Jason stood in the dimly lit chamber, the silence of the midnight hour pressing in around them.
As he looked at Thalindra, he realized immediately that something was fundamentally different about her. It wasn't just her presence or the weight of the centuries she carried in her gaze; it was a visceral, sensory assault. He could literally smell it off her—a scent that bypassed his conscious mind and hit his primal instincts.
She smelled of crushed moon-lilies, ancient ozone, and a heady, musk-like sweetness that suggested a fertility so potent it was almost intoxicating. It was the smell of a goddess in heat, a biological siren call designed to draw in the strongest possible mate.
Then there was her attire. Jason had seen elven fashion before, but this was something entirely different. She wore a garment of impossibly thin lace fabric, a shimmering, translucent web that clung to her skin like a second layer of dew.
