Read Online Spartan Frost by Jennifer Estep - Free Book Online Page A

took on an angry red tint, as though a bloody fog was sweeping through the auditorium. The rows of empty seats. The wooden stage under my feet. The sword in my hand. Even Gwen’s jeans, T-shirt, and hoodie turned that glorious shade.
    Her eyes stayed that same violet color, though—that soft, twilight shade that I hated more than anything else in the world.
    â€œLogan. Stop! It’s me! Your Gypsy girl!”
    Gwen repeated her pitiful words. Her weak pleas made my fingers slowly clench and unclench around the hilt of my sword. Anticipation surged through me, hotter and more powerful than even the rage, and my heart thrummed in a quick, familiar rhythm. Spartans weren’t known for being kind to their enemies, and I had no sympathy and no mercy right now—especially not for her .
    I let out a fierce yell and charged at her again, but once more, she managed to avoid my vicious, slashing blows, all of which were designed to kill her where she stood. Gwen ducked under my last slice and whirled around, raising her own sword up into a defensive position in one smooth move. I let myself admire her technique for a moment. She’d gotten so much better at fighting these last few months. But it wasn’t going to save her—nothing was.
    Not from me .
    â€œThat’s not Logan right now,” another voice advised, this one low and harsh and colored by an English accent. “And he won’t stop until one of you is dead. Do the Spartan a favor, Gwen. Put him out of his misery.”
    I recognized the voice as belonging to Vic, Gwen’s talking sword, the weapon she was wielding right now. I nodded my head in approval. Vic had the right idea. He always had the right idea, since the bloodthirsty sword wanted to kill Reapers more than anything else.
    And right now, I was the biggest, baddest Reaper of them all—Loki himself.
    Thinking about the Norse god made the thing inside me burrow a little deeper into my heart, and I felt more and more of myself falling away, as though I was being charred to ash from the inside out. Sweat streamed down my face and slicked down my neck, and I could hear the angry sizzle, spit, and hiss of the salty drops as they trickled onto the collar cinched around my neck. The gold circle was tight, but more than that, it was hot—so terribly hot, as if it might ignite and engulf me in flames at any second. Somehow, I knew there was only one thing that would stop the heat, the pain, the agony—killing Gwen.
    So I raised my sword and went on the attack again. And this time, I didn’t stop.
    I chased Gwen around and around the stage, swinging my sword at her over and over again.
    Clash-clash-clang!
    Clash-clash-clang!
    Clash-clash-clang!
    For a while, she parried my blows, and we moved back and forth, stomping over the stage, each footstep louder and harsher than the one before, until the wood threatened to splinter under our smashing feet. But while my blows grew quicker, harder, and more vicious, fueled by my rage and this unbearable burning inside me, hers grew slower, weaker, and softer, until she was barely managing to parry my attacks.
    She stared at me, her violet eyes wide. The sadness had vanished, replaced by shock, surprise, and, most important, fear . That’s what I loved—that look of utter desperation when my enemy finally realized there was no winning this fight—and no chance of stopping her own death.
    I slammed my sword into Gwen’s, knocking hers away. The blade went sliding across the stage, sending up a shower of purple sparks before it dropped off the edge and clattered to the auditorium floor. I could hear Vic screaming at her and me too, but I didn’t care. I quickly twirled my weapon in my hand, then brought it up, around, and down into her heart.
    For a moment, all I felt was . . . satisfaction . Cold, cruel, triumphant satisfaction that I’d finally killed my mortal enemy, the one who had stymied me time and time