It will only take another step to make my presence known.
My right hand sweeps across one of the human axes, quietly pulling it free, while my left hand clenches around my medallion.
The third woman—the one who objected before—starts to speak. “Even so, we should wait for the Commander?—”
“It’s nothing more than a beast!” the first woman snaps. “Enough talk. I’m killing it!”
Her shadow looms closer to the Vandawolf, the outline of a blade visible above his neck.
I slip through the opening with a snarl on my lips. “He may be a beast. But he’smybeast.”
I raise my left hand, palm out, my fingers curling like claws. “If you want to kill him, you’ll have to kill me first.”
Chapter8
The three women all react at once.
The woman holding the dagger jumps to her feet with a cry of alarm. She’s slightly shorter than I am with a petite frame, golden hair, pale skin, and brown eyes.
The woman to her left also jumps to her feet, revealing a taller frame, but her features are startling to me. Her skin is also fair, but her hair is pale pink and her eyes are a soft, peach color.
The third woman is the only one who backs away, both of her hands raised. Her hair appears to be the darkest black, but as she moves, the strange amber hue in the darkness around us catches the strands, revealing dark-purple highlights. Her eyes are a surprising violet.
She is visibly the youngest of the three, possibly no older than sixteen. No older than me when I protected my siblings and offered my life to the Vandawolf.
All of the women are wearing raven-black armor that covers their bodies from their necks to their feet. Their armor seems to blend into the dim light so that, despite casting clear silhouettes against the wall, their bodies are harder to see in the shadows. Especially as the bright moonlight gleaming at the far opening of the cave doesn’t come close to reaching this location.
Their armor is so seamless that, if their boots are separate from their armor, I can’t see where the tops of them lie. Each of the women wears their hair in a single, tight braid that falls over their shoulders.
As the other two brace, the woman with the violet eyes continues to back away, crying out, “Dusana! Bethoc! Step away!”
I recognize her voice; she’s the one who objected to killing the Vandawolf on the spot. I follow her focus as it flies from the golden-haired woman—presumably named Dusana—to the pink-haired one—apparently called ‘Bethoc.’
“Get away from the Blacksmith,” the violet-haired woman continues to shout.
My eyes narrow. She knows I’m a Blacksmith.But how?
“What do you know of me?” I demand of her, my focus momentarily on her.
Dusana and Bethoc don’t miss their chance while I’m distracted.
Bethoc sweeps her right hand across her left shoulder.
To my shock, a blade appears, seeming to peel off the surface of her armor where it must have been conforming with the shape of the material. For mere seconds, it looks like it’s made of liquid, completely malleable and flexible, but then the handle and blade solidify in her hand.
She’s now holding a sword with a wickedly gleaming blade.
With a scream, she leaps over the Vandawolf, her sword cutting the air toward my throat, her pink braid flying off her shoulder with the force of her jump.
If I weren’t her target, I’d be impressed with her strength, speed, and agility. What’s more, my position is not great. The space between us is small. I’m blocked in by the narrow pass at my back and the Vandawolf’s stretcher lying so close to my feet.
But I’m not helpless.
Of all the monsters I’ve ever fought, this pink-haired woman is certainly the smallest.
My muscles are already reacting, my reflexes instant.
I don’t make a sound as I leap sideways, aiming for the space between her flying body and the far side of the stretcher. At the same time, I twist, my left hand flying outward, my trajectory perfect.
