Adare slashed the soldier through the neck, moving on. Shouts erupted from every direction and an alarm blared through the night. Bright lights, flood lights, lifted into motion, highlighting the entire area with enough illumination to make it visible from space.

He motioned for Garrett, Quade, and Logan to go left, while Ronan and Ivar went right. He charged straight ahead, right for the main lodge, feeling the strongest pull from that building.

A helicopter instantly lifted from behind the lodge, and he ran faster, bellowing at the top of his lungs. Two soldiers barreled out of the lodge, guns up, and he tackled them both back inside, slashing with his knife and his fangs, fighting with all the fury he’d ever own.

“Grace!” he yelled, fighting to get to the back of the lodge. He went through two more guards, more animal than soldier, reaching the back door and kicking it open with one boot. Running outside and sliding across an ice-covered deck, he looked up at the lifting craft.

Two Kurjans sat in front, while a blonde was in the back. No Grace.

The Kurjan in the passenger side leaned out his window and fired. Bullets pinged up from the deck and snow, and one pierced Adare’s left arm.

He turned back to the lodge just in time to duck as a machete swung perilously close to his throat. He edged back, dodging and weaving, as a Cyst soldier forced him back onto the deck. Snow piled up to his waist, and he kept his arms in defense position, trying to keep the sharp blade from taking off his head.

The Cyst had to be about seven feet tall and wide as a barn, his swings powerful and his movements inexorable.

Gunfire and explosions continued to sound from the other side of the lodge, along with cries of pain and the smell of smoke and blood.

The Cyst plunged the blade, and Adare jumped back, sucking in his gut out of pure instinct. The Cyst smiled, his bald head gleaming in the harsh light, except for the strip of white down the center of his scalp that ended in a long braid to his waist. “Never thought I’d be the one to end a Seven.” His garbled voice cracked like a whip.

Adare set his stance. “Don’t think it now.” He yanked his knife from its sheath.

The Cyst laughed. “Mine’s bigger.” He lunged again, and this time Adare kept his hands at his sides and let the enemy’s blade hit him center mass, right in his solar plexus. No doubt the Cyst planned to rip up, beneath the rib cage, and slice Adare’s heart.

Instead, the blade rang loudly, vibrating as if it had hit solid steel. It snapped in two, no more dangerous than a child’s toy.