The hunter became a whirlwind of blades. He sliced and stabbed and cut fast, very fast. Derek blocked, stepped inside his guard, and kicked him in the chest. The hunter flew backward, rolled to his feet again, and charged.

They collided. A blade pierced Derek’s chest, sliding neatly between his ribs, almost nicking his heart. The pain tore at his insides. He buried his claws in the hunter’s gut and tore a handful of intestines out. The hunter twisted the sword, trying to carve his way to Derek’s heart. Derek stepped back, pulling himself off the blade, and the hunter chopped at his right arm with the other sword. He took that cut, because he had no choice—it nearly cut through the bone—and raked his claws across the hunter’s face. Blood poured into the hunter’s eyes. The big human lunged, his right sword striking. Derek moved to the left, letting the blade whistle past, locked his right arm on the hunter’s wrist and smashed the heel of his left hand into the man’s elbow. The joint snapped, breaking. He jerked the blade from the hunter’s suddenly limp fingers and rammed it into the hunter’s mouth.

It was a good sword, sharp and solid. It made a lovely sound as it split the hunter’s mouth, then his throat on its way down. The hunter’s heart fluttered like a dying bird, then stopped.

Derek raised his head to the sky. Above him the moon watched through the massive gap in the roof. He opened his bloody jaws and sang. The high-pitched howl rose up, riding on the moonlight, rolling through the night, and all who heard it would know he had made his kill.

He shook the corpse, hoping for more fight, then took the dead man’s head into his mouth, but the hunter didn’t move. His heart was still. He tossed the dead hunter aside.

There had to be something left to kill. There was still one heart beating.

He turned and saw her sitting in a circle. She looked . . . good.

He walked to the circle. She didn’t move. She just watched him with pretty brown eyes.

He ran headfirst into a wall. He couldn’t see it, but it was there. He looked down and noticed a white chalk line between him and her. Magic.

He circled the ward, probing it with his claws. The invisible wall held all the way around. He stopped in front of her and crouched, so they were level. His voice was an inhuman, ragged snarl. “Let me in.”

“I don’t think that would be a good idea.”

“Let me in.”

“Maybe in a little while,” she said. “Once you cool off.”

“I’m all cooled off.” He wanted into that circle.

“In a little bit.”

He backed away and ran full speed at the circle. The wall held.