Eight more tore past him.
“Swords ready!” she yelled, but Munro turned and vaulted into the air, soaring over the newlings. He landed well ahead of them, merely awaiting their arrival.
His lethal claws tore through them. He slashed and even bit like an animal. Yet his beast hadn’t risen.
He’d been right about one thing: he was a warrior. Despite the savagery of his fighting style, his movements were practiced and efficient. When the last three of that wave managed to make it past him, he snatched up a headless corpse and hurled it at the trio, knocking them to the ground.
Her jaw dropped.
“Remind me not to fuck with your mate,” Björn called, eyes wide.
She glanced at Jacob. He looked like he didn’t know what outcome to hope for. Either way he would lose: his life or his wife. Unless Munro fell late in the battle . . .
By the time those stunned newlings had made it to their feet, Munro was there to lay waste to them.
With him nearby, her senses were heightened again. She heard cracking bone and could swear the scent of blood tainted the mist. Chunks of flesh sailed hundreds of feet through the air to pelt the big top. Thwack, thwack!
The gore didn’t faze her, but Munro’s skill did. When he took down the final newling from that cluster, he had his piercing gaze locked on her—as he ripped the male’s head free.
They stared at each other through the rain, his eyes promising things she wasn’t ready to accept.
She wrenched her focus from him when the woods spat out three more Lykae, the last of the thirty the scouts had reported. One of them was gigantic, as tall and big as an ogre. Must be a hundred pounds heavier than Munro.
He readied as the trio reached him, circling him. This group looked fresh while his reaction time had slowed. One newling slashed his leg while the ogre raked its claws across his chest. She saw a flash of bone before Munro’s blood welled.
His words rang through her mind: Lass, let’s protect each other. “He’s in trouble.” Knife at the ready, she searched for an opening to help, but the fighting would be unpredictable by design. Warriors trained not to telegraph their moves.
Jacob said, “We can take the rest of them, Ren.”
Björn added, “Let the wolves have at him. Your vow doesn’t count if he’s dead.”
“I can’t repay him with treachery.” She turned to Trish and yelled, “Crank the carousel again!”
With a nod, the woman sprinted in that direction.
Hold on, Munro! But how much longer could he continue like this?
She’d just had that thought when his body began to grow. He was transforming! She’d never seen a Lykae turn into its werewolf form.
His muscles burgeoned, fangs and claws lengthening. His eyes glowed blue in the night as the image of the beast rose over him.
She had caressed that Lykae’s body while such a monstrous creature lurked beneath the surface!
Munro threw back his head and roared. The newlings grew more aggressive against an alpha beast, clawing at him with increased ferocity. They moved so quickly that gashes on his flesh seemed to appear as if by magic.
Just then, the carousel blazed to life with music and lights. Each newling jerked his gaze to it. Munro used the distraction to strike, annihilating his way through two.
The ogre alone remained. It squared off against him; they traded blows. The fight was fast and difficult to follow, but something wasn’t right. Munro’s arms appeared to pass through the ogre each time he struck.
Suddenly, the ogre jabbed its claws forward, stabbing them into Munro’s throat.
Ren bit back a scream. Shake him off!
Munro swung his arms at the ogre, but they were like air. His throat wasn’t, though. One yank upward and he would be no more.
The ogre roared with triumph.
Beneath the vision of his beast, Munro’s brows-drawn gaze flicked to her. The end. And he knows it.
“Munro!” she screamed, her legs moving, taking her closer. She readied her blade as she ran. If she threw from too far away, she would miss. If she waited too long, she would lose him.
That feeling of protectiveness sparked aggression like she’d never known—as if she would snatch out the ogre’s throat with her teeth if she had to. Desperation underscored determination as she took aim. She heard Jacob yelling, hobbling after her, but then sounds faded away as her tunnel of focus appeared.
When the ogre’s arm tensed for the killing blow, she flung her knife with everything in her. The blade shimmered in the lightning. . . .
Thunk.
The hilt jutted from the ogre’s temple.
Munro staggered back, freeing himself. Blood gushed from his neck. When his hands shot up to stem the flow, it ran through them. Yet then they solidified once more.
She had no time to devise an explanation; the giant still stood. It lurched toward Ren, resisting the blade’s spell. She readied her sword—