15
Connell’s nostrils flared. The woods stank of dark magic and blood. “Do you smell that?” he asked.
“Yeah,” Logan said, kneeling.
They were in the Canadian Rockies, at least a hundred miles from the nearest town. They’d come here directly after a detour to a patch of land near Blessing, Texas, where Logan had shut a door into hell.
Damn dragons, he thought as he scanned the trees around them. They could have gotten here much sooner if not for that errand, which had been anticlimactic, to say the least.
Connell had been pumped when Logan said they were going to be facing off with a bunch of dragon shifters, possibly slamming the door to hell shut on them. But by the time they got to Blessing, only one waited. The rest had already come through the door and gone home, wherever that was
