Lethal Blow: (Succubus Hitwoman Book 2) by Eliza Hendrix (best motivational books to read TXT) 📗

bent and wings expanded far on either side of me, I suck in a deep breath, preparing myself mentally. I’ve got one shot at this, so I can’t fuck it—

Another fiery blast explodes beside me.

I’m out of time.

With my sword pointed straight ahead, I let out a hoarse cry and launch myself straight toward the dragon’s face. I’m about to slice the blade through its neck when it opens its mouth as wide as possible, like a dog catching a treat midair.

It happens so fast I don’t have the time to change my direction.

Fucking motherfucking shit.

It’s too late. I’m going in.

Wincing, I crash headfirst against the dragon’s tongue and tumble less than gracefully toward its throat. The impact is so forceful that my sword goes flying out of my hand and lands behind one of its massive plaque-encrusted molars.

“No, no, no,” I shout in a panic.

I need that thing.

But suddenly, every muscle inside the dragon’s mouth and throat contracts, sucking me toward the darkness at the back of its throat.

I’ll be damned if I let this son of a bitch swallow me into its stomach acids.

In a panic, I extract my claws and stab them into the dragon’s tongue. Speckles of blood splash onto my face as I puncture the muscle, but I’m not strong enough, and its tongue is too slimy. The dragon swallows again and I’m pulled back another several feet, my claws leaving scratch marks against the pink bubbly surface.

Then, something takes me by surprise… a deep rumble that feels a bit like an earthquake. Given the fact that I’m inside a dragon’s mouth, I know it’s anything but.

The air becomes hot—so hot that I can’t catch my breath. Within a split second, a blinding light flashes all around me and searing hot flames explode out of the back of its throat. I’ve slipped far enough down its throat to avoid being touched, but I’m so close to the flames I’m afraid my face might melt off.

Wincing, I turn my face away and dig it into the slime of its tongue. My stomach contracts and I gag with my mouth closed and my cheeks ballooned.

When the fire blast stops at long last, I glance up and spot two holes at the back of the dragon’s throat.

And here I thought dragons produced fire in their stomachs.

Thank the goddesses I ended up slipping down this far. Scorched Alexis wouldn’t make a seductive succubus.

In a last desperate attempt, I extend my arm out toward the sword as if I’m going to miraculously obtain telekinesis abilities. To my dismay, the sword doesn’t budge, and the next thing I know, I’m sliding down the beast’s dark throat, my entire body drenched in hot slime.

Chapter 22

──────────

If I can throw a drunken tantrum in my apartment and destroy my walls, my floors, and my furniture, I can sure as hell make this dragon regret swallowing me.

The initial plan was to bring my sword down with me, but clearly, that didn’t happen.

You see it all the time in movies; the hero gets swallowed by some giant monster, everyone thinks they’re dead, and then bam! A sword bursts out of the dragon’s chest or neck and the hero comes out unharmed.

How cool would that have been? I bet it would have impressed Ace.

I feel idiotic for even thinking about impressing that guy.

Alexis should never have to impress anyone.

The last time I felt this way was when I was a child and young Constantine—the most attractive lad in the village—reached for my hand.

But those days are nothing more than a distant memory. I’m a highly independent woman. Not once in my entire adult life have I ever felt the need to impress anyone, especially a man—well, anyone but Veerka. But with Veerka, everything feels different. I have this instinctive need to protect her. Ace doesn’t need my protection, and if anything, he’s throwing me off my game.

I’m aware it’s related to him being an incubus, but the feeling still bothers me.

As I descend into the dragon’s esophagus, I prepare my wrist blades, my teeth, and my six-inch wing claws. Then, as if possessed by a tornado, I spin myself in every direction imaginable, scratching, clawing, biting, stabbing, and tearing through any flesh I can reach.

The creature roars, the vibrations of its vocal cords reaching me as I fall. Hot blood spews onto my face, so I squint as I lash out, but I don’t stop. No way am I reaching this thing’s stomach acid. Who knows what’s rotting in there? Bones and melted flesh?

I lose my momentum when the dragon jerks hard, no doubt panicking because its insides are being shred to pieces.

Good.

That’s what it gets for fucking eating me.

With all my strength, I tear through its esophagus, hot slabs of fleshy skin drenching me in slime as I force my way out of the organ. Although difficult to slip out of the hole, I do so by grasping what seems to be a thick piece of muscle inside the dragon’s throat.

With my wrist blades aimed up over my head, I dive headfirst through its neck as bits of muscles, tendons, and veins snap all around me. As I come blasting out into the sky, I grimace.

But it isn’t the brightness of the sun that bothers me—it’s the thick layer of bodily fluids dripping from my body. It’s so thick that it weighs my wings down, making it difficult for me to flap. Every time I try, I lose control, along with several feet of altitude.

No matter how hard I try to shake off the dragon’s blood and goo, it doesn’t work. With a knot in my stomach, I spiral down at full speed toward the parking lot, my wings utterly useless.

I blink hard as