“If it isn’t my mortal bride,” he mused, grinning wolfishly. “I heard rumors you were still about, ever causing trouble.” He strolled into the cavern, as if he’d been invited in for a pint of ale. “Your spirit was untethered. How are you still here?” Serilda felt the press of the broken arrow, the shaft of ash, against her sternum. “Vengeance,” she spat. “I will not rest so long as that demon huntress of yours carries my child.”
