Warrick leaned forward, dropping his knee as he pressed his palm to the floor between himself and the chair. A strange warmth rose through Nim, the dampness in her hem chased from the material as the sensation raced over her flesh in something that was far different from the magic of the Trust. It was less slithering, less smothering, and more like a welcome hearth or the sun on her skin. Like the way his hands had felt against the bare skin of her ankles. She jerked back to alertness, realizing at once that she’d relaxed into the chair and closed her eyes as she settled into the magic’s
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