Her tongue seized his forcibly, wrapping around to caress softly. He felt her breath upon his face, the gentle whisk of sea spray that tingled in his nostrils. He felt her slide a hand up and behind his head, pulling him further into her.
I think I’m supposed to do that . . . aren’t I? Denaos always says that the male is supposed to be aggressive. But . . . but what does that mean? Do I . . . do I pin her down or something? Is that romantic or rape? His hands absently brushed against her arms. Nevermind it, she feels pretty tough. Gods, why do I always have to meet muscular women? Well, I can’t just sit here and let her do everything . . . do something, you fool!
But what?
I . . . uh . . . grab something! His hand lashed out and clasped, quivering upon her round buttock. Not there, you fool! She’ll think you a pervert! Wait, no, you fool! She’s already naked, how much harm could you possibly do? Okay . . . okay . . . everything’s okay. It’s just—
‘What does it matter,’ she whispered on a wisp of breath as she pulled slightly away, ‘that you were not the one to slay the demons?’
Wait, what? That hardly seems like a nice thing to . . . steady. Steady! You’re losing it!
‘It is what you will do that matters most,’ she continued.
Oh Gods, is that a joke? Can she feel it getting soft? Steady! Denaos always says this sort of thing happens . . . but only with lots of whiskey.
‘You have the tome.’ She drew herself closer, one ivory thigh easily brushing his leg aside and sliding up and down.
Well, yes, we have it, but Lenk took it . . . no! No! Think positively! It’s not about Lenk! It’s about you, you . . . you throbbing stallion, you rapturous lord of the sheets, you amorous bullfrog. Wait . . . wait . . . ignore that last part.
‘And you will bring it to me . . .’
What?
‘What?’ He said as much.
‘Is it not wise?’ She pulled him closer, smiling as she felt him go rigid against her. ‘The tome is an item of such knowledge.’ She leaned in, her whisper carried on the tongue that flicked against his ear. ‘Such power.’
‘Power . . .’ He could feel himself lost on her whisper, set adrift on the sea that was her voice.
‘Your companions would not understand it.’
‘How could they?’ he muttered. ‘They know nothing but gold.’
‘They would hate me for it.’
‘I . . . I’d protect you.’
‘You would save me?’
Her gasp caused him to shudder as something within him yearned to be free, yearned to burst out and seize her, to force her upon the sands and savage her in ways he had only heard about second-hand. It pushed at him, demanding he forget the idea of betrayal, demanding he take her in his arms and deliver to her what she demanded herself.
He reached up, seizing her by her naked shoulders and pulling her close, feeling her breasts press against his chest, feeling the breath on his cheek as her lips parted in a faint gasp, feeling her webbed fingers slide down to his belt.
‘I would save you . . .’ he whispered.
‘On waves of fire,’ she replied, ‘and roars of lightning?’
‘Yes . . .’
Wait . . .
With her words sliding like veils over his ears, he felt it. Something twitched in the back of his head, as though a cockroach had skittered upon his brain while she spoke and stood stock still, desperate not to be noticed. But with those last words, he could feel it, the brief twitch of antennae.
Dreadaeleon pushed himself away from her, his eyes narrowing. Greenhair recoiled. Though it was difficult to tell, Dreadaeleon could make out upon her angular features not shock, but the sudden fear of being discovered.
‘You’re in my head,’ he whispered, his voice seething.
‘It is . . . it is not what you think, Lorekeeper,’ she protested.
‘How is it not exactly what it seems?’ he snarled, advancing menacingly. ‘You never told me you could read thoughts . . . then again, if this is what you were planning, I suppose that makes sense.’
‘The tome is dangerous, Lorekeeper! There are powers at work here that you do not understand! The Sea Mother—’
‘Is false! Like all Gods!’ Dreadaeleon blinked, his eyes opening with a burst of crimson