Angel in Black (47 page)

Katrina’s voice was sharp and sarcastic, nettling Lawrence’s anger further.

“What mistakes?”

“First of all, I don’t dream sweet dreams anymore.” She walked forward, her pistol steady, her voice deadly calm. The shadows from the fire danced around her, keeping her face hidden. “I only have nightmares — nightmares of the night you murdered my parents. You do remember, don’t you?”

Katrina baited Lawrence. He gritted his teeth and answered her question, his eyes evil and dangerous as he played her game. “Yes, it was one of my better moments, until you suddenly appeared from the dead. Not once, but twice. What kind of witch are you, Katrina? You have proven difficult to kill.”

“I’ll not die with a sword in my back, not like my mother. And unlike my father, I know better than to trust you.” Katrina’s voice literally resounded with disgust and hate.

“Your father was a fool — weak and honest. But, Camray was his, until I took it from him — and from you.”

Lawrence looked nervous under the point of her gun, sweat popping out on his forehead and upper lip.

“And now,” Katrina smiled wickedly. “I am taking it back. Camray will be
mine
again, as it should be.”

“You bitch,” hissed Lawrence. “It should have been Randolph’s, but you killed him.”

Katrina laughed, “Just like I am going to kill you.”

Fear stirred within him as he stared down the barrel of her pistol. “So, you are going to shoot me. Seems rather cold-blooded of you.”

“I am not in the habit of slaughtering helpless people — that’s your game, not mine. Put your gun on the table — over there.”

Lawrence did as told and put the gun down. “What now?”

“You and I — we have a score to settle, but I’ve waited too long for it to end quickly, with the pull of a trigger. No, I want to see your fear as I drain your life away, bit by bit.” Katrina’s pulse raced wildly, power surged through her, giving her uncommon strength and control. “You have a sword — defend yourself.”

Katrina set her gun aside and drew her own blade.

“You’re insane,” Lawrence did the same and for the first time saw the vicious glint in her dark steel-blue eyes. Katrina’s casual, uncaring smile unnerved him more.

“Perhaps,” Nimbly, she lunged forward, catching Lawrence off guard. She neatly sliced several buttons from his coat and brought her blade across his cheek, drawing blood. Surprise and anger twisted his face as he dabbed at the drops oozing down his chin with his coat sleeve.

“Bitch,” Lawrence spit; his anger surged forth. “You stupid bitch! I am going to kill you, just as I should have long ago. I should have never depended on others to rid me of your presence.”

“Yes, another mistake,” goaded Katrina.

“Well, I shall rectify my error right now,” yelled Lawrence as he charged at her, out of control.

His blows fell with full strength on Katrina, striking again and again. She toyed with him by holding back, allowed him to think she was on the defensive, barely able to keep up her guard. She intended to draw it out, to enjoy the elation of her ultimate revenge to the fullest extent.

“You should have shot me when you had the chance — now you will die.” Lawrence smiled, confident of his swordsmanship. But when he pressed his advantage, a strange sensation touched him when deadly, calm blue eyes faced him. There was no fear or desperation, only cold-blooded calculation. “I must admit, girl, you do handle a sword well. I am surprised, but unfortunately for you, your ability is not enough.”

With a smug smile, Lawrence made his move to disarm and kill his opponent, but in an instant found himself outmaneuvered. Deft and lightning swift, Katrina turned the tables on him, and he found himself besieged by a hell-cat.

“Another mistake,” Katrina said. “You underestimate me, again and again.”

Her sword was quick and accurate, slicing, hacking, drawing bits of blood from his flesh. Slowly and deliberately, Katrina slashed over and over. Lawrence backed up against her onslaught, but she continued to attack, untiring, her strength fueled by the hatred he saw on her face.

Her physical abilities shocked Lawrence; her slender arm wielded the sword expertly, never showing signs of weariness. He clumsily defended himself and true terror pricked his weary mind. His arm grew heavy but she continued to dominate; cutting him at every turn. Like a deadly snake, her blade struck, hissing as it incised the air. Sweat rolled into his eyes and his breathing grew ragged, lungs burning with each gasp. Death threatened, looming closer with each calculated blow.

“What’s the matter, Langsford?” taunted Katrina, her ever-present smile widening. “Getting tired?”

