"Little Tsarina," Logan repeated. His claws retracted with a muffled clatter and he leaned closer to smell her. "They said you were gone. Dead."
He breathed her in. Through the blood and sweat there was something more that struck a faulty recollection. It was...but it couldn't be. Still, he wouldn't trust his memories. Only his senses, and they were locked on overload and agitated nearly beyond his tenuous control. "Tell your friend he's gonna be sorry if he don't back up because you could still die now."
(Read comments)
Post a comment in response:
scribbld is part of the horse.13 network
Design by Jimmy B.
Logo created by 
hitsuzen.
Scribbld System Status
