He caught her right hand in his before she could retreat, his touch burning like captured lightning against her frost-chilled skin. The gesture was both tender and presumptuous - so perfectly Mo Xing that it made her teeth clench. Before she could snatch her hand away, he leaned in and pressed his lips to her skin, the kiss carrying a weight of intention that made her pulse stutter traitorously.
"For luck, little tempest," he whispered, his gaze burning into hers with an intensity that stripped away all pretense of casual flirtation. For one unguarded moment, she glimpsed something raw and honest beneath his careful mischief - a promise, or perhaps a warning. Then his familiar smirk returned, and he stepped back into the rift. The void consumed him, leaving her with the ghost of his touch and the maddening certainty that he'd done it just to unbalance her.