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The words pulsed in Corven’s mind like a war drum, each letter searing itself into the edges of his vision. His breath hitched. His bow remained nocked, the string thrumming with tension.

’Guess I have no other choice.’

He loosed the arrows with deadly intent—both aimed directly at the true vampire’s neck, the fastest, most vulnerable point he could reach.

But the vampire only laughed—a low, guttural sound laced with amused contempt—as he snatched one of the arro ...

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