Her sword came down on his left arm, gouging deep to the bone, rendering it useless. Numb, Lawrence could only stare at her in disbelief.

“You are going to die, you bastard, inch by inch.” Promptly, she brought her blade around and scored his leg cruelly. “I gave my word to my dying father I would kill you … and tonight I will finally be free of that promise.”

Again, she drew blood, and Lawrence’s attempts to defend himself were futile. Katrina continued her deadly game and seeing the end near, she disarmed him. He slumped to his knees, covered in blood, the tip of her blade at his throat.

“Oh, God,” Lawrence blubbered. “Don’t kill me, Katrina — please, I beg you, I don’t want to die.”

Having finally freed themselves, Blake and David broke through the bolted door. Blake took in the scene, Langsford groveling at Katrina’s feet. He spoke to her, drawing her attention for a brief second. “Katrina, look at him. You’ve won — isn’t that enough?”

Katrina looked down at Langsford. He continued to cry and beg for mercy.

“Shut up,” she screamed, the sight of him sickened her. “Die like a man!”

David and Blake eased toward her. “Don’t kill him, Katrina,” Blake said. “Look at him — he’s not worth killing.”

Blake’s words had no effect on her, so David tried to get through. “We heard every word. He will hang for the murder of your parents. What more do you want?”

“No,” Katrina cried out. “I want to kill him myself.
That
is what I want.”

David inched nearer. “Let the law do it. There has been enough killing, Katrina.”

In a second, Blake stood next to her, his hand clamping onto hers. Their eyes met and Katrina whispered hoarsely. “No … please. He deserves to die.”

Blake forced the sword away from Lawrence’s neck, and he crumpled to the floor trembling, his sobs loud in the silent room. “He is pitiful, little one. Leave him be.”

Katrina turned and walked away, leaving Blake standing near Langsford. She was tired. For the first time, she realized a tremendous pain shot across her back and blood soaked her shirt from the newly opened wounds. Lawrence’s sniveling disgusted her and she glanced his way.

Terror struck her when Lawrence’s hand reached for the pistol he had discarded earlier, Blake’s unguarded back to him. Katrina reacted just as Lawrence brought the loaded pistol up.

“Blake,” she screamed, fear scorching her mind. She shoved Blake out of the way the same second the gun fired. The bullet ripped into her shoulder as she thrust her sword straight out with the last of her strength. The blade plunged deep, piercing Langsford’s heart. Katrina stood in front of him as he slithered lifeless to the floor.

No one moved. Katrina continued to gaze at the dead man; the other two men in shock at what they had just witnessed. Blake was the first to move, realizing with astounding clarity she had just saved his life. He touched her shoulder tenderly. “Katrina.”

She did not acknowledge his presence. “Katrina, it’s over. It’s all right now.”

Katrina continued to stare, her lips moving soundlessly; finally forming intelligible words. “He knows … see … he is smiling because he knows.”

Glancing down at her feet, a chill rushed over Blake, for indeed, Lawrence Langsford smiled, blood trickling from his gaping mouth. He looked back at Katrina, alarmed by the paleness of her face. Gently, he turned her to face him. “What does he know?”

Katrina swallowed and licked her lips, her mouth dry. “He knows he has killed me, too.”

Fear pricked Blake’s mind as he looked into empty blue eyes, and taking her by the shoulders to question her further, he stopped, horrified. Beneath his hand he felt the warm, dark blood, and glancing down, he saw the wound in her shoulder.

“He has killed me,” Katrina repeated before she collapsed into his arms.

Blake lifted her and cried, “No, Katrina. I won’t let you die.” Desperately he hugged her to him and kissed her softly. “I won’t let you die.”

K
ATRINA OPENED HER EYES
, unaware any time had passed, conscious only of the pain in her shoulder, shooting down her arm and across her chest. Blake removed her bloodied shirt with care, but a moan escaped her lips with the movement of her arm.

Confused, she looked about and focused on Meg’s worried face.

“’Tis all right, honey,” cooed Meg. “We will take good care of you, so don’t you be worryin’ ’bout anythin’.”

After Katrina passed out at the cabin, Blake bundled her up and rode like a demon out of hell to the village, rousing Meg and her family. When Katrina’s eyes moved back to Blake, she noticed the lines of worry etched on his pale, drawn face, his eyes bloodshot and tired. She continued to study him as he washed the blood from her and cleansed her wounded shoulder, his touch gentle on her tender skin.

