Page 20 of Taken to Lemora
“Nob. I’m not,” I answer perfunctorily, wondering if there’s a place behind me I might hide, but the female who’s mine looks up as I speak and meets my gaze with a soft, barely there smile.
Oh nob. Nob nob nob. I’m not ready for her smile. I’m not ready for any of it. I’m like a lunar blossom, shriveling away underneath the soft touch of the early solar sun. Because that’s exactly what she’s like. Lemora in the morning, when the world has just begun to stir. When everything is peace, it’s very definition.
Everything else has dissolved but the sight of her face, so I’m surprised to find that the rest of her body has made its way into my personal sphere. Merquin stands beside her, the both of them at the base of the stairs. The assistants stand slightly back. I stare at her face, well aware that Merquin’s rambling about something, but I haven’t heard a word. I can’t hear anything. I’m deaf.
“AM I DEAF?”
My mate blinks her black and brown and white eyes. They form perfect circles that match the shape of her mouth before she says. “Pardon me?”
“You!” I panic. I start to sweat and glance around, praying for some sort of distraction. I see Merquin instead and point a blocky digit at her. “You!” I accuse.
She rolls her eyes and grimaces, but when Essmira turns to glance at her, she’s all smiles instead. “Pardon me. Have I done something wrong? Please. If you inform me as to what I’ve done I’ll ensure it never, ever happens again…”
Merquin takes her by the upper arm and pushes her another step closer to me. “You’ve done nothing wrong, Essmira.”
There’s some bite in her tone that I don’t like and don’t understand when her every other action toward Essmira has been one of kindness — a trait Merquin isn’t most known for. I’m known for it even less. Perhaps, not at all.
“And we talked about this already. You’ve got to stop apologizing.”
Essmira’s gaze drops to the stairs between our feet in a way that I despise. “Pagh! Don’t listen to her. You can apologize. You can do anything you want!” I end on a humph and Essmira shoots me a surprised smile. Merquin glares and, again, when Essmira looks at her, transforms.
Her hand slides around to Essmira’s back and she pushes her forward, up the first step and across whatever invisible divide had separated us. “Yeffa, I suppose Raingar is right. It’s never happened before but I suppose, eventually, it was bound to.”
Essmira does something wild then. Something totally out of character. Shesnorts. Snorts like a hungry ruffalumph searching for ranxcera blossoms and the pink, glowing fruits that grow beneath them. She immediately covers her mouth, but a small trickle of laughter escapes the cage of her hands.
And then this entire display is followed by the second least expected thing I’d have imagined from this female, who was groomed by Igmora, who is as fake as she is flawless.
“Ohr! I mean stars! Oh,” she curses. She curses?
And then she just tightens her hands around her mouth and shuts right up while the rest of us stare at her in shock.
Because nothing about Essmira’s reaction is fake. And it is certainly not perfect.
In fact, it’s almost unattractive.
And immediately, my horns turn to liquid Walrey honey because — forget about her face —thisis the most attractive thing about her.
Merquin reacts before I do. She belts out a laugh so loud that it fills the entire hall. I glance up and wonder if they’ve all stopped because of that laugh…but I don’t think so. Even though Merquin is laughing, all eyes are still straining to catch a glimpse of the creature beneath the hood. The one with brown hands and sharp red fingernails andredripping across her skin as a tease of whatever lies beneath.I paid fourteen tuns of kintarr just to know. Ineedto know. But first, I need to hear her make those sounds again.
I smile — even chuckle a little. Essmira releases a little gasp behind her hands, her eyes getting all big. Her hands fall away from her lips and she opens her mouth, but it’s one of Merquin’s assistants, Hebba, who shouts first, “Holy ohr! Raingar smiled!”
“Nob! Nob, I did not,” I shout, still smiling, but fighting harder against it now. “And even if I did, it’s Essmira’s fault!”
“Essmira?” We all turn to see Gorman standing beside the simple stone seat I use for a throne, looking curiously over our small constellation.
“Oh! Apologies for not introducing myself earlier. My name is Essmira,” she says in unaccented Lemoran. She takes a step forward, which brings her to the step directly below me, and pushes her hood back.
Then she reaches up to catch the air with her right hand and brings it over her heart. Gorman repeats the motion perfunctorily, I can tell, because his eyes have bugged out of his head and he’s staring —staring— at my female with his mouth gaping open and his shoulders slouched. He looks drunk. Not that I’ve ever seen him drunk.
With Essmira’s hood back and her arm sticking out of her cloak, it’s open enough for Gorman and ohring everyone to see the dress she has on underneath. Where did she get that ohring dress! She came with us empty-handed and yet, she’s wearing what is clearly Lemoran fabric stitched perfectly to fit her form. It’s a soft yellow color and makes her skin stand out in bright, striking shades. The dress attaches behind her neck and the sides drape down almost to her hips.
Oh. My. Ohring. Stars. With her arm outstretched, I catch a glimpse of her waist — herbarewaist — and see red.My mouth dries. The red that starts at her breasts goes all the way down, stopping just above the curve of her hip bone.Does it cover her…her…her there?!
I open my mouth to shout my question — my request? my demand for proof or contradiction? — but manage to catch myself in the final moment.
It helps when Gorman stutters, “Ess…Essmira. It’s a…it’s…your name is uh…beautiful.” He flushes a dark orange and I throw both hands in the air.
“Don’t stand there gawking at her!” I warble, even though I’d been doing the same thing.
