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Mike contemplated this for a second before sitting up in his seat. His fingertips explored the surface of the table.Thenfuck your mum. He picked up his empty bottle of Holsten Pils by the rim. “Im out. Anyone else need one while Im going? Everything that remained of Shan wanted to go to her, to gather her in his arms and take her far away. But the new part of him just wanted vengeance for what had been done to her. He wanted to see her attacker bleed. 31 Let me know how you get on with the something, says Rowan, leading the way. He knows from a quick glance at a local history website that there has been a place of worship on the spit for 500 years, but the current scout-hut style building has only been here since 1892. The roof-timbers are said to come from Viking ships. Before the grounds were consecrated, people from the valley had to carry their dead across the old Corpse Road to St Catherines at Boot. Hes read grisly tales about processions of mourners becoming lost in the fog crossing the fells – of horses, coffins, wagons and mourners all swallowed up by the elements. He wonders how much is exaggeration and how much fact. Wonders when that started to matter. Something likethat, probably. All duty and honour and what he had lost when she had asked for help, for a friend, for someone to back her up in probably the hardest task she would ever have to undertake. Had Indarin even been listening to him earlier? The wolf-cub had been there in the mausoleum. Where was he now? What had happened to him? Don emitted a long, drawn-out breath.I dont suppose youve found her yet? He was brave. Shan had to give him that. Jerens legs gave out and the floor hit her hard, stealing her breath. The tattoo seared into her flesh all over again, like lines of fire writhing beneath the surface. No, thanks. The salad will fill me up. St Michael and All Angels Church Shan dipped his head and his mouth captured hers again. This time the kiss demanded more from her, and she responded again, lifting herself on her elbows, her body aglow beneath his touch. But she moved too quickly and a stab of pain made her wince. Her strength failed her and she wilted, hardly able to hold herself up except by clinging to his shoulders. He murmured her name and kissed her forehead before settling her on the ground again. His braids whispered against her like silk, framing his handsome face. A little, he admits. Not enough to compensate me for the hours spent in the company of somebody who made my flesh crawl. The two of you are playing with fire, he said, his voice like the breeze through the trees. Ylandra will cast you out if you meet him like that again. Keeping her hands deep in the pockets of her hoodie, one gripping the art knife tighter still, the other clenched into a fist to stop the violent flapping of her fingers, Samara followed her fellow students as they drifted towards the stage. She aimed to stand as far back as possible, ideally behind some of the more extroverted members of the class who would shine at the front. Jones arranged the twenty or so bodies in a single line, though, offering no refuge from the penetrating stares of those seated below. Samara took a deep breath and avoided the situation, staring down at the worn boards between her boots. She breathed in the scents of varnish, the cheap paint of the drama sets lined up behind her, and the musty crimson stage curtains. A quick check revealed Lily and Dale still waiting by the entrance as if to block her retreat, macabre guardians determined to see her face this. They both watched the stage, leaking dark fluids down their clothing and onto the floor. Lily grinned and waved. Samara returned to studying the boards of the stage..