Redsand Canyon days of creation

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She was free, maybe too easy but it didn’t matter when teeth gripped flesh, thin and bony. Monochrome blur, Colin, at Renard’s back; head wrenched back, Finley kept hold, iron across her lips. Bite in the other side, still in the neck, the hybrid was not holding back; she let go, roaring wordless protest—new target forced.

With a second’s thought Finley might have released her hold on Renard’s face sooner; she knew very well what kind of scars such a tear could leave. But reflection had no place in battle, only instinct, and instinct said her neck was best away from Renard and she’d been swung at Colin. There were no allies here.

Jerking forward, surging to escape Renard’s maw, Finley dove for Colin’s flank. If he twisted to counter, all the better if he wound up between her and the Blade.