The air inside the mountain cabin was thick with the smell of iron and woodsmoke. Sora stood in the center of the room, his chest heaving, shirtless despite the sub-zero wind howling through the cracks. His skin was slick with a mixture of sweat and a thin, silvery sheen. Across from him, Vardan leaned against the heavy oak table, his eyes tracking the erratic pulse at Sora’s throat. "Someone is coming," Sora hissed. His ears twitched. The sound was distant, miles away, but to his hybrid senses, it was as loud as a hammer hitting stone. It wasn't the heavy, rhythmic tread of a Shifter. It was a light, hurried scuffing of boots. The scent hit him a second later—stale cigarettes, cheap gin, and the chemical tang of Corvin suppressants. "Elior," Vardan stated. He didn't move, but his hand hovered near the hilt of the blade on the table. The door burst open. Elior stumbled in, his tactical gear shredded and his face a mask of dried blood and exhau
Read more