The moment between life and death on the Bridge of Shadows lasted no longer than the flutter of a falcon's wing. The gale screamed through the iron suspension links, spraying freezing sea foam from the abyss eight hundred feet below. Torin stood motionless on the icy timber planks, his muscles coiled like a primed catapult, his glacier-blue eyes locked with Freya’s hazel gaze. In his thirty-four years, Torin Ironfang had…
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