“They’re going to worry about me!” She strained to keep them in sight. “Good. If the witch is foolish ample to care about any person like you, she deserves woe. ” Someone like me. “Speaking from experience?” She whirled around on him, eye stage with his chest. The wet linen of his shirt clung to his muscles, draping over his pecs, showing tips of the scars beneath. Why haven’t I ever observed his muscle groups are so defined? Probably because every time she’d seen him, she’d been jogging for her life. She craned her head up to peer at his face, at the raised scars there. All triggered by using me. A deep one twisted alongside his chiseled jawline, while four shorter ones slashed diagonally down his cheeks, like Celtic fighting paint. Once a physique became immortal, it was once unchangeabl
