The rogue hit like a body thrown by hell.
Steel screamed against teeth.
Rain slicked my grip.
Mud shifted beneath my boots.
The impact drove force up both my arms, but I did not retreat. I turned with it, letting the rogue’s weight slide past my left blade while my right cut across its shoulder.
Black blood sprayed hot through cold rain.
The rogue howled.
Behind me, Marcus shouted orders.
“Left wall! Hold the line! Do not let them through!”
Three more rogues broke from the trees.
Then two behind them.
Then too many shadows moved beneath the ridge.
My wolf surged, pressing against my skin with a fury that made the world sharper. The rain became individual needles. The mud became weight and warning under my feet. Every growl, every breath, every footstep found a place in my mind.
