From Stormfront, Book IX of the Storm Chronicles
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Raven rose to her feet and faced off against the lycan, Hrunting held in both hands. The lycan clicked steel-capped claws and circled, looking for an opening. Raven could see the fires of the battle behind her reflected in its eyes, smell the raw meat and blood on its breath. It was a warrior, still hungry for blood.
“Come on, you Nazi hellhound,” she challenged. “Come on!”
The lycan roared and feinted forward, but didn’t attack. Raven saw a flicker of motion in its eyes and ducked as the other werewolf rose behind her and swiped the air where she’d been standing. She rolled and swung the blade in an arc that made both lycans dance out of the way. They were immediately back, alternately swiping and kicking out with their hind paws, forcing Raven to backpedal until her back was against the snowbank. She could feel her strength ebbing, feel the weakness in her arms and knew she needed to end this battle before it ended her.