PREVIEW

... of Solvish Keep, the scent of roasted blood and spice curling through the night air with a familiar warmth.

Charishe’s fingers twirled a skewer absently, her tall fox-like ears twitching with idle rhythm, while Voille loomed nearby—silent, gargoyle, composed.

The Blood Cakes hissed on the iron grating, and Charishe leaned in with satisfaction.

"See?" she muttered smugly, flipping one of the cubes. "Works every time. Nobody resists the scent."

Voille inclined thei ...

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