Gunmetal Magic: A Novel in the World of Kate Daniels

eyebrows overshadowed his eyes.
    He stood brandishing a battle axe etched with runes that matched the tattoos on his arms. The blade of the axe flared at the toe and heel, its razor-sharp edge spanning a full twelve inches. Combined with the four-foot haft for extra power, the axe sheared flesh and bone like an oversized meat cleaver.
    “Look, I fought this guy before. Maybe you should talk him away from the cliff. He’s drunk and isn’t in his right mind.”
    “He challenged me,” Curran said. “There will be no talking.”
    “Suit yourself,” I told him. Mr. Make Fun of My Leadership wanted to have it his way. Well, he’d get it.
    Around us the shapeshifters were piling out onto the battlements. Every balcony and parapet facing in Dagfinn’s direction was occupied. Great. An audience was just what we needed.
    “Anything I should know?” Curran asked me.
    “The axe is magic. Don’t touch it. Dagfinn is pretty magic, too. If you kill him, I’ll be really mad at you. We need him to read the damn runes.”
    Curran stretched his shoulders and walked out into the clearing.
    “I heard you were looking for me,” Dagfinn growled. His voice matched him, deep and torn about the edges.
    “She has some runes she wants you to look at.”
    Dagfinn leaned to the side to look at me. “Kate? What the hell are you doing here?”
    “I live here.”
    “Why?”
    “Because I’m with him now.”
    Dagfinn looked at Curran. “You and her are…?”
    “She’s my mate,” Curran said.
    Dagfinn swung his axe onto his shoulder. The runes sparked with pale green. “Well, how about that? You know what, I don’t care, I’ll still beat your ass, but I like her so I won’t kill you.”
    Curran’s eyes turned gold. “Thanks.”
    Dagfinn waved his arm at him. “Well, go on. Do your transforming thing.”
    “No need.”
    “Oh, there is a need,” Dagfinn assured him.
    “Are you going to talk all day? I’m a busy man,” Curran told him.
    “Fine. Let’s get to it.” Frost condensed on Dagfinn’s hair. His skin turned dark. He grew, gaining half a foot of height, his shoulders spreading wider.
    “Have fun, baby,” I called.
    Pale tendrils of cold spilled from Dagfinn’s body. The icy mist danced along his skin, clutched at the runes tattooed on his arms, and drained down in a brilliant cascade onto his axe. The weapon burst with bright green.
    I braced myself against the stone wall. Dagfinn swung his axe.
    Curran jumped aside. A flash exploded to the left of him, blinding white and searing. Thunder slapped my ears. An air fist slammed into me. Curran flew a bit and rolled up to his feet.
    A three-foot hole smoked in the grass where Curran had stood. Dagfinn roared like an enraged tornado. A blast of frigid air whipped from him, striking at Curran. The Beast Lord dodged again.
    Dagfinn remained firmly planted. The last two times we’d fought, he’d moved at me and I’d taken him down. There were dozens of ways to use an opponent’s movement against him: trip him, knock him off balance, gain control of a shoulder or a leg, and so on. Dagfinn must’ve decided not to give Curran that chance.
    Dagfinn spun the axe. A barrage of frost missiles shot out. Curran leaped back and forth, circling Dagfinn. On the battlements the shapeshifters roared and howled.
    “How are we doing, baby?” I called out.
Serves you right, Your Furriness. Next time, listen to me.
    “Trying not to show off,” Curran yelled.
    Dagfinn brought the axe down. A sonic boom smashed into me. Curran flew backward.
    “Bring it!” Dagfinn roared.
    The shapeshifters booed.
    Curran bounced back up and dashed forward.
    Dagfinn spun, but the Beast Lord was too fast. He dodged left, right, and collided with Dagfinn. The huge Viking staggered back from the impact, whipped around, picking up momentum, and charged, roaring, gripping the axe with both hands, and bringing it up for an overhead blow.
    Move, honey. Move.
    Curran lunged forward.
    What the hell was he doing?
    Dagfinn chopped down with all his strength.
    Curran caught the axe with his right hand.
    Dagfinn
stopped
.
    Holy shit.
    The Viking strained, right leg forward, left leg back. Muscles rippled on his arms. Frost ate at Curran’s hand, but the axe didn’t move.
    “Done?” Curran asked.
    Dagfinn snarled.
    Curran raised his left hand. His fingers curled into a fist.
    “Not in the head!” I yelled. “We need his brain intact.”
    Curran yanked the axe forward. Dagfinn jerked back,