Bruno’s point of view
Ischavor was still laughing, even with three of Arkhavel’s men forcing him face down into the dirt, with a knife pressed against the back of his neck, the bastard laughed like none of this mattered, like this was still his game. He laughed like a man watching a joke only he understood.
He slowly turned his head against the ground so he could look at me, blood ran from the cut near his temple, tracing a thin line down his cheek.
I stood over him, my chest rising and falling slowly, every instinct in my body screamed at me to kill him right now, end it, end his life. But then, Isabella’s face flashed through my mind, her voice and screams in that video.
I grabbed Ischavor by the collar and yanked him up so hard, his head snapped forward.
“Where is she?” I asked
