“I’m trying to decide whether I’ll grant you the mercy of death now, or whether I’ll leave you here to suffer.”
Laughter rasped from the man’s burnt throat. “Need… suffer. Suffer… is… cleans…”
His chest contorted in a hacking cough, but Jarrad was immune to his suffering.
“In that case, I think I’ll—” Jarrad’s phone chirped. Two words.She’s awake.“I have somewhere to be. This will be quick.” His fingers lengthened into claws. With a vicious swipe, the Inquisitor’s head lolled, blood streaming from a new orifice. Grinning, Jarrad loped back into the trees.
He didn’t look back. If he had, he would have been afraid.
A grotesque smile was frozen on the blackened mouth. And a flashing red beacon rolled from between the fingers that had hidden it.
War was coming, whether they invited it or not.