Greg started screaming.
He clutched at his wrist with his remaining hand, blood spurting everywhere as his face contorted in agony. The words that spilled from his mouth were half-coherent slurs, curses, vile names thrown at Aura between desperate, pained whimpers.
"You fucking bitch– you– you cut my–"
Ronan prepared to intervene, but something interesting caught his attention.
Aura looked surprised.
Her eyes were slightly wider than usual and her posture was tense in a way that suggested genuine confusion rather than any satisfaction.
She stared down at Greg's severed hand on the floor, as if she hadn't been the one to remove it.
"You bitch!" Greg shrieked again, staggering backward. "I'll– I'll kill you! I'll–"
"That was your last warning."
The cold voice cut through the tavern.
Ronan turned.
Sitting alone at a corner table, partially obscured by the shadow from one of the lamps, was a girl with dark skin and striking green hair.
