She launched at them, switching to her daemon glamour mid-lunge. The first pike flashed over her shoulder, the blade skimming across her scales. She came up under the handle and grabbed it, shoving it upright. The draconian spun away from her, instinctively protecting his torso from her attack—but she wasn’t attacking. Her hand closed on the hilt of a short, curved sword sheathed at his hip. As he pulled away, she stepped back, freeing the weapon from its sheath.
