KALLE
An hour later, her blood still fizzing a little because Gahrye, true to his word, had not taken her on the table like she'd thought he would—what guy had that kind of self-control?—Kalle was struggling to concentrate.
She ran a hand through her hair and flipped the page. Gahrye was on the other side of the table—she'd insisted on the space, because if he was going to stroke her and kiss her, then not follow through, she would be a mess by the time they left. This way at least she could pretend to get some work done.
Then she frowned. She didn't want to pretend.
She hadn't told Gahrye, but she was digging deeper on the disformed. Something was niggling at her, but she couldn't figure out what. Something kept pressing at her.
Why was Elia—who was human, or at least started that way—able to shift, yet he could not?
