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As I am a weekend-only writer of romance, Darrah is still having trouble ignoring Hale.
Magpie’s treasure! The Sarkisian reflected every facet of a male she had ever been interested in, instead of the freak he really was.
She needed to bathe. An ice cold waterfall might do it. Head low enough to rest on the buckle that held her cloak in place, Darrah gripped her bow and breathed deeply to gentle the tremors that still shook her, running through the Articles of War and the Creeds of Peace she traced the grooves in the bark of the tree.
“Komantak of The Suoliak should not be guilty of unclean or scandalous actions for in this should they incur punishment such that the nature and degree of their offence shall deserve,” she recited. “Accepting the touch of the Sarkisian would stack as both unclean and scandalous,” she added aloud.
When the touch came, hot on the heel of her thought, Darrah turned. Bow high and steady, arrow straight and sharp, she held her breath before she collected her thoughts.