The morning was tense.
Not because something had been said.
But because too much had been felt.
Elysia stood at the edge of the cabin's main room, her hand still resting on the wooden frame of the doorway that led into the kitchen, her bare feet pressing lightly against the cool wood floor.
Her silver hair, damp from the long, hot bath she'd just taken, clung to her shoulders and spine, the ends curling in soft disarray.
Her tunic was simple linen dyed a muted maroon that hugged her figure just enough to be comfortable without being suffocating but she still felt too warm.
Because Malvoria was standing by the kitchen counter.
Cooking. And somehow managing to look like the most dangerously attractive person in the universe.
Her crimson hair was tied into a loose braid that hung over one shoulder, a few strands escaping to frame her sharp face.
