SHADOWS OF THE ALPHA
he asked, because men always do when they meet a woman at the wrong end of a story.
“Tired,” I said.
Footsteps. Many. Not ours. Not human. Jason, arriving with two of his second mouths, breath bright with the satisfaction of being present for an ending. He took in the rogue on the ground, the hunter under my hand, the neatness of Edda’s unplugged lure, the line of snares Lyra had made into pretty garbage. His face did a slow, polite rearrangement.
“Well,” he said, cheerful. “Look at that. A mess that cleans itself.”
Hot Chapters