Warning: Mild Gore
Ravenor's grip on Elara's wrist was firm but not cruel, his annoyed eyes ablaze with irritation. While he held her one hand she raised her other one but he spoke sooner.
"I said, don't touch me," he growled, his voice low and commanding. "If you want your hands intact."
Elara's breath hitched, but she didn't back down. Instead, she did something entirely unexpected—something that momentarily stripped him of his anger. She stepped closer and her hand came to rest on his cheek. With her thumb, she wiped off the splinters of dried blood right below his eye. While she couldn't help but notice how cold his face was, his whole body tensed on her warm touch.
