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Authors: Patricia Briggs
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troll whined and turned his shoulders toward me, but Adam pulled the creatureâs head back where it had been.
From the feel of the pain he shared with me, I knew Adamâs shoulder had begun healing from the earlier damage the troll had done, but it was tearing again. Even so, a werewolfâs claws are like those of a grizzly: the troll couldnât dislodge Adam. As the troll pulled, Adamâs refusal to release his own grip meant that the troll was wrenching Adam apart.
This wasnât the time to be squeamish. I hit the troll in one testicle with the butt end of the staff in the fencing stance Iâd used before. As I did, there was a wet, popping noise.
I thought Iâd done some damage, but there was no blood where Iâd hit him. For a breathless second, I wondered if the troll hadbroken Adam. But it was the troll who screamed as he pulled Adam looseâand ripped off a cap of moss hair, thick skin, and gray-green bone along with Adam. Then there was a lot of blood.
The troll tossed Adam in a gore-dripping, bloody mess over my head. I heard him hit the pavement, but I couldnât afford to look away. The troll was hurt but not dead. Adam was unconscious, and I was the only thing standing between him and the troll.
Though there was a gaping hole in his skull, the troll didnât seem to be appreciably disabled. I tightened my hold on the walking stick, my only weapon, and prepared to be annihilated.
Something flew through the air, buzzing as it passed me, and buried itself in the newly opened section of the trollâs skull. The trollâs roar was so loud it hurt my ears.
The projectile fell out of the trollâs head and onto the pavement with a clang, revealing itself to be a five-foot chunk of steel pipe, modified with a point on one end and crude fins on the other.
The troll, eyes wild, bashed one fist into the cement barrier between the lanes in a berserker rage. He screamed as cement fell away from his fist in chunks, revealing the barrierâs framework of rebar. He grabbed the rebar cage and jerked an entire section of cement free.
I turned and sprinted, visions of a flying Miata in my head. Adam couldnât move out of the way. Adam lay unconscious on his side, blood darkening his fur and flattening it.
I made it to him in four strides. Dropping the walking stick, I grabbed a handful of the fur over his hips and skin behind his neck. Iâm strong for a woman, but no stronger than any human woman who worked out four times a week with a werewolf and a sadistic sensei. Adam-as-a-werewolf weighs nearly double what I do. But I lifted him over my shoulders, staggered a step, then ran.
I expected to see the police barricade, though the SWAT team in their body armor was new. Funny how I wouldnât risk aiming the troll at the police to save myself, but for Adam Iâd have thrown the whole lot of them to the troll, despite the genuine friendship I felt for some of them.
But it wasnât just the police I saw.
Running toward us was a very wet Darryl, who otherwise looked unharmed by his immersion in the river. He had one hand back in a classic javelin throwerâs pose, another pipe weapon pulled back to throw. Keeping pace beside him with visible effort was a too-thin, grim-faced Tad. He held another pipe in his hand, and I watched as he molded it with magic into a weapon that matched the one Darryl held. Darryl took a couple more racing strides and let the pipe javelin go.
I couldnât tell what it did once it flew past me, but something hit the bridge and bounced the pavement under my feet so I stumbled. Cement and broken rebar flew over Adam and me and bounced ahead of meâevidently the troll had thrown his chunk of cement barrier. I managed a couple of trying-to-get-my-balance steps before I lost that battle entirely. I landed hard on my knees, wobbled, then fell full length, chin first, when Adamâs weight overbalanced me.
Darryl grabbed the
From the feel of the pain he shared with me, I knew Adamâs shoulder had begun healing from the earlier damage the troll had done, but it was tearing again. Even so, a werewolfâs claws are like those of a grizzly: the troll couldnât dislodge Adam. As the troll pulled, Adamâs refusal to release his own grip meant that the troll was wrenching Adam apart.
This wasnât the time to be squeamish. I hit the troll in one testicle with the butt end of the staff in the fencing stance Iâd used before. As I did, there was a wet, popping noise.
I thought Iâd done some damage, but there was no blood where Iâd hit him. For a breathless second, I wondered if the troll hadbroken Adam. But it was the troll who screamed as he pulled Adam looseâand ripped off a cap of moss hair, thick skin, and gray-green bone along with Adam. Then there was a lot of blood.
The troll tossed Adam in a gore-dripping, bloody mess over my head. I heard him hit the pavement, but I couldnât afford to look away. The troll was hurt but not dead. Adam was unconscious, and I was the only thing standing between him and the troll.
Though there was a gaping hole in his skull, the troll didnât seem to be appreciably disabled. I tightened my hold on the walking stick, my only weapon, and prepared to be annihilated.
Something flew through the air, buzzing as it passed me, and buried itself in the newly opened section of the trollâs skull. The trollâs roar was so loud it hurt my ears.
The projectile fell out of the trollâs head and onto the pavement with a clang, revealing itself to be a five-foot chunk of steel pipe, modified with a point on one end and crude fins on the other.
The troll, eyes wild, bashed one fist into the cement barrier between the lanes in a berserker rage. He screamed as cement fell away from his fist in chunks, revealing the barrierâs framework of rebar. He grabbed the rebar cage and jerked an entire section of cement free.
I turned and sprinted, visions of a flying Miata in my head. Adam couldnât move out of the way. Adam lay unconscious on his side, blood darkening his fur and flattening it.
I made it to him in four strides. Dropping the walking stick, I grabbed a handful of the fur over his hips and skin behind his neck. Iâm strong for a woman, but no stronger than any human woman who worked out four times a week with a werewolf and a sadistic sensei. Adam-as-a-werewolf weighs nearly double what I do. But I lifted him over my shoulders, staggered a step, then ran.
I expected to see the police barricade, though the SWAT team in their body armor was new. Funny how I wouldnât risk aiming the troll at the police to save myself, but for Adam Iâd have thrown the whole lot of them to the troll, despite the genuine friendship I felt for some of them.
But it wasnât just the police I saw.
Running toward us was a very wet Darryl, who otherwise looked unharmed by his immersion in the river. He had one hand back in a classic javelin throwerâs pose, another pipe weapon pulled back to throw. Keeping pace beside him with visible effort was a too-thin, grim-faced Tad. He held another pipe in his hand, and I watched as he molded it with magic into a weapon that matched the one Darryl held. Darryl took a couple more racing strides and let the pipe javelin go.
I couldnât tell what it did once it flew past me, but something hit the bridge and bounced the pavement under my feet so I stumbled. Cement and broken rebar flew over Adam and me and bounced ahead of meâevidently the troll had thrown his chunk of cement barrier. I managed a couple of trying-to-get-my-balance steps before I lost that battle entirely. I landed hard on my knees, wobbled, then fell full length, chin first, when Adamâs weight overbalanced me.
Darryl grabbed the
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