excitement and even fear tainted every breath she took. How many did they have? Faust joined her, one step ahead and body blocking her from the immediate threat. He couldn’t protect her from all sides.
“Stay at my back.” He kept his voice low, almost silent, not that it mattered. Their welcoming committee didn’t seem interested in what they had to say.
“Of course.” Fucking animals. What the hell did they hope to prove with their overwhelming show of force? No one stepped forward to speak for the group. In fact, they seemed torn between their aggression and their fear. Heart slamming against her ribs, she studied the group ranging around them. The circle had almost closed.
“Ah, luv, I think my diet of not killing assholes is about to end.” The calmness of Faust’s voice seemed utterly at odds with their situation. A faint click echoed loud against her ears—he’d thumbed off the safety on the gun.
“Worse case scenario? Let’s try to keep one alive.” She raised her voice. “I need to know who is behind the little party, so I know who to thank.”
“Aren’t we the blood thirsty wench?” Faust’s comment faded beneath a roar as three wolves strode from the surging crowd. Shirtless, they strutted forward in all their tatted and pierced glory. Not one of those facing them was the Alpha.
“You’re trespassing on Sutter Butte territory, bitch.” The first one dropped his verbal gauntlet. Under the faint moonlight, his dark skin gleamed with sweat running in rivulets along his arms. “Delta Crescent has no place here.”
“We’re going to tear you apart.” The second added.
Then the third slammed one meaty fist into the open palm of his other hand. “We’ll send the pieces home to remind all of you, no one invades Sutter Butte. We don’t want your kind here.”
“ Tuat t'en grosse bueche. ” She didn’t spit, despite the desire. The pompous threats, the posturing? Were they peacocks showing off for her or an actual threat?
“What the hell does that mean?” The first one demanded, and Faust chuckled. The soft thread of his humor punctured their riot. An uneasy silence spread across the crowd.
“She said you have a big mouth.” Faust grinned. “I agree. May the lamb of God stir his hoof through the roof of heaven and kick you in the arse down to hell.”
The wolf nearest her side lunged forward, his a knife flashing in his clenched fist. Sovvan reacted, blocking with her right arm and stepping inside his reach. Years of training with the Hounds assigned to her paid off as she wrapped her body around body the assailant and rolled him, then slammed his head into the pavement. Blood scented the air, like chum in the waters, but she was already on her feet and the assailant—and his knife—were down.
“Not bad,” Faust complimented her. “Next time, break his damn neck.” He never glanced at the downed wolf, his attention fastened on the so-called leaders. A ripple of noise shivered through the crowd. “What? You thought she’d roll over and let you attack? Poor bastards, sorry to disappoint.”
The sentence seemed to pull the last trigger on their patience. The wolves rushed them—howling, screaming and furious. The world narrowed to the wolves racing toward her. Reflecting the rage-drunk of Faust’s temper, she slammed the flat of her palm upward and shattered the nose of one attacker. Another slammed into her midsection, taking her down. Gripping the wolf, she searched him and found his flaw—indecision and a lack of confidence. Flinging it into his face, she winced as his yell turned into a whimper. Wrenching away from him, she blocked another blow and then took out the legs of her attacker. Every time one grabbed her, she locked her body around them, throwing off their balance or she struck a joint. Bones crunched, blood spilled and the side of her face throbbed.
Her training never prepared her for waves of attackers. So far, she’d managed to avoid the worst of
“Stay at my back.” He kept his voice low, almost silent, not that it mattered. Their welcoming committee didn’t seem interested in what they had to say.
“Of course.” Fucking animals. What the hell did they hope to prove with their overwhelming show of force? No one stepped forward to speak for the group. In fact, they seemed torn between their aggression and their fear. Heart slamming against her ribs, she studied the group ranging around them. The circle had almost closed.
“Ah, luv, I think my diet of not killing assholes is about to end.” The calmness of Faust’s voice seemed utterly at odds with their situation. A faint click echoed loud against her ears—he’d thumbed off the safety on the gun.
“Worse case scenario? Let’s try to keep one alive.” She raised her voice. “I need to know who is behind the little party, so I know who to thank.”
“Aren’t we the blood thirsty wench?” Faust’s comment faded beneath a roar as three wolves strode from the surging crowd. Shirtless, they strutted forward in all their tatted and pierced glory. Not one of those facing them was the Alpha.
“You’re trespassing on Sutter Butte territory, bitch.” The first one dropped his verbal gauntlet. Under the faint moonlight, his dark skin gleamed with sweat running in rivulets along his arms. “Delta Crescent has no place here.”
“We’re going to tear you apart.” The second added.
Then the third slammed one meaty fist into the open palm of his other hand. “We’ll send the pieces home to remind all of you, no one invades Sutter Butte. We don’t want your kind here.”
“ Tuat t'en grosse bueche. ” She didn’t spit, despite the desire. The pompous threats, the posturing? Were they peacocks showing off for her or an actual threat?
“What the hell does that mean?” The first one demanded, and Faust chuckled. The soft thread of his humor punctured their riot. An uneasy silence spread across the crowd.
“She said you have a big mouth.” Faust grinned. “I agree. May the lamb of God stir his hoof through the roof of heaven and kick you in the arse down to hell.”
The wolf nearest her side lunged forward, his a knife flashing in his clenched fist. Sovvan reacted, blocking with her right arm and stepping inside his reach. Years of training with the Hounds assigned to her paid off as she wrapped her body around body the assailant and rolled him, then slammed his head into the pavement. Blood scented the air, like chum in the waters, but she was already on her feet and the assailant—and his knife—were down.
“Not bad,” Faust complimented her. “Next time, break his damn neck.” He never glanced at the downed wolf, his attention fastened on the so-called leaders. A ripple of noise shivered through the crowd. “What? You thought she’d roll over and let you attack? Poor bastards, sorry to disappoint.”
The sentence seemed to pull the last trigger on their patience. The wolves rushed them—howling, screaming and furious. The world narrowed to the wolves racing toward her. Reflecting the rage-drunk of Faust’s temper, she slammed the flat of her palm upward and shattered the nose of one attacker. Another slammed into her midsection, taking her down. Gripping the wolf, she searched him and found his flaw—indecision and a lack of confidence. Flinging it into his face, she winced as his yell turned into a whimper. Wrenching away from him, she blocked another blow and then took out the legs of her attacker. Every time one grabbed her, she locked her body around them, throwing off their balance or she struck a joint. Bones crunched, blood spilled and the side of her face throbbed.
Her training never prepared her for waves of attackers. So far, she’d managed to avoid the worst of