Xavier's feet found traction on the packed snow as he sprinted toward the fallen dagger. The steel blade lay half-buried in white powder, its blue-tinted metal almost glowing in the dim light. Behind him, he could hear the Vorthak's claws scraping against frozen ground as the massive predator wheeled around to pursue.
Fifteen feet. Ten. Five.
His fingers closed around the weapon's leather-wrapped hilt just as the beast's shadow fell over him. Xavier rolled left, the dagger clutched tight against his chest, and felt the rush of displaced air as six-inch claws swept through the space his head had occupied a heartbeat before.
The blade was heavier than expected, designed for someone with more muscle mass than his lean frame. But it felt right in his grip—balanced, deadly, purposeful. The metal radiated cold that bit through his gloves, making his fingers ache within seconds.