Even with my chicken tucked under his arm and the cords of the white headphones hanging from his ears, our glowing-eyed dragon looks scary as fuck. Eagles are useless in a fight. Their power is healing, so a lot of them carry weapons. This one sets the handgun on the table, whimpering under my teeth. The vibration of it tickles and I suppress a laugh. Scythe steps out of the shadows of the staircase, and the eagles pin their gazes on him. They take in his silver hair, his sky-blue eyes, and the five lines of ancient marine script on the left side of his neck. The alluring scent of terror fills
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