Page 156 of Ironling
“Talk to him, my lady,” said Captain Aodhan, “try to calm him. We must see to his wounds.”
Aislinn’s heart sank.
“You’re the only one he’ll listen to now,” called Orek.
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Hakon saw red.
The cry of his mate in pain seared his very soul, burning away all thought and reason. He charged forward, through the insignificant bodies of men and horses that blocked his way.
Get to her. Protect her. Mate.
His hammer and knife were extensions of his arm. It didn’t matter that he was less of a fighter than Orek or Allarion or Aodhan—his very heart lay in that meadow, and he would get to her. No matter what.
The ground was slick beneath his feet, and horses and mercenaries screamed as they met the blunt face of his hammer. He swung it high above his head, clearing a path as he charged. On his left, Bellarand galloped, gleefully skewering humans on his wicked horn, as Allarion’s sword cut through flesh. On his right, the dozen halflings charged, battering the mercenaries with sheer force.
He broke through the circle of bodies ringing Aislinn, her brother, and the mercenary leader.
The smell of fresh blood invaded his senses, and he saw it.Her blood, running down her leg from a wide slash.
Hakonhowled.
His hammer swung wide and smashed into the head of the male stupid enough to hurthis mate. Brain and blood and skull splattered the ground, satisfying his bloodlust.
The beast inside was all Hakon knew—he was instinct only, the will to defend his mate his only care. He stood over her, protecting her with his very body.
He could hardly discern the writhing mass of bodies that circled them. They jabbed and thrust, trying for an opening. Hakon gave them none.
He treated each that dared to his hammer. Necks cracked, faces split, and blood watered the ground around them. Still they came, one after the other or two-by-two, all eager, apparently, to die.
His mind separated from his body, and he couldn’t feel the agony of his abused muscles. He was her shield, the dam holding back the river, and he would not break. They crashed against him, trying to overwhelm him with their numbers, but he would not submit.
They were nothing—and he protected everything.
The mercenaries shouted to one another, the worried cries of prey in flight. Hakon heard but didn’t understand, the beast uncaring of language. It knew onlyinstinctandfightandprotect.
More gathered and tried to rush him again. Their wave crashed against him, but he was the cliffside and would not give. He met every thrust, every strike.
A grunt of pain escaped him when a slash carved across his chest. The hot gush of blood merely made him angrier.
With a resounding roar, he swung his hammer again, uncaring if it opened him to attack. He felt the crack of bone against his hammer, and a big human went down, his neckbroken.
Another blade found his side in a glancing blow, the sting of it making him snarl with outrage.
But something had changed. He smelled it on the humans still dancing around them.
His mate’s small hand grasped his calf, and he felt her moving beneath him. He pushed her back with his heel.
Stay. Mine. Mate.
Another came for him, and Hakon caught the attack with his knife, sending the human away with a shove before another took their place.
More came. More shouted. More died.
Hakon felt nothing but his rage, his mind gone to the swing of his hammer. He smelled only blood, heard only screams. Somewhere, deep down, beneath the beast and instinct and fear for Aislinn, his heart shuddered.
The bodies began to thin.
