Ethan flinched at the sight of her. He immediately darted to the side, quickening his pace. That woman—her presence alone was dangerous. Her aura radiated power, and the gleam of her weapon was enough to set his nerves on edge. Worse, when he got close, a cloying, intoxicating scent drifted from her, heating his blood as if trying to spark a fire within him.
And yet her face, caked beneath a mask of heavy powder, somehow carried a shy blush.
Who does she think she's fooling? Ethan thought grimly. Red Widow had to be a master of some high-level charm sorcery. There was no way a face smeared in powder thick enough to rival a soot-blackened pan could still flush naturally.
"Oh, sweetheart … don't be afraid!"
Her voice was syrupy, but her hand only caught the afterimage of Ethan's retreating figure. She stumbled midair, whispering faintly as if to herself—but he heard it clear as day:
"Big sis is truly out of strength…"
