Blade Dance (A Cold Iron Novel Book 4) by D.L. McDermott

allowed Iobáth through the door first. He didn’t entirely like it, but Iobáth had the best sword arm, and Garrett would otherwise be all the more vulnerable if the Druid was present and he needed to cast a silence. Finn himself followed closely.
    There was no Druid in the warehouse, thank Dana, only Patrick and Nancy watching Sean Silver Blade, who was standing over Ann. Ann was crouched on the ground, her red hair a tangled veil covering her face.
    “Get away from the girl,” snarled Finn. He had planned a more diplomatic salvo but could not keep the concern, the anger, pent any longer.
    Sean didn’t bother to turn. He just shook his head and swung.
    His fist connected with Ann’s jaw, knocking the young teacher to her knees.
    Finn darted forward and seized Sean’s curled fist before he could strike another blow. “The girl is mine,” he said.
    “This bitch stole my son ,” Sean screamed. He rammed an elbow into Finn’s stomach and broke free, raising his fist to hit Ann again.
    And lovely, brave fool that she was, Ann was already back on her feet. She pushed the hair out of her face. When Finn saw her eyes, he froze. They were glowing red.
    Finn stepped back. She had never looked more beautiful. It took his breath away. And cast him back two thousand years. He had not seen her kind since . . . before the fall.
    He knew, then, that she didn’t need him to defend her now.
    Sean didn’t see it yet. He was looking straight at her, but he didn’t see her eyes. Or maybe he saw, but it had been so long since any Fae had encountered one of her kind that he didn’t truly understand.
    Finn both saw and understood. He removed his hand from Sean’s shoulder and took another step back.
    Ann Phillips—or the power inside her, ancient and magical—gave a tinkling, silvery laugh and sprang.
    She knocked Sean clear off his feet and smashed the flat of her small hand into his face. She took hold of his right arm and wrenched it up and to the side with a pop and a crunch that announced that Garrett’s services would be required tonight after all. Not for a charm of silence but because soon joints would need to be returned to sockets and broken bones would need to be mended.
    Ann tilted her head slightly, surveying the room like a dancer searching for a new partner. Her eyes, glowing red like coals, lighted for an instant on Patrick. She only sneered and continued scanning the room for prey. Her gaze fell on Iobáth and lingered. A worthy adversary, but the Penitent was not the Fae for her.
    Finn MacUmhaill was.
    He stepped into her line of vision.
    She blinked at him, doe-eyed, cocked her head, and circled him, licking her lips.
    “What the hell is going on?” asked Nancy McTeer, as Finn fell into step with Ann, partners in a dance.
    “Get out,” Finn said to his friends and followers. Ann was his now, and his alone.
    Patrick took hold of Sean and started dragging him away. Smart man.
    “Are you sure?” Iobáth asked. “She has the blood, Finn. I can see it in her eyes. A match for many of us Fae, if she’s been trained.”
    “I know,” said Finn. “But I don’t think they train berserkers in the elementary schools.” At least he sincerely hoped not. He didn’t fancy a broken nose and dislocated shoulder, but they were risks he was willing to take to dance with a berserker. She was beautiful, splendid, with the power coursing through her. He’d wanted her when he’d thought she was just a human woman with a temper.
    He burned for her now that he knew what she really was.
    “I want my son,” slurred Sean, through what was more than likely a broken jaw.
    “She doesn’t have your son,” said Finn. They were going to have to find the boy, as soon as Ann’s eyes returned to their normal color and they didn’t have the first berserker in two thousand years—angry and spoiling for a fight—on their hands.
    “ Pretty man ,” rasped the creature Ann became when anger ruled her. She rolled the