Vespera’s POV
The first thing I learned about living in a packhouse was that people had absolutely no respect for personal space, and the second was that Blackthorne coffee was surprisingly good.
I sat on the front patio with a steaming mug in one hand and a cigarette in the other, enjoying the morning sunshine while the packhouse slowly came to life around me. For once, nobody was trying to kill me, drag me into an ancient chamber, or explain why someone wearing a dead man's face had been locked in a dungeon.
It was almost peaceful, which naturally made me suspicious.
I had just taken another sip when the front doors burst open and Damon Blackthorne strode outside, his damp hair sticking up slightly and his shirt only halfway buttoned. His eyes swept across the patio until they landed
