the smuggler’s bible

Cormac

Cormac is walking toward the clearing at the back of the house when something stops him. He isn’t sure what—a prickling at the nape of his neck, maybe. A feeling.

Ahead of him, framed in the moonlight, he sees another of Dorian’s men. There’s a low snarl and movement to his left. A blur eclipses the man’s shadow. He hears the thud as the body hits the ground and a wet rasping rush of air.

“Wolf,” Cormac whispers, and fires a warning shot into the air. He knows better than to shout—he’ll need his breath for the sprint.