Never before could her words have seen me comply. If your companions die in a fight, they die. It is not something to shrink at the sight of, less still to be held as a threat against you—just something to be swiftly avenged. It is all part of the challenge, the rich tapestry of battle. Yet here I am unhesitatingly throwing Split-the-Bear to the floor with an iron clatter, so anxious to see this man live.
“You even scratch him with that blade,” I say, “and I swear I will pull your guts out through your mouth with my bare hand!”
“No, quiet now, Pretty,” she gently replies. “No need for such talk. We can share him. I can feel how much of his lustful energy he diverts from me to you. I can feel all such things. How his body yearns for yours. How much you want him in return. Indeed, how much
