Lyan's lips twitched, a faint, humorless smile. "We all do." He reached for her shoulder, meaning to brush off the comment, but his fingers found the smooth curve of her collar instead, a brief spark of warmth against the cold air. Her skin was warm, her pulse steady beneath his touch. An anchor.
Ravia's sly smile curved wider. "A breath, or something stronger?" she teased, but there was a gentleness beneath the banter.
He caught her wrist, half in reflex, half intending to chide her—but the warmth of her skin sent a spark through his palm, a slow burn that slipped down his spine. His breath hitched. He saw the shift in her gaze, the way her pupils darkened, how her lips parted just slightly.
