Dragoncrest Cliffs dead men tell no tales

crowell knows what he wants—her.

the siren who had danced with him through ravensblood, who had run, tangled, teased. the one who had led them here without even knowing, drawn to trouble same as him. she shouldn’t have come sniffing. shouldn’t have found him. but she had, and now she was going to be his!

a sneer twists his face, sharp with cruel delight. tunnel vision locks onto her, everything else fading into background noise. he doesn’t care about the others. doesn’t care about plunder, about nox’s orders. he has only one prize in mind. but he charges in alongside the captain, teeth flashing, snapping at flanks, taunting. he dances through the fray, slipping out of reach before a bite can land, laughing low in his throat.

a game.

always a game.

but when he reaches her, there’s no teasing left. he rears up, teeth bared, snapping at her legs, driving her away from what seems to be her relatives. cutting her off. isolating her. this was a woman's circle!

hah, there ye are, pretty thing. thought ye could run from me? smug satisfaction wets his words. he lunges again, aiming to press her back further, to push her where he wants her. away from the fight. away from help.