My cheeks burn as he swathes me in the airy material, secures the pin beneath my chin, then flicks me on the nose. “Adorable.” “I’m going to cut out your tongue with that blade in your boot.” He whips the hood up over my head, shrouding me in shade. “I’d prefer you use your teeth, but beggars can’t be choosers.”
[FERAL SCREECHING]