“B-Blake,” Katrina’s voice cracked, her throat dry and parched. Her bloody finger reached out to touch his cheek.

Blake grasped her hand in his and whispered, “What is it, little one?”

“Why did …? Katrina stopped, pain shooting through her, scorching its way to her dulled mind. She bit her lip to keep from screaming. Catching her breath, she swallowed hard and tried again, aware of Blake’s intense golden gaze watching her. “Why … did you follow me?”

A fever had taken hold and perspiration covered Katrina’s face, its fire burning through her. Fear pried its way into Blake’s mind, past the agony of watching her suffer from intense pain, her face frail and tortured. Katrina had lost a tremendous amount of blood and grew weaker by the minute. He wiped her forehead and answered her question. “I have a lot of explaining to do, Katrina, but it will have to wait until you are better. David has gone to get a doctor and will be here soon. It’s best you sleep now.”

Katrina reached up and pulled Blake closer, her lips seeking his in a frail kiss and whispered softly, “I love you, Blake … even when I wanted to hate you, I loved you.”

Her strength gone, Katrina eyes fluttered shut, the darkness closing in on her, Blake’s words distant and vague. “Sleep, little one — sleep. I will be here when you wake up. I promise.”

“Where the hell have you been?” grumbled Blake when David walked into the room. He stopped halfway across the floor when he realized David came in alone.

“Is the doctor still outside?” he asked weakly.

David shook his head in despair and fell back when Blake lunged at him, grabbing him by the collar.

“Where is the doctor, David?” Panic seized Blake. He shook David and screamed, “Where?”

The fear in Blake’s eyes prompted David to explain. “He was gone, Blake. The doctor won’t be back for several days.”

Blake let go of David, his mind reeling uncontrollably.

“Oh, God,” he moaned, his heart constricting painfully. “She’s near dead from the loss of blood and the bullet is still in her shoulder.”

David walked over to where Katrina slept fitfully, fever raging inside of her. “We will have to remove the ball.”

Blake ran his hand over his face and through his hair, feeling helpless and frightened. “I know,” he answered, “I know.”

Standing next to David, Blake tried to wake her. “Katrina. Wake up, little one.”

Finally, she opened her eyes, their blue depths large, glazed from pain and fever.

“Listen to me, Katrina. The lead ball is still in your shoulder. You know it has to come out.”

She nodded and smiled weakly at him. Her lips moved, but nothing came out, so Blake leaned over to hear. “Do it,” she said.

The look of trust in her eyes caused Blake’s breath to catch and his heart to race wildly.

David handed Blake a flask of brandy. “Give her some of this.”

Blake lifted Katrina’s head and poured some brandy into her mouth, forcing her to swallow the fiery liquid. She coughed as it burned its way down, slipping in and out of reality. Sweet ebony engulfed her.

“I will cut the lead ball out, Blake, but you will have to hold her down.” David’s face was grim.

They prepared to do the surgery and each man took his place beside her. Meg held a lantern for David to see by, his knife glinting in the golden light it cast, his hand shaking slightly. He looked at Blake, insecurity reflected in his green eyes.

“Do it,” Blake repeated Katrina’s own brave words. “She is depending on us, David.”

David took a deep breath and dug into the bloody wound. Katrina immediately roused from her unconscious state but Blake held her still, all the while whispering comforting thoughts into her ear, though Katrina was beyond hearing them.

Pain wracked her and she moaned; her mind delirious. She blinked as she tried to focus on the faces before her. A tortured scream escaped when David cut deeper, finally touching the bullet embedded in her shoulder.

Blake ground his teeth in anguish but held her immobile while David worked on her. Blood gushed from the wound and he feared she would bleed to death before they could get the lead shot out. Finally, David pulled the small ball from her, giving a shaky sigh when he put the knife aside.

Katrina stilled, unconsciousness finally relieving her of the excruciating pain. Silent and quick, Meg and Blake applied bandages and pressure to stop the dangerous flow of blood. Long, arduous hours ticked by as Blake fought to save Katrina’s life, his determination unending. She stopped bleeding, but her fever remained high, sending her into another world filled with visions and nightmares. Blake sat by her side, bathing her continuously in cool water, lovingly stroking her fevered brow.