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meant for sleek incisions and scraping out rot.
Cairn groaned as unconsciousness gave
way. By the time Cairn awoke, chained to that
metal table, Rowan was ready.
Cairn beheld who stood over him, the tool
in Rowan’s tattooed hand, the others he had
also laid out on that piece of velvet, and began
thrashing. The iron chains held firm.
Then Cairn beheld the frozen rage in
Rowan’s eyes. Understood what he intended
to do with that sharp, sharp knife. A dark stain
spread across the front of Cairn’s pants.
Rowan wrapped an ice-kissed wind around
the tent, blocking out all sound, and began.