A flowing line of Fyordin’s power connects with hers through the wooden door, his fuller power rippling to life as a slim stream of it molds itself against her tempestuous current. Heavy steps sound from inside.

The door opens, Fyordin before her.

Tierney pulls in a hard breath. He’s shirtless with bare feet, nipple-piercings on full display. Thin drawstring pants ride low over sculpted hips, the masculine lines of him standing out so much more clearly than in his uniform...

But even more flustering is the look he’s giving her, concern sparking to life in deep-lake eyes initially so liquid from sleep. A warrior energy gathers in that gaze as he studies her, his magic palpably ready to defend and align.

Tierney finds her ire toward him blunted by that look of Asrai’kin alliance.

“I want to swim to the bottom of the Vo with you,” she blurts out.

Fyordin’s water aura burgeons toward her in a potent tide, but he yanks it back with impressive strength. He gives her a searching look, a trace of rattled exasperation in it. “You are giving me a great many mixed signals, Advisor Calix.”

“Fyordin,” she counters sharply, half in censure, half in urgent plea. “I need your aid.”

His brow knits, a slender trace of his power breaking loose to flow through her storming aura, and she can feel him putting her obvious distress above his straining urge to let his waves crash into her magic. He opens his door wider and Tierney steps inside, not caring about propriety at this moment. Fyordin shuts the door and stills before her.

Tierney glances around the room, noticing his mussed bed, the various books and weapons strewn about, all of it lit by moonlight streaming in through arching windows overlooking the Vo.

“What aid do you seek?” he asks.

Her gaze swings to his, a jolt running through their currents as their eyes meet. “We amplify each other’s power,” she stiltedly begins, “and—” she swallows, her pulse quickening against the disarming caress of their magic “—so... I need to swim to the bottom of the Vo with you...and touch you.”

Fyordin’s blue brow goes up, a stronger current of his magic breaking toward hers.

“Not like that!” she blurts as a warm spark of amusement lights his eyes.

“Then how, Asrai?” he asks, warmly patient.

“I need to get a better sense of the river,” Tierney attempts again, too aware of how close he is. How alone they are. How the river is right there. “Fyordin...” she manages as their joint powers reflexively loosen and swirl into a heated caress.

The alluring feel of it seems to catch them both off guard. Fyordin stiffens, liquid want entering his gaze as Tierney completely loses her train of thought, unable to fight the tide. Suddenly not wanting to fight the tide. She steps toward him, pulse thudding, and brings her trembling palm to his bare shoulder.