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They circled me, their teeth barely visible past their bushy beards. I needed to dispatch them quickly; the other four were reigning havoc on the village, and the screams of the werewolves wrenched my gut, piercing through the explosions that filled the air.
    I didn’t wait for the hunters to engage me. I rushed the one farthest from me, snapping my left leg out, driving it into his knee. Joints were always a good target when dealing with those larger than you. He screamed, grabbed at his knee, and went to the ground. I grabbed his head in one hand and drove the elbow of my other arm into his face twice in quick succession. His eyes rolled back and I slid sideways from him, avoiding the hands of my next opponent.
    A fist met my lower back, over my right kidney, and I let out a hissing growl as I forced myself to spin a roundhouse to the asshole who’d punched me. I clipped him with my boot, but he stepped back and avoided the full swing of my kick. Landing in a crouch, I saw the glint of a knife handle sticking out of the hunter’s belt of the man I’d downed. Leaping forward, I grabbed the handle and yanked it out. Now that was what I was talking about.
    Twelve inches long and handmade, it was hardly one of my swords, but still better than going bare-handed.
    The three men still standing advanced on me, pushing me toward the tree line, herding me toward where the other hunters were. Where they were killing the werewolves. Using the framework of the home, I ran toward it and up the rough-hewn log, giving myself the height I needed to come down hard on the hunter closest to the house.
    I buried the knife deep into the side of his neck, and though he put his hands up to stop me, there was no way he could hope to stem my slash. All he did was get two fingers cut off in the attempt.
    Blood spurted as I ripped the blade out, angling the removal of it so it opened up his carotid artery. Gurgling, he fell backward into one of his companions. While those two were occupied, I went for the third guy.
    He snarled at me in Russian and I did the best I could, responding in sign language known the world over.
    Roaring, his teeth bared and spittle flying (as if suddenly that was going to intimidate me), he rushed me, his lips moving in what I knew would be a spell, but it didn’t matter. His magic slid off, his eyes widened, and I slammed the blade into his belly, twisting it until the hilt snapped off.
    Three down and one to … I turned to see the last guy running for his life. I didn’t bother to go after him. The explosions were fading and the screams of the werewolves no longer rent the air.
    The hunter who I’d only knocked out was slowly coming to. I went to him, flipped him on his belly and yanked his arms behind him. Using his own belt, I bound his hands tightly, wishing he could understand me. Wishing I could tell him what a fucker he was and have him know he was likely going to die when Peter and Liam got back.
    “Let me go,” he said, his voice thick with his accent, almost unintelligible, but it was still English.
    “Are you fucking serious? Let you go?” I laughed and yanked him to his feet, my lower back twanging unhappily at me. That one blow over the kidneys was going to leave a bruise for sure, though I knew I had been lucky. Next time they showed up, they’d come prepared for me.
    “Yes, let me go. I cleanse land of evil.”
    Oh, shit. This was one of those stupid ass cults who thought they were called on by some deity to rid the world of the bad guys.
    “Wrong wolves, you idiot.” I pushed him ahead of me, past his fallen comrades.
    He stumbled and I caught a look at his face. The shock and horror of seeing his friend splayed out on the ground, lifeless. “You kill them?”
    “Yup. And you’re going to be next, big boy.” I back handed him hard enough that he went to his knees. I didn’t care; all I kept seeing in my mind was Elena’s little girl, her neck and head flopping bonelessly, like a rag