The Iron Wolves Read Online Free PDF

arrest, madam,” said the leader, who wore his black beard neatly trimmed and had dark eyes under shaggy brows. “In the name of the King.”
    “Do you know who I am?” Kiki said, voice soft.
    “Yes, madam. No sudden moves. We’ve been instructed to bring you in alive, but if you force us into action we have authority to use maximum force. We are men of honour. None of us here likes to hurt a lady.”
    “That’s good, then, captain,” smiled Kiki, moving towards them, arms outstretched, hands crossed in a sign of surrender. She saw the guards’ shoulders relax, just that little bit. Behind her, Lars was making gurgling noises. “Because I’m no lady.”
    The throwing knife went from baldric to the captain’s eye socket in one swift, single slash. He staggered back as Kiki accelerated, another knife in her fist as she leapt, feinting left past a blade, kicking from the wall and punching her blade into the second guard’s throat. He gurgled, ejecting blood, and she rode him to the ground as another blade whistled horizontally over her head, crashing into the shoulder of a fellow guard. He cried out as steel struck chainmail, taking a step back. Kiki hit the ground, shifting into a forward roll and leaping again with the balance of an acrobat. All was chaos. In the confines of the room the guards were crammed in too tight to use their swords effectively. One pulled his own dagger, but Kiki was too close – close enough to kiss and she rammed her blade low, into his groin between the panels of chainmail and plate. She jerked it up. It bit him like acid and he groaned, staggering forward onto her as his femoral artery was snicked open and his lifeblood pumped out to rich thick carpets. She let him fall, taking his dagger so that now she held two, and twisted away, dropping to a crouch, pausing. Her face was speckled with blood, both fists glistening crimson. Three dead. Two left. They backed away, staring at her in horror.
    “Run to your mothers,” she growled, rising from her crouch and stretching her back. “Before I gut you like sour fucking fish.” But they could not, and she understood their hesitancy. These were King’s Guards. She was one little lady, without a sword. To retreat? The King would not look favourably on such an action. In her mind’s eye, Kiki pictured a large oak tree and a strong thick noose.
    “Get the others,” growled one guard, the senior by the grey in his beard. The younger of the two slipped through the broken door, thankfully.
    They were left alone. Lars had stopped kicking on the bed and was groaning, a low sound of self-pity as consciousness slipped away. The silk sheets were crimson in a wide pool.
    “Well then. It’s just me and you now, woman,” this final guard said.
    A curious silence settled on the room as Lars passed, thankfully, into a state of unconsciousness. Outside, Kiki heard the stomping of hooves, a whinny, the patter of rain on cobbles, the shout of a distant late-night food seller.
    Kiki watched him, and took a careful step back. Warily, the guard leant his sword against the wall and pulled free two long knives. His eyes were gleaming and he licked his lips. “These fools wanted to bring you in alive. But me? I’m happy to hear you sing like a skewered bird. Do you want to sing for me, pretty one?”
    Kiki stepped back around the bed, and the guard advanced, both knives before him. There was a hint of cruelty around his mouth, his eyes fixed on her with a certain intensity, and Kiki got the sudden chill feeling this man was a born killer; a murderer, hiding inside the honourable livery of Vagandrak’s military.
    “You get off, killing women?” she said, voice husky, taking another step back. And another. She was analysing his movements; wary now. He was smooth, well-balanced, like an oiled machine. Not like the others. He had waited at the back, weighing her up. Watching her. Studying her movements. Clever.
    “Men. Women. Children. There is an