The shaman stepped through first, looking around him warily as if searching for a trap, even in his own territory. If he knew my father, I couldn't blame him in the slightest.
Disappointment surged when nothing happened.
Watching him and my father rip each other to shreds with magic would've been the most satisfying moment of my life.
The shaman had a huge, curved knife hanging from his belt and wore a stained leather vest that showed off the intricate tattoos covering his hairy arms from wrist to shoulder.
Overall, not a pleasant addition to the tableau.
Jace followed him in, with Sam Kimball right on his heels.
When Jace saw Lucian, he went white, and he stopped dead, Kimball having to stagger a step not to run into him.
"What the fuck have you done with my brother?" Jace demanded, his head whipping back and forth from my father to Kimball, his whole body rigid with tension. "He wasn't supposed to be hurt."
