Burn Bright - By Marianne de Pierres Page 0,64

oddly vulnerable expression. It frightened her to see him that way.

He reached a hand to her face and the fingers that had burned her skin in Agios felt warm and soothing. He kneaded her cheek between his thumb and forefinger.

‘I thought that Leyste had already killed you, baby bat.’

‘I s-still don’t think he’d have hurt –’

He pinched her skin and let go. ‘Yes. He would.’

There was something so convincing in his tone that she let the argument go.

He leaned towards her until his mouth found the graze above her lips. Then he licked it gently, as he had done once before, like a catling with its baby.

Naif’s body dissolved, all sensations nullified, other than the pressure of his tongue and the tingling wetness of it. Obeying a welling of instinct, she shifted under his touch until her lips aligned with his. She pressed up hard against him. Her lips opened artlessly and her tongue found its way to his. He tasted salty with the tang of her blood, but that flavour ebbed and another took its place. She craved the moisture, thirsty for more of his special taste.

His fingers clamped around her upper arms, lifting her from the seat onto his lap. With every gentle pull she made on his tongue, he clung tighter to her, as if he would compress her into a tiny portion of herself.

Sensation, numbed by the pod, returned to her body with such crashing intensity that it left every nerve raw. She wanted to scream with elation and with pain.

Lenoir’s teeth closed on her tongue and raked the sides of it, causing her to arch in his grasp.

A growl ripped from his chest. He pushed her away and she glimpsed his face, so contorted that she barely recognised him. His cheeks seemed to have grown fuller, concealing his bone structure, and his brow heavier. His lips curled back, revealing the glistening of his gums.

‘Lenoir,’ she gasped.

He flung her back onto her seat and fled from the carriage.

She didn’t try to follow him. It seemed as much as she could do to lie across the seat and gather her fragmented mind. What had she just seen? Had his face really distorted? Had the creature Leyste been as dangerous as Lenoir insisted? Why wouldn’t Joel listen to her? Her thoughts chased each other in circles.

‘Retra?’ Charlonge peered anxiously through the door. ‘What are you doing in Lenoir’s carriage? What’s happened? He came storming into the church and told me to come and tend to you. I’ve never seen him … upset.’

Naif struggled to concentrate on the rush of questions – she had so many of her own, and her ankle throbbed in time to the beat of blood at her temples.

‘It’s Naif,’ she whispered. ‘And I think my leg is hurt.’

‘Naif? Isn’t that the name I picked out for you?’

‘Yes.’

Charlonge nodded approvingly then stared down at her torn clothes. Her eyes widened. ‘You mean legs, arms, stomach … Let’s get you inside. You can tell me what happened later. Has Lenoir given you anything for the pain?’

‘Pod,’ croaked Naif.

‘A whole one?’

She nodded.

‘Well, that explains why you’re so dreamy.’

No, thought Naif. Not just that.

Charlonge helped her into Vank. The carriage had stopped adjacent to the lower platform, making it only a few steps to the door and away from the clutching dark.

Naif thought she saw the carriage jerk upward on long spidery legs and disappear. But she couldn’t be sure, because everything had become strangely blurred.

Even Charlonge …

When petite nuit dropped away and her mind cleared again, she found herself in Charlonge’s bed again, covered in red silk sheets. Charlonge sat at her black escritoire reading a large book. Naif knew it to be old from the crackle of the stiff pages and the musty smell that rose from it every time a page turned.

‘Where do the books come from?’ She asked it softly so as not to startle the older girl.

Charlonge put the book down. She seemed relieved to hear Naif speaking normally. ‘Each church has a library.’

‘What are you reading?’ Naif felt a sudden yearning to touch it. The library in Seal South had been her place of solace, and frustration. But she’d only been allowed to read about religiosity and etiquette and comportment.

‘Ixion history,’ said Charlonge in an offhand way. ‘Newbies always want to know things and sometimes I can’t answer them.’

‘What sort of things?’

‘Mainly about Ixion itself and how the Ripers came here. But sometimes they ask about the Tri-suns and cosmology.’

‘Cosmology?’ Naif had