Lorcan let out a low groan as he surfaced from the warm, heavy embrace of darkness. “You are one lucky bastard.” 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.
