Page 13 of The Twelve Nights of Halloheen

All she could feel was old terror building. It was getting hard to breathe. Was there even oxygen in the room?

“Isla, I need help with my props,” Tisuran said. He nudged people aside so she could follow him. “Come with me please.”

Gratefully, she followed him on wobbly legs. She knew Tisuran didn’t need any help. Her observant warrior knew she was drowning and had been quick to get her out of the crowd without making a fuss.

No one paid them any attention, and soon the two of them were alone in an empty storage room. The moment the door slid shut behind them, she sagged against a wall as he dropped his bags to the ground, kneeled in front of her, and started up a soothing purr.

“Loreline, talk to me.”

Taking in big gulps of air, Isla held back her tears. “I’m sorry I’m so… broken.”

An angry rattle sounded briefly, overshadowing Tisuran’s purr. “You’re not broken, and I won’t have you saying such things about yourself.”

Tisuran inched a little closer. Isla moved her hand to rest it on his head; it was a familiar and comforting gesture. He leaned into her touch, his rumbling changing pitch slightly. Her hand slid down to his cheek and warm oil coated her skin. The smell of sweet maple filled the room.

“We can stay here for as long as you need,” he reassured her as he nuzzled her palm. As usual, when she touched him, he kept his hands resting on his thighs.

“Thank you, Tisuran,” she whispered.

“Would you like me to distract you?” he asked.

“Yes,” she agreed readily. She expected him to open the sacks he’d brought and try to make her laugh. Instead, he reached out to grab the bottom half of a leg broken off a walking-torch on the floor next to him. It was about the length of her forearm and as thick as her pinky finger.

“Hold that.”

Thoroughly confused, she took the leg from him, holding it straight up and down by the middle. “What am I doing with this?”

“If you drop it, everything stops,” he explained. “You don’t have to say anything or move. Just let go of the leg.”

As he spoke, he slowly lowered his body until his chin was so close to the top of her slipper that she could feel his warm breath ghosting over the flesh of her ankle. Knowing the communal room would be crowded and hot, she hadn’t put on a heavy omnie. All she wore was a light unisex wrap that was common attire for the humans during leisure times. Hers was a bright yellow because she adored cheerful, vivid colors. Most everyone else went with more muted blues, greens, or maroon-colored wraps.

As she watched, Tisuran nosed the hem of her wrap out of the way and laid his lips on her shin. “I’m going to touch you with my lips.” His breath felt warm on her skin. “Drop the leg now.”

She obeyed without thinking. The moment the leg hit the floor, Tisuran was moving. With speed that made her gasp, he put himself against the far wall. He was on his knees, bent at the waist, with his arms behind his back, and his head arched down.

This was a position of supplication. With his head down like that, his protective neck plates separated, making his spine vulnerable to attack. “Tisuran?”

“Ask me to come back,” he requested. “Or I’ll stay here all night. Mystellianis strong, even faced with the pleasure of touching you.”

Oh, now she understood. Swooping down, she picked the leg back up. “Please come back,” she requested breathlessly. “I think, um, I want to do more of what you were doing.”

She expected him to rush back to her with the same speed he’d used to cross the room, but he didn’t. He was slow and deliberate, putting himself on his belly and his lips on her ankle.

“Remember,” he said. “You drop the leg, and I move away.”

She gripped the walking-torch leg tight. It didn’t feel like a piece of broken tech now; it felt like a powerful scepter. “I’ve got it.”

His kiss was feather light before he moved fractionally higher and placed another kiss. He kept doing this until he reached her knee, then he switched legs and worked his way from ankle to knee again.

Isla wasn’t sure if she was disappointed or relieved that he hadn’t gone higher.

When he repeated his kisses, she decided she was disappointed. She wanted to feel his kisses all over. His mouth set fire to every bit of skin he touched. When he reached her second knee, she bent her knees to sink down a little. He waited until she stopped moving, then he started kissing the middle of her thigh.

Her breath hitched as he moved higher. When he was close to the apex of her legs she stopped breathing all together, only to have him sit back and look up at her.

“Would you like to lie down?” he invited before she could wail out a protest. Her legs were shaking from the strain of half squatting against the wall. With a nod, she slid to the floor with a muffled thump.

Then she remembered the walking-torch leg in her hand—no, resting on the floor next to her. When she held it up so it could be dropped, he made a sound of protest. “That will become uncomfortable. Instead of dropping it, tap it on anything. The wall, the floor, even me. And you’ll get the same result as dropping it.”

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