Ambrose Drak
Screams of terror rip Ambrose out of the restless strings of sleep. Disoriented, he rolls off the flat stone and lands on the balls of his bare feet, ready to take on an attacker.
Images of Lord Maxton and his men come to mind. Have they penetrated the safety of the haven?
He wraps his hand around the hilt of his side dagger. The steel is cool, solid under his grip.
Jagged, rough rocks bite into his soles.
The source of the shrewd noise continues to assault his ears.
It's Mercy, who even now, struggles in her sleep.
She lashes out as if to ward off an unseen phantom in the darkness.
"Graysen . . . I need . . .P-please." Words slip past her lips, but her sentences remain fragmented.
He approaches her. "Mercy," he whispers. "Wake up."
"Nay." Tears weigh her lashes.
Th
