Wake of the Dead | Three

Chapter Eight | Killian

Killian's heart was racing, his eyes wide. There was barely any thought to be had as his mind screamed. Run. Get away. You can't win this, you'll be killed, then she will too. He dug his nails into his palms, clenching his jaw. Could Stephan see him shaking? In most situations, Killian wouldn't back away from a good fight. He hadn't even been afraid of Jasper—not too much, at least. But Stephan wasn't Jasper. Not only was he cruel, he was massive, no doubt twice Killian's weight—several inches taller than Jasper—and Jasper was one of the tallest people he'd ever met. There was no way in hell he would win that.

But looking from the helpless woman to Stephan, Killian's heart ached. He forced himself to take a step forward, all eyes were on him and Stephan now. The hairs on his arms and the back of his neck stood straight up, a shudder lingering on his spine. Then he took another step. He'd caused this fight, he'd put this woman in danger. He couldn't back down now, or else he'd lose any sort of self respect he'd somehow built up over the past year.

"Okay," Killian said as he stepped in front of the woman, taking a protective stance between her and Stephan. "I will."

Stephan's eyes lit up with an emotion Killian could easily decipher, sadistic amusement. Clenching his fists, Killian summoned whatever anger he had left in his tired body, ready for a fight. Knowing Stephan, there wouldn't be any sort of mercy involved. He'd be lucky if he wasn't beaten to death. A mixture of relief and shock overwhelmed him as Stephan shook his head, a chuckle rolling through his deep chest. "You're brave," He commended, "Perhaps idiotically so. You need to be taught a lesson, my dear Rabbit."

I'm not your goddamn dear-anything. Killian thought to himself, but didn't dare say it out loud. Expressing his true feelings was a good way to get himself slaughtered. You got to be smart about this. Is he gonna fight me? There's no way I could win. "But I don't want to be the one to bruise such a pretty face." With only a few strides, Stephan was standing in front of Killian, caressing a single finger along his cheek bone. Don't touch me. His stomach churned. D-don't touch me. "So I'll let one of my men do it for me."

Killian's heart skipped a beat, a cold sweat beading on his forehead, his skin paling. "What?" He said quietly. So he wouldn't be fighting Stephan then? He didn't know whether to be terrified or eased.

Stephan didn't answer Killian. Instead, he turned to a small gathering of Reaper's, mostly men, who were musing over the events taking place. Killian recognized one of them, the one named Gerald. But Stephan wasn't looking at Gerald, it was a man he'd often seen around camp, "Corbin," Stephan said, "Make an example for the apprentices."

Killian swallowed hard, he was shaking now. Even though he was smaller than Stephan, Corbin was still heavier than Killian, but not much taller. What exactly did Stephan mean by 'make an example for the apprentices?' Just how badly was he going to be beaten up? Killian had seen the apprentices training before, they'd been more vicious than even the gang members he'd spent time with. So what the hell were they preparing for him? Corbin didn't hesitate for a moment as Stephan backed away a few paces, crossing his arms and watching. Killian followed along as Corbin began to circle him, like a shark. So, he'd circle too. He wasn't exactly sure why, but he knew it wouldn't be a good idea to turn his back. "Aw, poor rabbit," A mocking pout curved down at Corbin's lips, "You're all shaky and scared."

While Corbin was busy taunting Killian, the younger man had spotted a knife on the Reaper's belt. As fast as he could, he lunged forward and shoved his shoulder into Corbin's chest as hard as he could. Taken by surprise, Corbin fell onto his back, leaving his stomach exposed. As Killian pinned Corbin's neck down and straddled him, he desperately fumbled for the knife at the Reaper's belt. In his peripheral, Killian could see Stephan--who'd uncrossed his arms, a new sort of intrigue in his dark eyes. As soon as he'd retrieved the knife, Corbin managed to twist his body to shove Killian off of him. Both men stumbled to their feet, facing the other with raised hackles. The handle of the blade was rough in Killian's palm, worn away by constant use. He could have sworn there were blood stains on the metal. How many people had been killed by it? He couldn't let his mind wander.