wore. Weird what you think in the heat of trying to stay alive and figuring you aren’t going to.
He held the blades in what was clearly a martial position, one blade pointed forward at two o’clock, the other to his left side at his nine o’clock, making small circles, at an angle to the ground. His stance made the wolves his target, not me. I had help. The relief was so sudden that nausea rose up my throat, burning and acidic. Zorro , I thought, naming him. I wanted to laugh at the thought, but I didn’t have the breath.
“Roul, Roul, leader of the Lupus Clan,” he said. I heard him, even over my concussed ears. His voice was like ice cream, cool and rich, melting into a pool of hot caramel. I shivered at the tone, his words in an accent that would have been sexy had I not been bleeding, in pain, and thinking I might die shortly.
“This is not the way—to kill the messenger.” He made a little tsk-tsk sound. “You knew that Leo would not permit your wolves in his city without a fight. Do you desire to waste all your energies on this, the first round of the game? No, no, no. Think. You have made your point and bloodied your opponent.”
And that opponent would be me. I took the opportunity to stand, feeling pain in one knee and ankle. I had landed wrong when they pushed me down. I swallowed and the fang abrasion in my neck and throat pulled and stung. That was gonna hurt until I could change. Bad.
I adjusted my grip on the weapons, and pain zinged up my arm. My fingers were ripped; one, maybe more, wasn’t working at all. Someone turned on the lights in the pool area, the illumination like a camera flash, throwing the room into harsh relief.
I spotted the smallest wolf, the bitch, on the fringes of the fight, under the pool table she had been sitting on earlier. She was bleeding, weight on three legs. She was the one I’d ham-strung. I grinned at her, knowing my expression was vicious. I was hurt, but some of them were hurt a lot worse. Not that that would have kept me alive much longer. Sheer numbers would have won in the end.
“Withdraw for now,” sword-guy-Zorro said, “and wait. Leo must come to you eventually, one-on-one. That is a battle you may yet win.”
Roul threw back his head and howled, throat exposed, the sound not mournful at all, but filled with fury, like nothing nature had ever planned or created. Magic sizzled and hissed through the room. And they attacked.
Zorro stepped in front of me, blades flashing. I turned my back to his. Tried to place my feet for better balance, but the knee was weak. I dropped to my good knee, injured one up, foot on the floor. I cut upward. At the underbelly of a wolf. A second wolf came from my left. Fast. Faster than I could move. Fire Truck. The massive wolf bit down on my elbow. Bones crunched. Mine, unfortunately.
Pain shocked through me, up my arm, down to my fingers, paralyzing. With one arm, I fought off another wolf, but Fire Truck sensed my weakness. His jaws relaxed, left my wounded arm for an instant. Snapped back in, mouth open. Latched on again, just below the injured joint. Growling, he shook me, slinging my entire body left and right, across the blood-slick floor. I gagged with the pain. Stabbed at him. Caught him on the side.
From above, I saw a flash of silver. Fire Truck yelped. Dropped me. Zorro stepped across my form, booted feet to either side. I curled around myself, shivering with shock and pain. Found the H&K under my side, jabbing. One handed, I changed magazines, clumsy and slow.
Around me, the silvered swords sang, the man moving with grace and speed that a dancer would envy. Fast as lightning and nearly as bright. He was faster than anything I had ever seen. Faster than a vamp. Two more wolves went down, blood pooling, looking black on the navy floor. There were more than twenty of them. Seven were dead or too wounded to crawl away.
Roul’s wolf leaped from a table and landed on my protector’s back. Claws scoured along
He held the blades in what was clearly a martial position, one blade pointed forward at two o’clock, the other to his left side at his nine o’clock, making small circles, at an angle to the ground. His stance made the wolves his target, not me. I had help. The relief was so sudden that nausea rose up my throat, burning and acidic. Zorro , I thought, naming him. I wanted to laugh at the thought, but I didn’t have the breath.
“Roul, Roul, leader of the Lupus Clan,” he said. I heard him, even over my concussed ears. His voice was like ice cream, cool and rich, melting into a pool of hot caramel. I shivered at the tone, his words in an accent that would have been sexy had I not been bleeding, in pain, and thinking I might die shortly.
“This is not the way—to kill the messenger.” He made a little tsk-tsk sound. “You knew that Leo would not permit your wolves in his city without a fight. Do you desire to waste all your energies on this, the first round of the game? No, no, no. Think. You have made your point and bloodied your opponent.”
And that opponent would be me. I took the opportunity to stand, feeling pain in one knee and ankle. I had landed wrong when they pushed me down. I swallowed and the fang abrasion in my neck and throat pulled and stung. That was gonna hurt until I could change. Bad.
I adjusted my grip on the weapons, and pain zinged up my arm. My fingers were ripped; one, maybe more, wasn’t working at all. Someone turned on the lights in the pool area, the illumination like a camera flash, throwing the room into harsh relief.
I spotted the smallest wolf, the bitch, on the fringes of the fight, under the pool table she had been sitting on earlier. She was bleeding, weight on three legs. She was the one I’d ham-strung. I grinned at her, knowing my expression was vicious. I was hurt, but some of them were hurt a lot worse. Not that that would have kept me alive much longer. Sheer numbers would have won in the end.
“Withdraw for now,” sword-guy-Zorro said, “and wait. Leo must come to you eventually, one-on-one. That is a battle you may yet win.”
Roul threw back his head and howled, throat exposed, the sound not mournful at all, but filled with fury, like nothing nature had ever planned or created. Magic sizzled and hissed through the room. And they attacked.
Zorro stepped in front of me, blades flashing. I turned my back to his. Tried to place my feet for better balance, but the knee was weak. I dropped to my good knee, injured one up, foot on the floor. I cut upward. At the underbelly of a wolf. A second wolf came from my left. Fast. Faster than I could move. Fire Truck. The massive wolf bit down on my elbow. Bones crunched. Mine, unfortunately.
Pain shocked through me, up my arm, down to my fingers, paralyzing. With one arm, I fought off another wolf, but Fire Truck sensed my weakness. His jaws relaxed, left my wounded arm for an instant. Snapped back in, mouth open. Latched on again, just below the injured joint. Growling, he shook me, slinging my entire body left and right, across the blood-slick floor. I gagged with the pain. Stabbed at him. Caught him on the side.
From above, I saw a flash of silver. Fire Truck yelped. Dropped me. Zorro stepped across my form, booted feet to either side. I curled around myself, shivering with shock and pain. Found the H&K under my side, jabbing. One handed, I changed magazines, clumsy and slow.
Around me, the silvered swords sang, the man moving with grace and speed that a dancer would envy. Fast as lightning and nearly as bright. He was faster than anything I had ever seen. Faster than a vamp. Two more wolves went down, blood pooling, looking black on the navy floor. There were more than twenty of them. Seven were dead or too wounded to crawl away.
Roul’s wolf leaped from a table and landed on my protector’s back. Claws scoured along
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