Cedar Sweep like carillon bells, the house of Augustus rings

She was a force of nature, this woman, and who was Passerine to fight against that tide? In that way she was no better than a man. Lured by a pretty face with no idea of where she would take her.

Well, at the moment, she had nowhere else to be and nothing to do. Passerine was dead, Jericho a sinner so far deep that a thousand hail Mary’s couldn’t wash her clean. She moved with a ripple of black velvet, muscle smooth under her skin, as she prowled the shore around the woman. A leopardess, circling a ring of protective fire.

I should? She asked with a soft tilt of her head, barely an inch to the side.

Passerine gave a throaty laugh, like the wooden croak of a raven.

I will. Her grin was all teeth.

No need to worry your pretty little head. I’m convinced. It wasn’t like she was in any sort of hurry back to where she came from.