THE LUNA WHO RUINED HER MATE.
If she could get there.
The Hound lunged. Not with speed, but with a terrible, relentless force. Elidra twisted, taking the brunt of his shoulder on her back, shielding Kieran. She cried out, stumbling forward. The potted plants tipped over, soil scattering.
The Hound grabbed her arm, his fingers like iron. His blank eyes were inches from hers, his breath sour. The witch-iron knife came up, aiming not for her, but to hook under the swaddling hide, to pry her child from her grasp.
Bab Populer