87

Elf! Where the hell did you go?!" Morkai's outraged voice slices through the moment with the force of a volcanic eruption. You jump in surprise, and even Cederic Oakbar brays in dismay. Between the mule and Morkai's bellow, the moment is utterly and thoroughly ruined.

Daelynn pulls back from you, her presence no longer sizzling you with its intensity. It must be very handy to have that skill—just turn the smolder on and off on demand. You still feel completely off-balance.

"Shall we go back to the red grouch before he brings the sirens back with his ungodly screaming?" she asks you. "They might think it's a mating call or something."

You burst out laughing, the absurdity of that mental image too much for you. She smirks at you in return, her hand reaching out and softly taking hold of the sleeve of your tunic. Your laughter stops abruptly, and your eyes focus on where her fingers grip your sleeve.

"Come on," she says, pulling you along and heading back upstairs. You are still staring at her hand, her gentle grasp touching you but not. It is as tangible as if it were a steel manacle around your wrist.

Oh dear. This could mean trouble.