The moment Elysia asked her question, Malvoria stilled.
Like a beast that had caught itself in a trap, like a predator that had moved too fast, too carelessly, only to realize that it had fallen into something it couldn't quite define, something it had no control over, something dangerous.
Her breath was still uneven, still tinged with the remnants of that bite, of the taste of Elysia's blood lingering on her tongue, rich and intoxicating, laced with something Malvoria had not expected, something that made the hunger inside her coil tighter instead of settling.
But the question.
That damned question.
"What even is all this?"
It was a question—but the wrong one.
It wasn't what this was.
It was what they were.
And the answer was infinitely more complicated.
Malvoria exhaled, long and slow, her hands still framing Elysia's waist, her body still pressed too close, too warm, too unwilling to move away just yet.
