[Vernon]
The sight of Elora, her gaze holding ours, the dark glaze trailing down her collarbones and pooling in her cleavage, was an invitation I could not, would not, refuse.
Sylas and I moved in unison, a blur of motion too fast for her eyes to follow. In an instant, I was at her right, Sylas at her left, flanking her at the grand dining table. Our hands reached out simultaneously, mine finding her left hand, Sylas' her right, our fingers gently supporting hers.
We gently pulled, guiding her to her feet, bringing her flush against the edge of the table, caught between our presences. The scent of the blood, mingling with her own unique aroma—lemon balm and moonlight and something exquisitely human—was intoxicating, a potent invitation that vibrated through every fiber of my being.
My
