"Late."
"Worth the wait?" he countered, kneeling behind her. He traced a glowing fingertip—pure mana—along the ice-blue runes tattooed at her nape. She shivered, surprised laughter bubbling out. He bent, kissing each rune in turn. She tasted of wintergreen and distant campfires. When she turned, the stern line of her mouth curved; she tugged him down, their kiss deliberate and deep, like two swords crossing then sliding home to rest.
