Xena stood with her staff lowered just enough to be lethal.
Eros looked at her—and for a heartbeat, time thinned.
Black hair spilled down her back like a curtain of night, catching the torchlight in faint blue highlights where lightning mana still lingered.
Her skin bore the warm, rich caramel hue of the Caribbean isles, smooth and radiant, a stark contrast to the cold crackle of power coiled beneath it.
Her waist was slim, her form balanced and honed, yet undeniably full where it mattered—hips, chest, and ass shaped not for ornament alone, but for strength and presence.
Especially the ass part.
She had grown more beautiful than he remembered.
Not softer.
Sharper.
She wore the standard garb of a high-ranking magic user: a wide-brimmed arcane hat shadowing her eyes, runed fabric clinging close to her body, cut in a way that left very little to the imagination.
The clothes were practical—yet provocative in the way confidence always was. Power did that.
