There was anger simmering in Rymora's eyes, and this time she didn't bother hiding it. It burned steadily, rooted deep behind her gaze as she lowered her head and gave her mistress a stiff bow.
Then, without another word, she turned sharply and walked away, her footsteps clipped and heavy with tension.
She intended to have a word with Aria the second they were alone. There was no doubt in her mind—Aria had been completely taken with that young man.
Rymora could see it in every line of her body, in the softness of her gaze and the smile she tried to hide. And as much as she wanted to scold her mistress for being reckless, Rymora couldn't entirely blame her.
Clay was... striking. Even she, who had long locked her heart away for someone else, found herself momentarily caught off guard by the sight of him.
That face—it should be illegal. It was the kind of beauty reserved for vampires, not human men, and yet he carried it like it meant nothing.
