Death has always tried to shove a homemade shiv past my ribs.
I'm a monster hunter, so death is no stranger. Now, as I languish in this dank cell deep in the heart of Fae, He's so close I can smell His breath. It smells of cinnamon. Wears the face of the Shadow Court's dark enforcer. Gorgeous, powerful, and utterly ruthless. Just to prove a point, he executes the only friend I have here before he turns his violent eye to mine.