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A hand reached out of the darkness and seized his arm. Patric yelped and whirled.
He couldn’t see her face clearly, but her eyes seemed to glow with a light of their own. They were enchanting and extremely beautiful, but they sparkled with fear and urgency.
“Quick!” she whispered. “You must come with me!”
Patric was frozen. “Who are you?”
“You must come with me!” she repeated. Her voice was soft but there was a dangerous, almost threatening tone in her words.
Patric pulled his arm out of her grip. “Why? Why should I come with you?”
The woman stepped forward, and her face was illuminated by the cold glow emanating from the temple windows. Patric stared at her for a moment, transfixed by her dark, exotic beauty.
He remembered.
“You!” he exclaimed, taking a step back.
The woman stared at him coldly. “I didn’t think you’d remember me.”
Patric backed against the iron banister. “Wha…what are you doing here?”
The woman looked over her shoulder. “There’s no time. We need to leave, now.”
“Why?” Patric pleaded.
She pursed her lips and looked straight into his eyes.
“Because they know.”
Ice cold terror pierced Patric’s chest. “Know what?”
“That Tourec Beauchamp killed the Voice. And that you are his brother.”
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