Trudie Mccomb

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He wrinkled his nose, and his brother nudged him and jerked his head at me. “Lentil stew would be fine,” the biggest of the three said in a voice much deeper than his brother. Unease skittered down my spine at their obvious foreignness. Everyone knew the menus at taverns like Dyter’s and Dyrell’s.
Shadow Wings (The Darkest Drae, #2)
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