I took a deep breath. It felt like that one shot had nearly punched the life out of me. Everything was spinning for a second. Elara laughed loudly at the way my face was scrunched up. She picked up a piece of broccoli that had been cooked in olive oil and held the fork to my lips.
"You handled that well," she said, her eyes dancing with amusement.
"Wow," I wheezed, chewing the vegetable. "I thought I was actually going to die. Is it always that strong?"
"If you drink it the right way, it's not so bad."
"It feels like I swallowed a lit match," I said, rubbing my chest. The heat was still there, like glowing embers sitting in my stomach. I shook my head, trying to clear the sudden fuzzy feeling that was already washing over me.
"So," Elara teased, "you can handle three bottles of beer, but three shots of this is your limit?"
"No way," I argued, feeling a sudden surge of pride. "I'm not that weak. I can drink more."
