Epilogue
Toby
“Toby, what’s wrong?” Logan reached across the library table for his hand. “You’ve gone white as the Iskalt snow.”
Coughing, Toby gripped his intended’s hand. He couldn’t catch his breath. “Something’s wrong.” He launched from his chair and out the front door of the library just in time to lose his breakfast over the porch railing.
“Are you sick?” Logan came up behind him, checking his forehead for a fever. “You’ve been working too hard, and this desert heat isn’t helping.”
“It’s not me.” Toby shook his head, sucking in a deep breath and wrinkling his nose. “Can’t you smell that? Ugh, it’s awful.” He waved a hand in front of his face. “It's like dead fish … and sulfur.”
“I don’t smell anything. Are you sure you’re not having an apoplexy?”
“No, I’m not having a stroke.”
