"My dear nephew Thorin," Nina greeted, her voice dripping with a kind of affectionate malice that could only come from a woman who thought of family as little more than unfinished business.
She gazed down from the throne, eyes practically glowing with that twisted 'I could fix you' energy. To Nina, Thorin wasn't a cute nephew—he was more like a broken toy she was determined to fix.
Thorin took an instinctive step back, the hairs on the back of his neck prickling. Puck nudged him in the ribs, a silent reminder of why he was there.
Clearing his throat—because it definitely needed clearing—Thorin took a deep breath and said, "Lately, my pack has been finding animals drained of blood, and the river's been... well, a bit of a bloodbath."
