"Don't blame me if you get injured, short stuff," Fenric said, stepping into the courtyard. His blade hung limply at his side, but the glint in his amber eyes said otherwise.
His voice was low, rough—like gravel rubbed raw by adrenaline.
Eri smirked, drawing her short sword into a ready stance. The morning wind tugged at her cropped brown hair.
"Like a puppy could ever hurt me."
A wild grin split Fenric's face. Not a smile—a predator's thrill. He didn't reply.
He lunged.
One moment, he stood still; the next, he was a blur of motion. His blade arced horizontally with brutal speed.
CLANG. Eri caught it, steel ringing out sharp and clear. But even as she deflected the blow, his free hand slashed forward with claws bared.
She jerked back just in time. The tips of his claws clipped her hair, sending strands fluttering into the air.
Then the onslaught began.
Another sword strike—then another—and another.
