“It would be a shame,” Rune said, almost crooning in her ear, “to mar your lovely neck. Let’s say I’ve won and leave it there.” “A Slödavan, reluctant to draw blood?” Elma said, keenly aware of how close she was to Rune, noting every breath he took, every place where their bodies touched. She felt him as bright as a star, a fire burning through winter’s chill. His breath ruffled her hair.
