Scarred — Vladimir Duran

Some scars you can't see. Some you wish you hadn't. In an all-out battle to the death Wraith comes face to face with the commander of the Knight Hunters. The woman leading the genocide of his people. Its hate at first sight. There will be no mercy when she decides to show him the damage the Knights have done. The horrors they've left behind. In a forest of trees frozen in stone she'll show him her scars.



Excerpt:



That moment's hesitation was all the commander needed. The whip he'd seen but dismissed uncoiled in mid-air, its tip whistling towards his head.



Wraith tried to bat it aside impudently with a gust of air. The metallic silver length wasn't even slowed. Saffron cords creating the gust were sucked into an orbit around the flying length of braided metal.



Lightning reflexes and what Samara lacked saved his life. At the last instant Wraith leaned away from the whip's barbed tip. The thing still caught him, but instead of exploding his head like a rip melon it just broke his left cheek bone. Then a wall of air was hurling him backward.



Wraith allowed the blow to carry him onto his back and rolled with it until he was back on his feet. He didn't stop moving. The next blow was coming, he could feel it. Stone chips flew away from the tile he'd been standing on. He beat the whip by a split second.



Cover, he needed cover. The stone trees were purely decorative, not intended to fore defense. They would do to take him out of Samara's line of sight. The commander wasn't slacking her attack, every step Wraith took was one step ahead of getting his head crushed. That thing didn't move like a whip, it moved through the air like an eel through water. When Samara swung her arm the force translated down the line and added striking speed to the attack. Like a snake suddenly snapping out to catch a rat. Except he was the rat.