"Let's try what this new kinky power of yours does!" Ayame's voice rang as her fingers found her katana and the grin that split her face was pure excitement, the kind that burned through every layer of pretense the samurai usually wore, reaching her blue eyes first and changing the shape of her face entirely.
Her mark ignited through the silk at her belly, dark calligraphy above her womb blazing crimson, and the warmth that rolled off the script turned the skin beneath her navel into a beacon.
Quinlan felt it at the same instant. The Crimson Reservoir behind his sternum lurched as a current of blood-essence threaded outward through the bond toward the samurai ten meters away, leaving a warm hollow at the center of his chest that pulsed once and settled into the quiet pull, being spent.
Then Ayame drew the blade, and nothing happened.
