I felt Jean-Claude walk between me and Primo. Fine, but my point stands. Grounding, as in being grounded, solid on your feet, secure. She patted his shoulder.
He turned to look at me, and we were in the bright halogen lights of the street, so I could see his face clearly. I asked, and my voice was as lazy and soft as my touch, You're almost making pain noises, does it hurt? No, he said, and his voice showed a strain that his body didn't even hint at. We'd shared our bitterness toward our families long ago. My skin was cold with the iciness of her power.
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