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She looked around for a weapon, her gaze seizing upon a pair of long-handled blacksmith tongs that sat next to the hearth. They used them to modify blades and needles—and the tool had vicious iron jaws.
She would have preferred a hammer or an axe, but these could fracture a skull or crush a nose just as well.
Ailsa grabbed the tongs.
Meanwhile, Idra had finally driven her axe through the chest of the second warrior and was wrenching it free when the last remaining guard lunged from her blind side.
One of his fighting daggers flashed. Idra twisted at the last instant, but not quickly enough. The blade slashed across her upper arm, biting deep through leather.
She hissed and staggered a step. Blood welled immediately, running down her forearm to drip from her fingertips.
The warrior raised his sword for another strike.
However, Idra’s form had changed.
Although still tall, her heavy muscular frame had shrunk, revealing a much lither body. Instead of multiple braids, just one swung behind her as she fought. Her face grew longer and thinner, pale with sharp cheekbones and gray slitted eyes.
A few feet away, Kayla gasped an oath.
Meanwhile, Ailsa stared, her lips parting. Fern!
8: FANG AND FURY
FERN WAS A welcome sight right now, but Ailsa couldn’t focus on her.
Not when the warrior she’d been tattooing earlier now had Darach cornered and was slashing at him. Unarmed, Darach ducked and dodged, shoving the table between them to create some distance while he glanced around, looking for something to use as a weapon.
Nothing was within reach.
He had just moments before a slashing blade found his flesh.
Ailsa’s muscles turned fluid as she lunged.
The warrior had his back to her. He never saw her coming.
She swung the tongs and brought them down with a crack on the back of his skull.
The crunch that followed made her pulse jump.
He staggered. Ailsa dropped the tongs and leaped upon his back. Then, reaching forward, she tore her sharp nails down his face.
A scream swelled in the warrior’s throat, cut off as an axe clove into his gut.
He doubled over and collapsed.
Panting hard, all her adversaries now dead and bleeding out, or twitching on the stone floor, Fern’s gaze met Ailsa’s. Blood continued to flow down her arm from the gash she’d suffered earlier, dripping from her fingertips onto the wooden floorboards. Fern’s face had turned ashen, yet she didn’t so much as glance at the wound.
Meanwhile, Darach had shoved the table aside, his gaze sweeping over all the warriors they’d felled—including Gregor, who lay motionless on the floor.
Ailsa’s gaze flicked to the warrior she’d helped bring down. Dark, warm blood pooled beneath him, the coppery scent suddenly thick in the air.
Her mouth ached, and then her belly growled.
Before she realized what she was doing, she took a step toward the body, her pulse slowing as she did so. She could almost feel hot blood spilling over her tongue, rich and sweet, easing the relentless thirst that never truly left her.
Something made her hesitate then, and instead of kneeling next to the corpse, she merely stared down at it.
No … this isn’t right.
