Tension rode towards her on palpable waves. He sat rigidly, regarding her beneath sleek slanted brows. It would be tempting to believe him, take him at his word. His voice was laced with sincerity, but that meant nothing. He was a tactician, a captain in the navy, no mean ...
They still had Julius. He was pale. Blood stained his torn shirt. He was shrunken. Defeated. Complete and utter grief stained his face. “Let him go, you fucking bastard,” I bit out. I was almost lost to the storm of pain that tore through me, but I held on to consciousness with every ounce of wil...