The moment the dark water swallowed Martin again, Kill Clause came to a stop and raised her bow. Her boots found their place on the wet stone as if she had already measured the distance. Her shoulders lowered, her spine straightened, and her breathing slowed until even the chaos around her seemed to move farther away.
There was nothing frantic in her stance. Her hand did not tremble, and every shift of muscle seemed chosen before the fight had even reached her.
Her bow drew taut, and so did the rest of her. The pull tightened every line of her body beneath her battle outfit, drawing in her waist and pushing the full curve of her ass into a shamelessly perfect shape.
From behind, it looked firm, round, and heavy enough to make even a dying man regret looking away, the kind of view a shamelessly gifted sculptor would have wept over before throwing away his tools.
Martin was missing quite a lot right now.
He was not only missing that beautiful view.
