1564024802

my friends removed from her abdomen.”
The Crochan’s dark brows rose, again
taking in the beautiful, well-spoken male.
Perhaps noting the power that radiated from
him—and the keys he bore. “And who,
exactly, are you?”
Dorian gave the witch one of those
charming smiles and sketched a bow. “Dorian
Havilliard, at your service.”
“The king,” one of the Crochans murmured
from near the wyverns.
Dorian winked. “That I am, too.”
The head of the coven, however, studied
him—then Manon. The spider. “There is more
to be explained, it seems.”
Manon’s hand itched for Wind-Cleaver at
her back.
But Dorian said, “We’ve been looking for
you for two months now.” The Crochans again
tensed. “Not for violence or sport,” he