Copyright © 2011 Teresa D'Amario
All rights reserved, Freya's Bower.
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Dierdre was still beside him, her hands brushing Sean’s arm. He jerked back, but not before the female offered a grin.
“Keep your hands off my mate, you bitch.”
“He’s mine,” snarled the shewolf.
Caden shrugged, moving onto the balls of her feet. She considered dumping her heels, but decided they may just give her the advantage. The wolven female wore sensible, soft-soled shoes. The bitch’s kicks would be soft, though solid. Caden’s would hurt more, but might not knock her as far. But most never understood the power of a well-made stiletto. A well-placed heel could be as painful as a bullet.
“I don’t know what you think you’re getting out of this, but you’re going down. Here and now,” Caden taunted her, waiting for the first strike. Caden knew Dierdre was measuring her weaknesses, just as she watched Dierdre’s. Someone tossed the shewolf a branch. The wood was a foot longer than Caden’s cane, but was made of pine. Pine was one of the weakest woods there was. One good hit, and it would break.
Dierdre charged. She swung her branch, and Caden countered. The thrust was powerful, and Caden’s arms shuddered beneath the power of the strike. Bark flew from the female’s staff, showering Caden, with bits falling toward her eyes. She grunted, blinking away the debris, and holding the shewolf back.