deadrun

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“Smoke, like that of a bonfire on a frigid winter night, pine sap snapping as the wood heats, the earth beneath it soaking in the warmth, smelling of rain as the snow melts.” Isaac blinked up at Constantine, finding himself growing warmer, cheeks flushed. “That’s fucking awesome.”
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Mastering the Flames (The Beacon Hill Sorcerer, #4)
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