It was Tristan. He'd come for me.

And boy, he didn't look happy.

His back arched defensively and his eyes filled with glowing anger. His fingers, a bit more chunky than a human's, were stretched in a hostile position as if about to attack. But when he caught my eye, his face and posture suddenly relaxed, almost like a whimpering dog. There was no anger in his eyes, only fear and hesitation.

"Step closer and she dies," said Gavran from behind.

Tristan looked back ...