Page 46 of Taken to Lemora
Something delicate blossoms in my throat. I can feel it in my mouth, on my tongue, in the words that I speak when I say exactly what’s on my mind, without thinking. “You’re not alone.”
“What?”
“You’re not alone. All beings feel these things. I feel them, too.”
“For me?”
“Of course for you,” I snort. “You are clan chief. I’m just a pleasure female that your clans were compassionate enough to pay for and I’ve seen how your clan loves you — how everyone loves you — your grumpy ways and all. You’re an untried male, even. You wanted to wait for your mate before ever experiencing pleasure. Having come from a world where mating is a sport, at best, and at worst, a way for cruel creatures to exert their power over others, how could I not find that romantic? I wanted to be this female for you so badly. In the fabric shop? You remember what you said to me? You spoke of mates. That was the moment I first felt hope. So much of it.
“But this? Holding me prisoner? Keeping me from experiencing Lemora, the world that you love? It’s too much, Raingar. You can’t offer me hope and then take it back. It hurts too deeply and you’re right. I am a delicate female, soft, breakable…but my skin has nothing to do with it. I’m breakable in this. Only in this. Don’t take it from me, the beautiful gift you gave.”
Silence. A lot of it. Finally, I hear the turning of the key as Raingar unlocks the door. He huffs, “I’m a rotten bastard, Essmira. I don’t deserve you.”
I smirk. “And I’m a pleasure female for purchase. I don’t deserve you, either.”
“Then where does that leave us?”
“I’d say it leaves us rather perfect for each other, don’t you?”
He makes a strained sound, half-yelp, half-hiss. “You…you still…you hate me,” he whispers.
“Nob,” I groan. “This is a fight, my Lord. It doesn’t change my underlying feelings about you.”
“Feelings?”
“Yeffa. Feelings.”
He pauses. “Good feelings?”
I bark out a laugh that ends in a small snort. “We’re fighting, clan chief. I’m not going to dignify that with an answer.”
“You truly are too good for me…” He sighs and it’s almost a laugh, but too sad to truly be. “Essmira, I didn’t sleep last lunar. Can I sleep now so that we can continue fighting a little later?”
I snort. “Of course you can.”
“And then we’ll fight?”
“Yeffa.”
“Promise?”
“Yeffa, my Lord.”
“And you’ll still have these feelings for me when I wake up?”
“Pagh! Raingar, stop this. Go to sleep. Here, would you like a pillow?”
“Yeffa,” he grumbles, and I stuff one through the crack in the door.
Already my soul feels lighter than it did before — than it ever has — as I go to the room’s largest window.
“Essmira?”
“Goodnight, Raingar,” I say, voice stern.
He hesitates, like there’s something more he wants to get off of his chest right now in this very moment. Then, “Goodnight, miriga.”
I smile and cross my arms over my chest as a cool brush of wind caresses me. The countryside is epically beautiful and I sigh at all the colors. Yellows and greens, purples and reds. The moss grows over everything, a few brave stones daring to protrude through its surface. Roads leading away from Raingar’s keep wind in almost every direction. Not many, though. It’s still a relatively sparsely populated world, from what I’ve seen. Huge, though. There are still so many corners and pockets of Lemora I haven’t been.
