Page 74 of Wolf Pack

“You’re a wonder,” Alasdair said, his voice hushed.

Some other men helped drag the dead Viking into the ocean, and the guard sank beneath the waves.

Then one of the Vikings shouted, “To battle!”

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When the Viking guards called out that the enemy was upon them, Alasdair realized one of them had seen Isobel kill their fellow watchman. Alasdair, Isobel, and the rest of the men with them raced through the passage between the beached longships into the open to fight the other guards on the shore.

“Inge!” one of the men shouted.

“She’s a traitor!” another man shouted.

Alasdair was glad they called her a traitor because the rest of his men would realize she wasn’t one of the Viking raiders. He still couldn’t believe how deadly and quick-acting Isobel reacted when faced with danger. She was a tactician at heart. But that was when using subterfuge. In open combat?

He worried about her safety.

“Dinna kill her!” one of the men said. “Vigge still wants her.”

Six Viking raiders came at them, but then Hans and the men with him raced around the hull of the first longship, approaching the Vikings from their flank.

Though Isobel and Hans had already killed two guards, Alasdair realized a couple more had been hidden from their view, and now they still had to eliminate six.

The men began fighting one another. The men's swords and axes gleamed in the dim light and flashed as they clashed and fought against each other. Alasdair locked eyes with his mortal enemy, the ax-wielding Viking, who had said Vigge wanted her. No one would take Alasdair’s mate away from him.

The Viking's ax was already stained with blood, a sign that he had recently killed.

With a roar, Alasdair lunged forward, his sword slicing through the air towards his opponent. The Viking swung his deadly ax, the steel clashing against Alasdair's blade with a deafening sound.

The impact reverberated through Alasdair's arm, nearly causing him to lose his grip on his sword. Alasdair's face was twisted in determination as he fought to eliminate the brute. They were matched in height, but the Viking was much stockier, giving him some advantage as he slammed his shield against Alasdair and knocked him back.

The air reeked of newly shed blood and sweat, mixed with the metallic tang of weapons clashing. The scent of fear, aggression, and adrenaline hung heavily on the sea breeze. The clash of swords, grunts of exertion, and shouts of battle filled the air, punctuated by cries of pain.

Alasdair stood tall and fierce among the chaos and carnage, his sword slicing through the air with deadly precision, cutting the Viking’s sword arm twice. He howled in pain. Every clash of metal and strike of muscle echoed with the power of his determination to protect those he loved. But the Viking seemed immortal, not faltering under Alasdair’s brutal attacks.

Every move he made against his opponent was calculated and precise—not made in anger, every strike filled with a fierceneed to protect what was his. The battle was going on all around him, but he couldn’t take his eyes off the threat before him. In the worst way, he wanted to know where Isobel was and if she was okay.

The Viking angrily swung his ax, losing his focus, too filled with fury. Not once had he managed to strike Alasdair, which was good. If he struck a blow, Alasdair could be dead.

Suddenly, Isobel was flanking the Viking, her sword bloodied. She dove low at the man and sliced the Viking’s leg. The man growled and swung his ax at Isobel, not caring that their mission wasn’t to harm the lass.

The gods seemed to be guiding Alasdair’s hand as he thrust his sword into the Viking's chest, seeking to protect Isobel from the Viking’s wrath.

The man collapsed to his knees, his eyes losing their luster, and he dropped to the rocky ground in death. Alasdair pulled Isobel to her feet and glanced around at the bodies of the guards scattered and lifeless on the beach, their blood slipping through the pebbles. His men were heaving with exertion. Alasdair hugged Isobel and kissed her cheek.

“Bury the bodies in the ocean, burn the ships,” Alasdair commanded.

Everyone began hauling their bodies into the ocean.

“Is anyone injured?” Alasdair asked.

“A few cuts, but nothing like the wounds I gave to the one I fought,” Erik’s brother, Logan, said.

Alasdair had hold of Isobel’s hand and couldn’t let go if he had wanted to. The ships were set on fire.

Alasdair said, “Let’s go. We need to get to the croft.”

“Through the woods from these cliffs,” Isobel said. “We canna just ride through the meadow. They will be ready for us. Some will be in the woods in case we go there. Some will wait in the bracken.”

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