Did this debauchee actually ask her to join his play?
Shyla froze in the doorway. Her mind struggled to process the audacity of the question.
The man lying in the bed had four enchanting women wrapped around him like vines on a trellis. The air in the room was thick with the scent of love fluids.
Yet, he looked at her with a bright, welcoming grin, as if he had just invited her to tea.
It must be her ears malfunctioning. The sheer shock of the day had finally broken her senses.
Shyla covered her sharp ears with her hands. She cleared her throat loudly, refusing to look him directly in the eyes.
"Why didn't you open the door?" she asked.
She forced her voice to return to its usual freezing temperature, though her cheeks burned with a heat she could not suppress.
'And why this shameless act in the daytime?' she cried internally.
She kept her gaze fixed on the wooden frame of the door. She was the Rain of Ice, a high-ranking mage of the Apocalyptic Guild.
