“Rather die than go in?” he asks, an easy grin spreading across his face. The smooth baritone of his voice unsettles me; it doesn’t match his aura or the wicked look in his eye. I can’t quite place his accent. I pull a lock of hair from where it has plastered itself to my lips, eyeing him warily. “Something like that.” With two fingers, he shifts the car into reverse. “I’ll back up. I can make it look like an accident. You’d be the third one I have done today.” I’d smile if my face wasn’t frozen in place by the biting wind. “Marvelous. If you could just throw me off the drawbridge when you’re
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