Mari’s wings sliced inward the moment the spear dropped. Her exhaustion was exaggerated, her weakness the one trap the paragon fell for. The jagged edges closed onto either side of the spear’s steel tip, locking it in place. The rest of her body twisted, paws pounding the dirt. Again Mari closed her teeth around his leg, and this time she crunched the platemail with a savage bite. She rotated as her momentum carried her, twisting the shin plate sideways and scraping teeth along the skin beneath. Soma held strong despite the obvious pain it caused. His other leg slammed into Mari’s underbelly, lifting her several feet into the air. Stasia feared the bruises her sister would sport should they escape this. Still, the bastard’s attention was stolen. Up came her ax, tired muscles forced into movement, and then she sent the weapon screaming back down again.

He pulled back his head and twisted his face aside, the rapid movement sparing his life. Her ax should have bashed right through his skull, but its sharp edge only caught his cheek. It ripped a gash into his flesh, not once slowing. Stasia twisted her arms so instead of burying the weapon into the dirt, it shifted sideways, pulling her into a spin that she continued into a dance that retreated her several steps away from the paragon. Only once separated did she return her attention his way.

Soma clutched the wound with his free hand, and he muttered something she could not hear. He withdrew it just as quickly and stood to his full height. Blood should have been pouring down his face from a gash so deep. Instead, the wound was clean and already sealing. Stasia saw a hint, not of bone, but the blue glint of what looked like sapphire.

Her ax lowered. Her mouth dropped.

“What are you?”

There would be no answer, not that day. Mari collided into Stasia, and she grabbed ahold on instinct. Her legs wrapped about the Lioness’s sides, and her hands clasped a circle around her throat. A single leap of Mari’s tightly wound feline muscles and they bounded off into the smoke. Even if he chased, and Soma’s leg were uninjured, there would be no catching them. Her speed was unmatched. Yet even if he could chase, she doubted the man would.

Stasia glanced over her shoulder to see the paragon watching their departure. Twice now, they had fled from him. Twice now, she had been defeated.

“One day, you bastard,” she muttered, then turned away. Her rage bled dry, and her thoughts turned to the others. Had anyone else escaped the ambush? What of Clarissa? Was her band safe, or had their interventions been predicted, too?