Carissa positioned herself, so her body protected Elon’s. Judging from how he stiffened, he didn’t approve. No doubt he’d rather it be the other way around.
Zorelle set the blade of one Scythe on the ground and propped her arm against the top of its handle. “You think you’re quite clever, don’t you?”
Carissa glanced back the way Zorelle had come from—the dungeons. “You were following us?” And Elon hadn’t told her?
Zorelle flashed her a smile. “I just wanted to see what you’d do if I let you run loose. But now that we’ve had our fun, it’s time for each of you to return to your respective cages.” Zorelle cleared her throat. “Dirth, Itam, come down and join us, won’t you?”
Footsteps echoed against the stairs—coming from up the stairs—and two Reapers stood on the other end of the landing.
Carissa fisted the keys in her palm, so each key poked out between her fingers like a claw. She was tired of being a prisoner, and unless Elon said otherwise, she was going to fight them with everything she had.
Zorelle snorted. “You’re going to fight me with that?”
Carissa slid her foot back into a fighting stance. “I’ll do what I must.”
Zorelle picked up her Scythes and twirled them, flinging droplets of blood. “You might want to rethink this, Carissa. Your strong, dashing husband is crumpled on the floor, and you’re armed with a ring of keys. You can’t win this.”
Could she win this? Carissa glanced back at Elon, raised her eyebrows.
He nodded, though his mouth was pressed into a grim line. His eyes darted behind her, widening slightly.
Carissa turned just in time to block one of the Reaper’s Scythes. Zorelle and the second Reaper approached, closing in on her.
She’d been able to kill one Reaper, but could she kill three?