The room was suddenly hot, and I had to look away from the walls, but the floor was worse. “Take it,” he said softly. He was offering a private demonstration of hisetchings. The sidewalks ran like butter; and charred, smoldering shapes lay in the guttersand on the rooftops.
But he probably wouldn't sweep me up in his arms. His gaze flicked to the folders, then settled serenely back on me. How can you be so sure it wasn't one of our werewolves? It didn't smell like pack. Inside, safe for the moment, he registered.
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