"Do any of you idiots understand what's down there?" he asked.
The questions died. One by one they bent close and peered into the gap, and the reaction was the same each time—disbelief curving into recognition, recognition curving into a deeper, strangling silence.
The storm raged around them, but the rain and wind ceased to register for a moment because every one of them saw the white fur and those blue eyes.
Beneath the raw smells of wet earth and blood carried by the air, another scent threaded through like a signature—the unmistakable pattern of a Nightshade bloodline.
A low whistle cut the air. "That's impossible."
"It isn't," the first rogue said quietly, not taking his gaze from the pit. "That's Nightshade bloodline. You can definitely smell it."
The phrase settled over the group like a cold, heavy cloak.
