The warrior's mighty shoulders slumped as his head hung low at the unwelcome words.
Alaric ignored any lingering threat Thanaros might represent and walked toward the beat up car where he'd set Vladira's body.
"She's colder than she was before," he said, his voice choked up. "That can't be a good sign."
Thanaros watched and felt something burning inside his bones. She'd gone cold again.
The color he'd seen in her cheeks when he first found her, minutes before—it was all gone. She was…dead. But Alaric wasn't, which meant that there might still be time.
"Alaric Voss," Thanaros muttered. "There is one chance, though it's weak at best."
"I'll take any chance you've got," he said, turning back to look at Thanaros.
"I'm at your mercy. You could kill me now if you wanted—but I don't believe that's what you want. I can sense it in you.
She loved you like her child, and I think part of you knows and respects that."
