“She is a Hawke!” Verm protested. “They are cursed with incredible skill.”
“Or you are weak,” Simon replied.
The soldier gripped Willow’s hurt arm firmly.
“Let her go,” a voice proclaimed from the darkness.
For a moment, Willow thought it was her imagination. She knew that voice. She desired that voice.
The clouds parted, and the moonlight slowly washed over the man.
He looked like a ferocious monster stalking prey to everyone else, but to Willow, he was her dark angel.
Christian marched toward them, a sword in his hand.
Willow’s heart surged, and relief swept through her.
He had come back!
