Where Wild Things Roam
The pale brown almost birthmark looking tattoos along his arms, shoulders, back and chest blaze with divine light and a long bow appears in his massive hand, a full quiver on his back.
“Careful of the weres and the humans!” I warn, as he nocks a wicked looking arrow and let’s fly into the back of a knife-wielding vampire with one of the Candlewood wolves pinned against a tree. Twitching as if a current of electricity was running through him, the vamp staggers back, but before the loosed were can tear into him, the arrow bursts into a white-hot flare, burning the bloodsucker from the inside out.
My father glances at me, arching a brow.
Bab Populer