"Hm, somehow the blood suits you, you know," Livia said, wiping the side of her lips with a lazy flick of her hand. Her teeth still shone red when she smiled, unapologetic as ever.
Darius stretched his legs in front of him, settling back against the trunk of an old ash tree. He didn't bother to clean his face; there was no audience here that warranted appearances. The copper tang still lingered on his tongue, grounding in its own way.
He had slipped into one of the garments kept in a nearby cache—plain woolen trousers and a fitted tunic that laced at the chest. Livia, as ever, had chosen the most ill-fitting tunic in the pile, a washed-out green thing that hung from her frame like a curtain. She lounged beside him, thigh to thigh, the two of them basking in the calm that always followed a successful hunt.
"How flattering," he drawled, half-hearted and warm.
