Redsand Canyon now who to blame but i for tying these knots so well at my wrists

they rely on their allies. that can only get you so far.

they couldn’t argue the point. donovan was capable of insight, when it suited him. it was a shame he rarely chose to do anything with it besides shovel another pawful of earth out of the hole he was standing in.

but not worth stressing about? an interesting claim from their leader. renard didn’t care if the saints clawed themselves out of this drenched in blood or not; they cared that the person holding their blade knew how to use it and used it often.

neither of these things were true.

and –

renard’s smile did not falter. it grew until it was more a baring of teeth, barely holding onto the vaguest edge of amusement. that was always what it was about with him, wasn’t it? they hadn’t forgotten their fight in the catacombs.

they hadn’t expected donovan to, either. the man was completely focused on one thing; it could have been a skill, if it was anything other than his dick.

there was no helping this. so they’d made a bad decision on who to give their loyalty to; finley would have done as little with their leash, but at least she had a head on her shoulders. if this was what he wanted so badly, renard had no advice left to give him.

watching him fall would, at the least, be fun.

“are you going to beat me in a spar this time?”