Wolves Of Berlin The Cursed Hybrid
Before Linda could geek out, a rustle snapped my head around and two figures slinking from the shadows, their metallic stench hitting me like a punch.
Dieter and Hans again, Velan’s goons, crept closer, red eyes gleaming with idiot glee.
“Well, well, if it ain’t the hybrid princess!” Dieter crowed, rubbing his hands togheter.
“Thought we’d lost you, but here you are, prancing about!” Hans elbowed him, snickering.
“Yeah, Velan’s gonna kiss our feets when we drag you’r screaming ass back there, back to the dungeon where you belong!”
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