But the veiled woman must have agreed to Kera’s terms, because here was Brodie—true, a brand-new Brodie, but still—fangs bared, body tense, ready to strike at any minute while her muzzle pressed in close to the man, disgusting dog slobber sliding down his cheek. Appalled, he pulled back, stepping away from the bed and wiping his face while he shuddered.

Kera got to her knees while Brodie watched the man closely, and Kera couldn’t believe how she felt.

Strong. Powerful. Mean.

Very, very mean. Because who the fuck was this guy in her room, sniffing around her? How was that okay? It wasn’t. She knew it wasn’t. She didn’t know how she knew, but she knew he wasn’t supposed to be here. And no one with him was supposed to be here either.

Kera looked down at her hands, curled her fingers into fists. She took in a deep breath, let it out. She was no longer just human, was she? The veiled woman had given her something more than just a second chance at life. She’d promised her power. For some that meant money, cars, expensive shoes. But for Kera it meant how her body felt at this moment. Like it could handle anything. Absolutely anything.

She looked up at the man and even in the dark room, she saw him blanch. Knew in that instant that he feared her.

And Kera liked that. She liked that a lot.

Freida moved through the Bird House hallway, ordering her Clan to move faster. They didn’t have a lot of time. In and out, that’s what this was supposed to be. In and out.

She realized that Snorri was still in that room. She didn’t like that. Snorri was kind of stupid and had a tendency to not do what she needed him to do, when she needed him to do it. Of course, he didn’t take orders from women well at all.

He was Old School Viking as the Clans liked to call it.

Freida just called it Old School Stupid.

She turned around and headed back toward the bedroom she’d left him in, but stopped when the partially closed door slammed shut all the way seconds before Snorri came crashing through it.

A few seconds later, a medium-sized, brown-skinned woman followed behind him. She was naked, thick brown hair reaching just past strong shoulders and even more powerful legs. A tattoo on her bicep said “United States Marine” and another on her upper left shoulder said “Donnie.”

Freida didn’t understand. The house was supposed to be empty. They’d used the theft of a powerful old ring that once belonged to Skuld to lure all of the inhabitants out. Not just one or two strike teams but all the Crows, so the entire house was empty. Then who the fuck was this Crow? Why was she here?

The Crow looked around, saw the rest of Freida’s Clan.

She faced Freida and that’s when Freida saw it. The just-healed wound right in the center of the woman’s chest.

This one had been stabbed to death. Freida knew a stab wound when she saw one. Stabbed to death and thenbrought back by the goddess Skuld to fight as one of her Crows.

This was a new girl. Probably just died a few hours or even a few minutes ago.

That’s why this woman was left here by the other Crows. It was too soon to take her out for battle.

Good, then she should be easy enough to—

Anders had crept up behind the woman from a room on the opposite side of the hall and swung his hammer at her head. While still staring at Freida, the woman had dropped into a crouch so Anders’s hammer collided with the wall. Where it stuck.

While he tried to pry it loose, the Crow stood and grabbed Anders by his hair, yanked him down while bringing her knee up. She shattered his nose and his cheekbones with one move, then dragged him one way and the other until she planted him face-first into the wall.

Freida rolled her eyes. That’s when the Crow grabbed Anders’s hammer and with one pull freed it.

No one took her Clan’s hammers. They were sacred. Each one made specifically for each warrior in the image of Thor’s hammer, Mjölnir.

“You idiots!” Freida raged. “Stop the bitch!”

Her Clan poured from the other bedrooms and charged the new girl. The Crow hefted the hammer once . . . then started swinging.

Disgusted, Freida went to handle the woman herself, but a hundred-pound pit bull walked out of the bedroom and bared its fangs at her.

This night was just getting better and better.

Kera really liked this hammer.

Of course, she didn’t know people still used hammers for anything but rebuilding a house. At least not since the sixteenth or seventeenth century. But a weapon was a weapon as far as she was concerned. Besides, the hammer reminded her of playing softball in junior high and high school. She was a pretty good player back then . . . and she was still a good player now, tossing these really big guys and gals around.

The men were all bare-chested with big brands burned directly into their chests. A circle with some kind of symbol in the middle. Maybe a letter. She didn’t really know. It looked like a fucked-up P. The women wore tank tops, but they all had the same brand above their breasts and on part of their necks.

So a cult maybe? Kera didn’t know. All that mattered at the moment was that she was being attacked and she had a hammer. The rest was pretty much instinct.

She swung the hammer again and slammed someone into the wall. She turned and swung it again, putting someone else through a door.

God, she felt strong. Her whole body seemed to be vibrating with newfound strength. It was amazing!

Kera swung the hammer again but it slammed into another hammer held by an older man. He had long white hair and a big beard. Like a biker . . . or how she imagined Grizzly Adams would look in his sixties. Yet although his face suggested he was in his sixties, his body . . . wow.