Macee Grisenti

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“Pull over,” I rasped through my teeth, my mouth dry as sand, my whole body quaking. “Now. I need to get out.” “But we’re on the road, it’s pouring—” “Now, Rowan,” I half keened, pounding one weak fist against the window.
From Bad to Cursed (The Witches of Thistle Grove, #2)
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