Too soon. Too damn soon after hovering
near death to hear Fenrys’s drawl.
Lorcan cracked open an eye, finding
himself lying on a cot in a narrow chamber. A
lone candle illuminated the space, dancing in
the golden hair of the Fae warrior who sat in a
wooden chair at the foot of his bed.
Fenrys’s smirk was a slash of white.
“You’ve been out for a day. I drew the short
stick and had to look after you.”
A lie. For whatever reason, Fenrys had
chosen to be here.
Lorcan shifted his body—slightly.
No hint of pain beyond a dull throb down
his back and tight pull across his stomach. He
managed to lift his head enough to rip away
the heavy wool blanket covering his naked
body. Where he’d been able to see his insides,
only a thick red scar remained.
Lorcan thumped his head back on the
lily
(lily)
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