Linsora stepped out of the shadows—knife in hand—revealing herself in full measure to their visitor. She casually walked over and stood next to Permac, and for a moment, he was honestly not sure what she’d do. Kill the woman? Attack her? Instead, Linsora’s knife vanished into the folds of her sleeves and her hands into her pockets. Permac knew that even though the blades did not show, her hands probably gripped the handles of others.
“So,” the woman began, brows raised. “There are two of you. One purebred . . .” She looked at Permac, smiled softly, and ran the tip of her tongue across her lower lip. “. . . and one . . . what exactly are you?”
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