The storm was no longer outside. The tie that had just seared itself into raw, unforgiving flesh was inside her veins, inside the hall, and it was right here.
Elaria's body shook from the intimacy that had engulfed her and Draven, and her breath was still labored. His aroma left a deeper impact on her than any scar could, and his heat remained on her flesh. Her body responded in ways she could never deny as the sound of his roar continued to reverberate in her chest. However, another sound—low, methodical, serpentine—pierced the heated silence that ensued.
Clapping.
Slow, steady claps that broke the fragile aftermath apart like glass underfoot.
“Well,” the voice drewled, sly laughter creeping through each word. “That was… touching.”
Elaria froze. Every muscle, every instinct scream
