The Devil's Claim... His little mouse.
Sherryl let out a shaky breath, the tension in her shoulders easing only slightly.
“So, how was your sleep?” Dallion asked, his voice casual as he walked over to a nearby table, picking up a lighter and a single, black candle.
Sherryl frowned, unsure where the conversation was heading. “Fine, until your damn stray dog decided to lick me awake.”
He chuckled, his tone sharp and teasing as he knelt in front of her, handing her the candle. “You might need this.”
She eyed it suspiciously. “What for?”
“Raven mentioned something interesting last night,” Dallion began, his voice growing quieter but sharper, slicing through her defenses. “That you've got mafia blood in your system."
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