot. Clémentine and Etienne stared at her as the Pourfendeurs fled, disappearing behind the house.

And then her eyes landed on him. Ren. His gray eyes wide with shock. She'd barely thought his name before the floodgates opened again and she was flying through the air. Ren's figure shimmered, and he began to fade into a swirl of smoke and shadow, but Amalie's strike was like lightning.

He was slow. So slow. And weak.

"You killed my mother. You took her from me, tricked her into loving you, then killed her." Amalie's vision blurred as she threw him against the tree he'd pressed her against moments before. She was Amalie d'Acier. Amalie of Steel.

"How?" Ren gaped at her, terror warping his features. "You're a human. You're?—"

Amalie slammed the blade through his chest, driving it home into the bark behind him. Ren's body jolted from the impact, and his arms flew wide. Amalie waited, watching like she had on the roof for his wound to start healing, for his chest to rise and fall as his heart reformed and began to beat.

But Ren's eyes were dark. Lifeless. When she pulled the sword from his body, he dropped to the ground, his legs splaying at unnatural angles. His skin faded, growing pale and ashen.

Amalie dropped to her knees and stared into his stony features. "I am a guardian ."

As Ren's body began to crack and crumble, Amalie pressed up from the earth. The sword felt like an iron weight in her hands as her whole body trembled. Power seeped from her like water, and she drew in a shaky breath.

She turned to find the yard empty besides Etienne sitting on the steps next to Theo, and Clémentine standing a few feet away, watching her.

"Damn, Amalie. Where was that on the rooftop?" Clémentine raised an eyebrow.

Amalie exhaled, nearly losing her balance. "How did you know?"

Etienne frowned. "Theo hadn't returned after we scouted the attack. Ren was supposed to meet us, and he didn't show, either. Then I found a note on the gates to the castle. It listed this location."

Amalie's brow pinched. "A note?" Who would leave a note? Who else had known where she and Theo were heading besides her own family?

"My family." She exhaled in a rush. "I need to find them."

Clémentine eyed the sword in her hand warily as Etienne lifted Theo from the ground.

Amalie turned, feeling Theo's eyes on her. She didn't want to look at him. Not yet. "I can do this myself," she said, her voice unsteady as pressure built behind her eyes.

"We're coming with you," Etienne said simply, walking up to stand next to her.

Amalie nodded once, scanning the dark, empty street. What had she done? She'd fought against her friends, she'd left Olivie bruised and unconscious on the ground and Marcel cowering in front of her.

She'd vanquished.

Her hand flew to her shoulder, running over the lifted mark on her skin. He was going to kill her. Ren was going to?—

"Amalie?" Clémentine nudged her shoulder, and she sniffed.

"This way." Amalie led them down the street, crossing through the center of Mordelles and back onto the lane that led to Uncle Oren's house. They didn't complain about her pace. Theo limped along next to Etienne, his arm slung over his friend's shoulder.

Had Theo planned for them to die tonight? Would they have taken her family to safety, and then . . . what? Would he have taken her aside? Would he have told her anything or would he have held her close and slammed the sword through their bodies at the same time?

The moon seemed to shrink as it rose, and by the time they reached the gate, it was dangling over their heads. Amalie pressed her hand against the door. She'd told Oren to leave, to take the others to safety.

"They may not be here."

Etienne nodded. "We'll check."

"I know where they are if they didn't stay." Theo's voice was raw, slurred, but she could understand him. The sound of him clawed at her insides, leaving open wounds.

She gritted her teeth and pushed into the garden. Etienne, Theo, and Clémentine followed.

It was exactly as they'd left it. Calm. Peaceful. She scanned for Bethany or the girls, for Uncle Oren or Aunt Maurielle, but nobody waited in the shadows near the back gate.

Amalie was about to open her mouth when something flickered in her peripheral vision. Her eyes narrowed, staring at something fluttering on the front door.

"That's what it looked like," Etienne whispered. "The note on the gate."