by the time she’d made it through their ranks. Wilson, Miss Garvey and Julian also caused havoc as they pushed their way through. Now that the eagles had close quarter assailants among their ranks, most of the imposing warriors drew long, silver swords.
“Stay away from the blades,” Florence warned as two aquilans circled to attack. She dodged left as a blade came swinging down, then plunged her claws into the bronze breastplate of the closest attacker. Yanking on the armor savagely, she almost dislodged it. With her free hand she swiped at the aquilan’s face and open two bloody gouges in the woman’s cheek. The aquilan sank to her knees, momentarily dazed, but before Florence could deliver a killing blow the second aquilan pressed close, swinging his sword wildly.
Florence jumped high over the low-swinging blade and grabbed hold of the warrior’s wrist. A simple nerve squeeze was enough to encourage the man to drop his sword. Florence followed with a kick to the ribs. Under normal circumstances a broze chestplate would easily counter a front kick, but this aquilan happened to be up against an enraged werewolf. The breastplate closed in over the man’s ribs and impeded his breathing. Florence turned to the first aquilan, who had now recovered herself and was preparing for another sword attack. Her vision was affected by the blood tricking over her eyebrow. Florence sought to press home this advantage, sidestepping the blade and clawing at the woman’s face a second time. Scarlet blood poured into both eyes and the woman took a step back in a panicked response. Bad move. Florence was already flanking the woman from behind and calmly tore her wings free with a grunt. As the aquilan slumped to the rock, Florence kicked her sword free, leaped over the body and circled the male enemy. He was protecting his ribs with one hand, meaning his defensive stance had been compromised. Florence ducked underneath his clumsy attack and ripped the breastplate free. Punching the warrior in the ribs repeatedly, Florence felt bone crack and knew her job was almost done.
The aquilan fell to the ground, his breathing ragged. Florence bent low and removed his wings with a flourish. She was about to turn and check on the female when she felt a sharp pain lance through her side. It was the female aquilan, clearly dying from her mortal wound but not quickly enough. The warrior had removed a silver dagger from a thigh scabbard and plunged it into Florence’s tawny fur.
In a starburst of panic Florence realized she was probably dead. She collapsed to the rock as if she’d been hit by a truck. She couldn’t control her limbs, such was the pain her mind was dealing with. She wondered if an internal organ had been lanced by the silver weapon. If that had occurred, she was done for. She’d never known why silver was kryptonite to a lycan, only that it was. The concept had always been an abstract classroom theory, well documented over the centuries but inadequately explained. Right then Florence was experiencing first hand how deadly silver could be to a lycan. All she could do was haul herself to the edge of the battle and wait for death to come.
Oddly, her senses remained as sharp as ever as she lay panting on the rock. She felt like she had left her body and enjoyed a commanding, almost peaceful view of the melee.
She noticed Julian grappling with a male warrior a few yards away. Her lover noticed that she was injured and seemingly found an extra reserve of strength. He wrested the sword from his opponent and cut savagely at the man’s leg. The aquilan toppled to the ground and Julian wasted no time in removing his wings.
Florence surveyed the wider battle. Wilson and Miss Garvey were locked in a desperate tussle, facing foes on all sides. More aquilan reinforcements dropped from the canopy and Florence wondered if there would be any spider forces to match them. Judging from the number of aquilans dropping to the bottom of the hollow,
“Stay away from the blades,” Florence warned as two aquilans circled to attack. She dodged left as a blade came swinging down, then plunged her claws into the bronze breastplate of the closest attacker. Yanking on the armor savagely, she almost dislodged it. With her free hand she swiped at the aquilan’s face and open two bloody gouges in the woman’s cheek. The aquilan sank to her knees, momentarily dazed, but before Florence could deliver a killing blow the second aquilan pressed close, swinging his sword wildly.
Florence jumped high over the low-swinging blade and grabbed hold of the warrior’s wrist. A simple nerve squeeze was enough to encourage the man to drop his sword. Florence followed with a kick to the ribs. Under normal circumstances a broze chestplate would easily counter a front kick, but this aquilan happened to be up against an enraged werewolf. The breastplate closed in over the man’s ribs and impeded his breathing. Florence turned to the first aquilan, who had now recovered herself and was preparing for another sword attack. Her vision was affected by the blood tricking over her eyebrow. Florence sought to press home this advantage, sidestepping the blade and clawing at the woman’s face a second time. Scarlet blood poured into both eyes and the woman took a step back in a panicked response. Bad move. Florence was already flanking the woman from behind and calmly tore her wings free with a grunt. As the aquilan slumped to the rock, Florence kicked her sword free, leaped over the body and circled the male enemy. He was protecting his ribs with one hand, meaning his defensive stance had been compromised. Florence ducked underneath his clumsy attack and ripped the breastplate free. Punching the warrior in the ribs repeatedly, Florence felt bone crack and knew her job was almost done.
The aquilan fell to the ground, his breathing ragged. Florence bent low and removed his wings with a flourish. She was about to turn and check on the female when she felt a sharp pain lance through her side. It was the female aquilan, clearly dying from her mortal wound but not quickly enough. The warrior had removed a silver dagger from a thigh scabbard and plunged it into Florence’s tawny fur.
In a starburst of panic Florence realized she was probably dead. She collapsed to the rock as if she’d been hit by a truck. She couldn’t control her limbs, such was the pain her mind was dealing with. She wondered if an internal organ had been lanced by the silver weapon. If that had occurred, she was done for. She’d never known why silver was kryptonite to a lycan, only that it was. The concept had always been an abstract classroom theory, well documented over the centuries but inadequately explained. Right then Florence was experiencing first hand how deadly silver could be to a lycan. All she could do was haul herself to the edge of the battle and wait for death to come.
Oddly, her senses remained as sharp as ever as she lay panting on the rock. She felt like she had left her body and enjoyed a commanding, almost peaceful view of the melee.
She noticed Julian grappling with a male warrior a few yards away. Her lover noticed that she was injured and seemingly found an extra reserve of strength. He wrested the sword from his opponent and cut savagely at the man’s leg. The aquilan toppled to the ground and Julian wasted no time in removing his wings.
Florence surveyed the wider battle. Wilson and Miss Garvey were locked in a desperate tussle, facing foes on all sides. More aquilan reinforcements dropped from the canopy and Florence wondered if there would be any spider forces to match them. Judging from the number of aquilans dropping to the bottom of the hollow,
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