LOVE AT FIRST KNIGHT BY MEGAN CLAWSON – eBook Details Online
- Status: Available for Free Download
- Authors: Megan Clawson
- Language: English
- Genre: Contemporary romance
- Format: PDF / EPUB
- Size: 2 MB
- Price: Free
‘Lady Alenthaea, finish him!’ Mum’s voice bellows across the battlefield.
The tip of my sword brushes the exposed throat of my twin. Heaving with
every panting breath, the breastplate of his armour is dappled with the same
blood that now dries in a crust around his nostril. Weaponless fingers claw
at the mashed earth at my feet. Eyes identical to my own search my face for
any weakness, any hint of mercy. He won’t find any. He will pay for what
he’s done.
‘E-end it!’ Dad joins the battle cries. There’s a tremolo in his words.
They’re weak in his foolish emotion. Removing my gaze from my wounded
prey, I take just a second to look back at my father as he clutches the collar
of his tunic, his tall shoulders rounded and hunched.
‘Oh, for Odin’s sake, Simon.’ Mum reminds him where he is by leaving
an imprint of her crooked staff in his stomach, straightening him back up to
his giant height. He sips his mug of tea nervously, his eyes flickering back
and forth – evidently torn between supporting his kids in their fight, or
retreating back into the Village Hall, unable to watch on any longer.
Sam takes his moment to strike from under me. Slamming his heavy
gauntlet against my own, Sam knocks my sword from my grip and in a
single swipe, relieves my legs of the weight of my body and lets gravity do
the rest of the work in ploughing me into the loam.
Unable to fight against the weight of my armour, I am bound to the earth,
just waiting for his return attack. I don’t wait long. He looms over me like
the Grim Reaper, not bothering to pin me down. I feel like I am sinking into
the ground, retreating into my grave as his dirty face shifts further and
further away. He is the God of Death, descended from the clouds to hand
me my fate. I can’t see him tearing off his armour but it clatters in a heap
behind my head and he returns, his boots knocking my shoulders as he
brings his sword back into play.
‘You fought hard, sweet sister, but hesitation was always your folly.’
Lifting the hilt above his head, unrestrained by his steel, he brings the blade
down to my trachea. ‘Goodnight.’
Scattered applause echoes under the porch of the Village Hall and snaps me
out of my strangled coughing and spluttering.
‘That was bloody brilliant, Daisy.’ Sam stands over me again, offering
me a hand up. With a groan I am finally back on my feet, looking down at
the Daisy-shaped dent in the grass. One of my elf ears has been left behind
and sticks up like a latex headstone.
‘Samwise. Language.’ Mum, too staff-happy, gives him a soft clobber
over the head with the gnarled stick as she reaches us. ‘But you are correct
in your statement. Good work, kids.’ She kisses the both of us on our dirty
foreheads, or rather attempts to; it is her false fangs that leave a damp patch.
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