But I was wrong.
When I turned to Maardok to command him to take the village stores and begin to raid the ore, the female took advantage of my distraction.
She swept that sword toward me and I—knowing my ax was secure with my shield—released the haft of my weapon to grab her wrist. One of the benefits of fighting with my left hand meant that I could meet my enemy’s blows more often than not, and now I caught myself smirking at her surprise.
Until she used the momentum of her attack and the convenience of our proximity to plunge the dagger in her off hand toward my heart.
Cursing my stupidity, I yanked herhardwhile jerking my shield—and the ax resting on it—up to protect my chest. It almost worked.
When her small blade sank into my right shoulder, I saw her eyes flash with victory. The pain was immediate, a burning which traveled the length of my arm, but I gave no indication. Instead, I yanked hercloser, squeezing her wrist until her sword fell from nerveless fingers.
I saw the moment that victory turned to fear and I growled in her face.
“Foolish move, little one.”
Mayhap ‘twas myKteer’surging, mayhap something even more primitive. I’d battled her, I’d inhaled her scent, and now she stood, wide-eyed with fear in my hold.
My lips crashed down atop hers.
She made a noise like a whimper. Beneath my fingers, her pulse sped, and I couldtaste her fear.
This is nae weak maiden, ye dobber. She’ll take yer tongue off with her teeth!
Aye, she had claws.
Just as the wee warrior began to struggle, I came to my senses and jerked my mouth from hers. Not a moment too soon, judging from the way the female began to resist.
“Vrogul!” Maardok’s hand clamped around my uninjured shoulder. “Let me?—”
I don’t know what he would have said, because with one movement, I thrust the female away from me.
“Go,” I growled, and I saw the uncertainty on her face, the way her gaze darted to the blade still in my shoulder then to the sword on the ground. Surely she wasn’t considering another attack? I poured my exasperation into my bellow.
“Go!”
She went.
Maardok and I watched her stumble across the sands, her wide-eyed gaze darting over her shoulder a few times as if she didn’t trust us not to follow.
Och, we’ll be following, little warrior.
I rolled my neck and the movement caused the blade to slide from my flesh and hit the sand.
Shite.
My men had won this battle easily. And I had a godsdamn hole in my arm for it.
“What was that I said about no’ dying?” Maardok rumbled.
“Fook ye,” I hissed, reaching across my body to staunch the flow of blood. “I’m no’ dying.”
He shifted position so he could press my cloak against the fleshy part of my arm.
“Nay, this wee scratch willnae kill ye. But that wildcat might if ye give her the chance.”
Wildcat. Aye, that description fit my little warrior well, did it not? Spitting defiance and anger, with the claws to back it up.
My gaze went to the village, where some of my warriors were herding the humans into the square while others hefted barrels and bins over their shoulders to return to the ship. The ore from the smelting house was our target, but we couldn’t pass up an opportunity for mead or Issa’s favorite cheese.
