Bree Merritt

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“Sorry, baby,” I said. His lip lifted in a harsh snarl. I chuckled darkly and added, “Don’t worry, Gathrriel. I wasn’t talking to you.” “You’re trying to reach my vessel,” he growled. I felt power unfurl in a maelstrom under my skin at his words. “She’s not yours. She’s mine.”
The Wrath of the Fallen (Gods & Monsters, #4)
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