Lacuna - N.R. Walker Page 0,63

tapestries on the walls, and the wooden bathtub by a roaring fire.

Tancho gave him a curious nod. “I am . . . impressed.” Did he blush again or was that the light of the fire? “If a room ever personified the person, this is it.”

Personifies me? “I am comfortable here,” Crow admitted. “Though I would think your quarters personifies you, also.”

“How so?” Tancho asked.

“Elegant, understated, without clutter.”

Tancho’s lips twisted in an almost-smile. “I’m not even offended.”

Crow laughed. “I should think not. And how does my quarters resemble me?”

Tancho inhaled deeply and smiled. “You’re a man cut from the mountain stone. Dark and formidable, yet warm and welcoming. And I had wondered what scent I caught from you, and now I know. Whatever it is you burn in your fires. It’s not wood, is it?”

“No,” Crow whispered. “Wood is too scarce a commodity here. We make compressed bricks from pulp scented with port berries. Are you saying I smell of it?”

Tancho’s eyes met Crow’s. There was that blush again. “Yes. It’s not unpleasant, I assure you,” Tancho murmured. “Smokey but sweet. Subtle and . . .”

There was a long pause. “Subtle and what?”

Tancho licked his lips but turned away, walking to the fire instead. “Subtle and alluring.”

Crow’s blood warmed and his skin prickled all over. He followed Tancho to the fire and stood behind him, and with a slow hand and light touch, he pulled back Tancho’s long hair to reveal the long line of his neck.

Tancho gasped and half-turned, his eyes dark and his skin aglow from the fire. “Your scent is alluring to me also,” Crow admitted. “Like a breeze off saltwater. I could only dare imagine how you taste.”

Tancho’s voice was barely a breath. “So taste me then.”

Crow cupped Tancho’s face, tilting his chin up, relishing the feel of his beautiful skin under this touch. Entranced by Tancho’s inviting lips, Crow was about to bring their mouths together when something moved out of the corner of his eye. Tancho saw it too because he turned, startled.

Tancho grabbed Crow’s hand and everything slowed to a crawl. Slow motion, as if time itself were drunk. “Crow, look!”

He was still holding Crow’s hand, now staring at his wrist, and Crow realised what he’d seen moving out of the corner of his eye.

His birthmark . . . the raven on his wrist . . . its wings were moving. It was slow and awkward but moving. His birthmark was moving.

“What in the . . . ?”

“Does it hurt?” Tancho asked, concerned.

Crow shook his head. The usual burn under the skin was now a pleasant buzz. “It feels . . . good.”

They seemed to notice at the same time that the world around them had slowed right down; the fire was dancing too slow and it made no sound. “When we touch . . . ,” Tancho said, squeezing Crow’s hand. “Everything stops when we touch.”

“Yet we can speak,” Crow added. He curled his fingers around Tancho’s, his touch quick and strong. “And we can move as if nothing has changed.”

The raven’s wings were still slowly moving on the upward stroke of flight. When it moved its head, both Crow and Tancho gasped, pulling their hands apart.

The world snapped back, full movement, full sound.

Crow held up his wrist and they both inspected it. The birthmark was frozen once more, though in a different position than it always had been. “That is disturbing,” Crow murmured.

Tancho held up his wrist. His fish birthmark appeared normal, from what Crow remembered. “Hold my hand.”

Crow slid his fingers around Tancho’s and they waited, staring at the fish. Staring, waiting . . . Then ever so slowly, its tail began to move. Crow held up his wrist and the raven’s wings began to move once more. He pulled his hand away and took a step back. “I don’t know what any of this means,” he said. “Between you and me. The distance thing was strange, and being so protective of each other was odd. And I’m sure we both agree the fact time seems to crawl when we touch is beyond strange. But this?” He held up his wrist. “This is . . .”

“Inexplicable.”

“I was going to say fucking bizarre, but okay, let’s go with inexplicable.”

Tancho chuckled. “I’m not one for cursing, usually. But the description fits.”

“How can you be so calm? Our birthmarks just moved.”

Tancho put his hand to his forehead. “Because my head is still spinning.”

Crow was immediately concerned. “What? Why? Are you unwell? Can I get