They broke through the crowd, Liam effortlessly parting the sea of lower-level players like a battleship navigating a harbour full of wooden rowboats.
Elizabeth walked pressed to his side, her cheeks flushed and warm as freshly baked bread. His massive hand enveloped hers, and she clung to it. Her body was close enough that her breath hitched when his bicep brushed her chest, squeezing her breasts between his arm and her ribs with each step he took.
Ahead of them stood the headquarters of the Iron Hearth Guild. A guild hall was supposed to radiate elite power, and this one still tried banners freshly rehung, the stone steps recently swept. It had taken a beating. In their very first raid during their very first week, seventy per cent of their core members had simply not come back. No respawns, no second chances. But Berry had absorbed another guild recently, though they were dickheads, still good meatshields.
