Guardian (Sequel to Fearless)

Chapter Eighty Eight

A/N -- Enjoy! The song is pretty cool! :P

Iris drew her daggers faster than she ever had from beneath her skirts. For herself, there was no fight left. For her sister? Every fiber of muscle, every drop of blood, every breath of air, every movement, and every heartbeat was left for fighting. Every piece of Iris would stand between her bound sister and the Ghost. This time would be different. She wouldn't fight for glory. She wouldn't fight for herself. There was hardly any of Iris left. There would be no jubilance in her fight. This fight, it was only skill. Iris would only be a weapon. This was the one battle she couldn't afford to lose.

Ghost took a step back. "Very well," he said to the baron. He looked to Iris and mused. "I won't do this easily, will I?"

"You won't touch her," Iris hissed. "You won't do it at all."

Hench's eyes were uncovered to see her sister prepared to face off the assassin. The Ghost grinned and said. "There's a lot of names for you out there, Iris Gwenneth. Do you know that? Of course, there's First Heroine... there's Rogue Captain. Everyone knows those. But there's more," he said. "Your enemies call you the Reaper... They call you the Cloak. Your Legion of Rogues called you the Shroud. I imagine these lovely girls might now call you the Widow... the Spider." Ghost raised a brow. "The men that matter call you the Shadow. There, watching, but not quite there." The assassin pulled two daggers of his own. "The same men call me Ghost. And together, we sound larger than life, do we not?"

Iris shut out any thought that wasn't relevant. Fear. Sadness. They were gone for this moment.

"So what happens when a ghost fights a shadow?" he whispered. "It will be interesting to know." He twisted his knives in his hands.

Iris said nothing; she only stepped in front of Rhalla's chair. Ghost's cloak dropped to the floor, revealing armor of black tendrils. They wrapped around him like tight, slick fingers, and formed around a screaming obsidian skull on the left side of his chest. His white hair whipped around his torso, and he was every bit a wraith.

He approached Rhalla's seat quickly, on the most graceful feet Iris had seen yet. He wasted no absolutely no time. But she was standing in the way. With a deft hand, Ghost lunged right for Iris, blade aimed straight for her neck. Her hips pivoted, putting a booted leg between their chests, and one of her blades clanged against his, stopping its assault.

His eyes belied his next move. His next arm whipped in under, faster than anyone's ever had. He was quick. She figured that out fast. Iris threw a leg back in reflex, twisting her body to block the blow with her other hand. With all her momentum, she threw only one of his blades out. The other still lingered against hers. She had to grapple with her balance for a second, not expecting such speed from her opponent.

Together, they whirled about, blades clanging together in relentless pursuit. There was a strength behind the assassin's swings that was hardly expected at first glance. Ghost threw her arms further to the side than she would have liked. Immediately, she had to account for it and react accordingly. Anything else, and she would lose.

His eyes were deceitful, and it was immediately apparent that Ghost was ambidextrous. He had no off-hand or weak-hand. They brought forth the same relentless fury. This battle hinged on reflex. They fought like that for minutes on end.

Iris was cold. Calculating. Ghost threw himself backwards as she snapped forward. Her blade hit air, and suddenly, a flat boot was against her sternum. Ghost pushed off her skin backwards, somersaulting with brilliant ease. Meanwhile, she was thrown against her sister at the force of his flip. She sat facing forward in Rhalla's lap.