After speaking, Xarion stepped even closer to Rory.
They were nearly pressed together now.
Rory could clearly feel his cool palm against her own. That faint chill seeped into her skin without warning, his fingers slipping slowly between hers. The pressure shifted—sometimes light, sometimes firm. Every so often, he gave a measured squeeze at her knuckles, sending a faint tingling sensation racing up her spine.
Instinctively, Rory tried to curl her fingers away.
He tightened his hold instead. His thumb brushed slowly across the back of her hand, stroking in unhurried circles.
It felt like comfort. It also felt suspiciously like a quiet claim of possession.
Something was off about him today.
Rory glanced sideways at Xarion, who was almost flush against her, and frowned slightly.
"Are you feeling unwell?" she asked.
Why was he standing this close? And why was he kneading her fingers like that?
"I'm not unwell," Xarion answered seriously. "Female Master… are you uncomfortable?"
