He locked their hammers together by the heads and yanked. He’d probably hoped that would take the hammer from Kera’s hand, but she held on and let the man swing her. First to one side, then another.

A little fed up, she dug her feet in and yanked back. She loved how the man’s eyes popped wide when he was jerked forward several feet. Clearly he wasn’t used to anyone being able to move him like that.

Kera jerked the hammer again, dragging the man down the hall. While she did, her dog, Brodie, had her back. Snapping and charging at anyone who got too close to Kera.

To this day, Kera couldn’t tell what had possessed her to help the ugly little dog. Brodie had not been friendly. But Kera had just moved back to Los Angeles after leaving the Marines. She’d been feeling edgy, tense . . . and angry. Getting work had been harder than she’d thought it would be. Her old friends from high school didn’t know how to talk to her. They treated her like a freak, an outsider. At least that’s the way it felt at the time. And that was perhaps what had attracted Kera to the dog. God knows, Brodie had looked like a freak, an outsider herself at that moment. In the end, it had turned out that ugly, mean little dog was willing to do anything, risk anything, to protect Kera.

And Brodie’s apparent reward for that loyalty? Well, now she was a tall, muscular, one hundred or so pound, beautiful pit bull with all her teeth and her muzzle undamaged. But Brodie was still willing to do anything, risk anything to protect Kera.

Still struggling for control over their hammers, Kera and the older cult member reached the end of the hall and made it to a circular area, a balcony, she guessed, that had more halls shooting from it, with more bedrooms. There were also two sets of stairs that went down at least three flights to the first floor, which she could easily see by looking over the banister. In the middle of all this was a giant crystal chandelier that probably cost more than Kera’s parents’ house.

Kera was in a mansion—and she was still unclear how she’d gotten here.

It was in that moment of shock that the older man made his move.

He lifted his hammer and, in the process, he lifted Kera.

Suddenly she was standing on the banister, her bare toes gripping the polished wood and her hold on that hammer the only thing keeping her from falling three flights.

Unable to unlock the heads of their weapons, the man started pushing the hammers toward Kera, which forced her back. She glanced behind her to see the unforgiving marble floor beneath her. She didn’t want to fall, but the other cult members were coming at her again, swinging their hammers or just ramming them at her.

Fed up, Kera gripped her toes against the smooth wood as best she could, bent her knees, and with one good pull, yanked the old guy and his hammer over the side. He screamed as they fell, and Kera wrapped her legs around his bare chest and turned them both in the air sothat when they landed . . .

Freida looked over the banister and saw poor Pieter stretched out on the marble floor, blood starting to pool beneath his head. The new girl was on top of him, momentarily knocked out.

“Move!” Frieda ordered. “Now!”

They had to get out and they had to get out now.

She turned, gesturing to her people to go down one of the flights of stairs. As she started to follow, that damn dog came at her again. Frieda swung her hammer and the dog went flying into the wall all the way at the end of the hallway. It made that sound that dogs make when they’re hurt, but before Frieda could reach the top of the closest set of stairs, the damn thing was already getting to its feet.

“Fuck,” Frieda snarled before running down the stairs after her people.

“Out the back,” she ordered. “Move!”

Frieda reached the last set of stairs in time to hear a grunt and she was not surprised to see the new girl was already getting to her feet, the hammer still in her hands.

With her legs braced on either side of Pieter, she swung the hammer at Lorens, who had been trying to get Pieter up.

Frieda hit the last step and let out a battle cry, charging the new Crow, her hammer raised.

The woman ducked as Frieda swung, and she ended up missing the Crow’s head. She swung again and the woman caught Frieda’s hammer with her own, the same way Pieter had caught the stolen hammer minutes before.

Great. A fast learner. Not what they needed right now.

Frieda yanked the woman, pulling her away from Pieter’s body. Three of her people used that moment to pick Pieter up. He was still alive but bleeding badly and who knew what internal damage had been done. They needed a healer and they needed one soon.

Frieda yanked again and dragged the smaller woman over to her. With their weapons locked, Frieda leaned in and snarled. The smaller woman responded by head-butting her in the chin.

Frieda heard a crack and then, a second later, felt the pain as her jaw was dislocated. Not the first time that had happened, which was why she knew it had happened again.

Really pissed off now, Frieda charged forward, slamming the woman into the wall, pinning the Crow bitch there.

Barely able to swallow, Freida felt drool pour from between her clenched teeth, her mouth unable to open until she got it fixed. The sudden torrent of liquid might have disgusted the naked woman but it didn’t stop her. Nothing seemed to stop her.

She shoved Frieda, the muscles in her arms bulging as she did so.

Frieda stumbled back. She rarely met anyone who was as strong as she was and not one of her Clan. Like their god, they were born strong. True warriors of the mighty Thor to the end.

But this Crow . . . she was different. Other Crows were powerful, of course. But not this strong. Never this strong.