Her Weakness

Chapter 25

He slides his sword from my stomach and I fall to my knees with a grunt.

"Lexa!" I know that voice anywhere. That is Clarke's concerned voice yelling to me. She must have watched me get stabbed.

He looks down at me and seems to enjoy that. The mighty Commander, down on her knees with her blood staining both his sword and face. He looks too damn smug so as I struggle to get up I make sure to spit directly into his eye.

He stumbles back and claps a hand-sadly not the one holding the sword- to his eye. He howls and gives me what I assume is supposed to be a death glare but he just looks like a kicked pup. I stand on wobbly feet and notice Clarke fighting her way through what must be thirty soldiers to get to me. I smile, noting that we have taken out so many without losing anyone.

He wipes my bloody spit from off his face with a disgusted expression. He must not be used to women fighting back. I know an abuser when I see one. I dropped one of my swords and do not want to go through the extra pain of picking it up. So I raise my sword and put my other hand to my wound, pressing to stop the blood flow.

He grins, amused as I get into a fighting stance. He will not find this funny for long. Our swords clash together, the echo ringing out in the clearing. It is the only sound left. We must have killed most if not all of the rest. The asshole seems to realize that too and does not look scared, but pissed. All of the stretching it is taking to defend myself as well as attack back is definitely not good for my wound. I notice that my sight is getting faintly blurry and know that is not a good sign. I need to wrap this up.

With the last of my adrenaline, I make my next few attacks rougher and stronger. I can feel the vibrations all through my body as our swords block and attack again and again. It is a familiar dance but I would like it to end. I would at least like to tell Clarke of my weakness for her before my soul goes and finds the next Commander.

The last attack is so strong, so desperate on my part that it knocks his sword from his hand. We are both panting and have hatred in our eyes. He does not move to pick up his weapon. He knows that even if he kills me he has lost. Octavia or Clarke will take him down. I decide that as much as I would like to give him a slow and painful death, I need medical attention. So I stab him through the heart. He slumps and I drop my sword, falling back along as his body goes the other way.

Clarke rushes over to me, ignoring the crunching of dead soldiers underneath her feet in her hurry to get to me. I see one flinch and smile grimly. Smart. Play dead in a pile of your comrades and wait for the enemy to leave.

"Lift up your armor," Clarke commands.

"If you wanted to see me naked you could have just asked." I give a small laugh to let her know I am kidding and flinch in pain. Damn that hurts. My sense of humor likes to pop up at the worst times.

A shadowy figure appears in the trees and I give Clarke eye signals to let her know that there is someone there. She turns and we both hold our breath.

"Lincoln?" Octavia practically squeals. I shake my head and try to get my ears to stop ringing. He is the only person she would ever go that high pitched for.

She practically tackles him and he seems just as happy to see her.

"And she complained about us." I try to lighten Clarke's mood. She is a little happier now that Octavia has him here, but is more focused on the blood streaming out of my side.

Each breath brings a fresh stab of pain to my side and I cannot help but to hope Clarke does not feel the same way. If or when I die from this it will hurt worse if she is as weak for me as I am for her.