Iridian
What flesh and cooked skin covered his head and neck were wet, shiny with the fluid that often leaked from burn wounds.
“You look rough, brother.” Dain commented nonchalantly, as though they were two normal siblings having an everyday conversation and not two ridiculously powerful werewolves—one cloaked in living shadow and the other burned to a crisp but still standing, with a hundred-year long streak of deep, unyielding hatred for one another.
I wanted desperately to scan his face, to read each emotion and interpret them myself, but Callum began to rise.
Bab Populer