The soft sound of footsteps behind her pulled her from her reverie. Before she could react, a familiar voice, low and edged with amusement, broke the stillness.
"Daydreaming or plotting?"
Elara spun around so quickly that her heart nearly leaped out of her chest. The juice slipped from her grasp, arcing through the air before splashing unceremoniously across Ravenor's chest. All of it happened so fast that she had barely blinked and the next moment she stood before him, as a criminal.
Her breath hitched as she stared at the damage—the deep, golden stain now spreading across his pristine white shirt. Ravenor stood there, unmoving, his dark eyes fixed on her with a look that was equal parts irritation and bemusement. His lips pressed together tightly as he seemed to run his tongue above his canines while he took a deep breath and she held hers.
