But Adair didn't move, not beyond a subtle sway in Dasha's direction. By some sense of strength (or severe uncertainty), her feet remained firmly planted.
Dasha. Not in almost thirty years, had she felt the familiar surge of desperate sorrow laced with confusion. After six decades of blissful peace and protection, the Russian vampiress's potential for cruelty had suddenly turned it's sights on her soft spoken lover. Then she was gone--and Adair had been abandoned. Again.
"What are you doing here..." she spoke, lacking the confidence she felt she'd earned in her survival since she'd last seen the other woman.