I barely managed not to throw up, found I was half lying in Viggo’s arms. The wetness of the ground was soaking through my jeans, my bad leg a block of ice being gnawed by wolves. I remembered…everything. “I’m so sorry,” Viggo whispered. I shook my aching head, trying to dislodge the mists in my ...
Marrrrrmaduke!” The coaxing calls in a rather pleasant light baritone were accompanied by the bang of a tin. It jarred in George’s ears as he stood under a street lamp, shivering a little in the chill December air, and checked the address he’d jotted down on a little scrap of ne...