Honeyed Pasture great scott

Dark ears picked up in incredulity as the male continued to be flustered. She felt almost guilty for eliciting such a reaction — she was a married woman, after all, even if she was planning on returning to her adulterous ways soon enough. But despite the guilt, the rush she felt from holding this power over others was undeniable.

Warsaw Islands, she repeated, mulling over the word. The only island terribly close was Yuelong, and this golden youth was not one of theirs. That seemed plenty far enough for Alya — far enough, at least, for her to take an interest.

I'm sure it was no match for you, she told him, but as he couldn't be more than two, she wasn't sure she believed it. He was, however, tall and strapping enough he might give a black bear a run for its money now.

It would probably still be a match, though.

What should I call you? she asked, the question near an order. For the moment, she ignored his own query, closing the distance between them to help distract him from this fact. His own scent — pleasant enough, beneath the salt — washed over her, and she took note of a few companion scents that sat alongside his own.

This close to Moonspear, she was a little concerned about being overtly flirtatious — but no one else would see if she lowered her lashes to pin Lionel with her best come hither eyes.