+ 3
Inspecting the man who’d planted himself on a bar stool in front of her, a shudder crept over Freya’s back. The ability to read auras wasn’t always a gift – in that case, all she felt was a chill that reached her very bones. Who knew where he’d come from – but doing her job, the witch wore a smile and approached him. “Let me guess... Whisky, straight?” On the rocks, she should’ve added – just for the irony of it.









