Kirsten Corter

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His eyes slide shut, and he gestures to the headboard. “Not fine.” My gaze narrows on the dark wood, and I have to lean in a little to finally see two faint marks of discoloration, barely a shade lighter than the original stain, right where his thumbs had been. I cover my stomach with my hand like that can keep it from sinking. Did he just channel?
Onyx Storm (The Empyrean #3)
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