Free Jack Templar and the Lord of the Werewolves (Book #4 of the Templar Chronicles) by Jeff Gunhus Page A

dragon realized its mistake, underestimating me, it bent its body away. Just in time. Still, my sword struck a glancing blow off the side of the dragon’s body, sending a fountain of sparks into the air.
    Pythia cried out, and I couldn’t tell if it was concern for me or for the dragon. I sensed it was because she didn’t want this contest to end too quickly.
    The dragon took up a position on the far side of the garden, its body and tail swirling in the air behind it like a propeller. I think it realized I wasn’t just some person off the street. I was a monster hunter, and this fight was not going to be easy.
    I held my sword in front of me, pacing the area, getting a feel for the fighting surface with my feet.
    “This isn’t necessary,” I said to Pythia. “Can’t we just talk? If you have questions, I can answer them.”
    Pythia laughed. “We are talking. Everything we do is language. And you know the old saying – actions speak louder than words.”
    The dragon charged. There was no roar this time or any indication before the attack. Its speed was amazing. It was on me before I took my first step to brace myself.
    I managed to duck just as the dragon’s claws tore through the air over my head. It was so close that I actually felt my hair move. I thought I was in the clear, but the dragon’s tail whipped at me and struck me across the chest.
    I tumbled through the air and slammed into one of the pillars. On reflex, I jerked to the side and felt the dragon smash a claw into the column where my head had been a split second earlier. Shards of shattered marble stung as they hit my cheeks and arms. This was no idle match. The dragon was out for blood.
    I used the next pillar to brace myself and get my bearings. Sliding behind it, I had at least a temporary shelter as I took stock of my situation. Turns out, it was even worse than I’d imagined.
    All of the other statues in the courtyard had also come alive. They stood on the opposite side of the rectangle, arraying behind the row of columns, craning their heads for a good look at the battle. They seemed content for now to be spectators. I just hoped it stayed that way.
    The dragon lashed out again, using its tail to whip around the pillar I was hiding behind. I jumped out of the way but felt a searing pain on the back of my leg. The razor-sharp point of the dragon’s tail had sliced through my jeans and cut my calf. It wasn’t bad, especially since I had so much adrenaline rushing through my system. But the living statues on the far side of the courtyard howled and shrieked with excitement. I realized with a shudder that they must smell my blood in the air. The last thing I needed was for those others to get carried away and join the fight. If they did, I was a goner for sure.
    I needed to finish this fight. Fast.
    I did the thing I knew no one expected me to do. I attacked the other set of statues.
    With a yell, I sprinted across the courtyard, jumping over a swipe of the dragon’s barbed tail. I ran straight at a white marble Minotaur, a monster with a muscular human body and a massive bull’s head. The beast’s eyes opened wide. It raised its shield and spear as I launched myself at it. But the Minotaur was too slow. My feet hit its chest with a brutal kick that sent it stumbling backward. Most important, it dropped its shield and spear. Those were what I wanted.
    I grabbed them, grunting from their weight, and turned back to the approaching dragon.
    Just as I feared, the creature’s chest was puffed up as if it’d taken in a huge breath. I knew what was coming next. Fire.
    I crouched behind the Minotaur’s shield as blue flames shot from the dragon’s mouth. They hit the shield and streamed around it. The shield grew hot in my hands, almost too much to bear. Finally, the chance I needed showed up.
    The flames stopped, and I heard the dragon suck in another breath. Yelling, I heaved the shield up in the air so it flew over the dragon’s head. The ploy