Sam

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Before she could even flinch, Will’s knife was on the guard’s sword hand, his vice grip still on her arm. “You move this hand, and so help me gods I will saw it from your arm slow enough that you feel every single sunder.” His voice was low, and the guard loosened his grip slightly. But not enough. “She’s mine,” Will snarled softly, violence flashing in his gray eyes.
The Curse of Saints
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