22

“Keilor!” Relieved at the interruption, Mathin greeted him, clasping forearms with the dark-haired warrior who entered the clearing. He kept a grip on Andrea, knowing she couldn’t be trusted.

With high cheekbones reminiscent of a Cherokee warrior, the man radiated energy and command. Several volti followed at his heels like a pack of tamed hunting dogs.

The man’s dark eyes settled on Andrea, assessing and reassuring at once. He shook his head. “My wife has shared those exact sentiments; particularly as he dragged her through the swamps and fed her giant snails. Will you come and meet her? She is human, like you.”

Keilor’s calculation worked. With a nervo