Raven's grip did not falter. He held the solid, iron-like architecture of her backside, his fingers sinking into the dense muscle that had been forged by thirty years of war. He felt the tremor in her, a high-frequency vibration that ran from the base of her spine to the tips of her toes, a physical revolt against the sheer audacity of his touch.
"What is your name?" he asked, his voice a low vibration that seemed to bypass her ears and strike directly at her core.
Edda trembled. It was not a dainty thing; it was the shudder of a mountain shifting on its foundation. Behind her, Rika was folded in a deep, desperate bow, her head tucked so low that her chin pressed against her sternum. Rika was vibrating in sympathy, her own wide frame shaking as the overwhelming mana radiated from the man who stood between them.
Rika's mind was a riot of static. 'Hunting?' the thought spiraled through her, fragmented and manic. 'Lady Edda? A dragon? What is he saying?'
