PREVIEW

... ounds, pooling beneath him, thick and warm. His vision blurred again—shadows twisting at the edges. Every pulse of his heart felt like a hammer striking rusted metal.

He tried to speak. Maybe make a joke, something to break the tension. "What a spa day," or "Is this part of the tour?" But his tongue was too heavy. His lips barely moved. All that came out was a soft, wet groan.

The lizardmen didn’t care.

They whipped him again. A brutal crack of thorny vines lashed across ...

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