Rowan didn’t know where to look first. At the wolf and Fae male sprawled on the floor. Or at the iron coffin across the tent. The iron box they’d locked her in. Had to reinforce, it seemed, from the sloppy welding on the thick slabs atop it. The box was so small. So narrow. The smell of her blood, her fear, saturated the tent. Emanated from that box. A metal table lay nearby. And beneath it … Rowan took in the three unlit braziers set beneath it, the chain anchors at the head and foot of the table, and at last looked toward the Fae male left bloodied, but still alive, on the floor across from
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OMG they’re seeing what it was like the last two months 🫢
