A Time of Exile - Katharine Kerr [178]
“I’ve got to stay somewhere. Do you mean Aderyn?”
“An aderyn? Yes, the owl.”
“No, no, no, he’s a man—Aderyn is just his name.”
She looked so puzzled that he gave up trying to explain.
“Why do you hate him?”
“He lied to me. I knew you weren’t truly gone far away and under the earth. That’s what he said, you know. Far away and under the earth.” She paused, tilting her head to one side in thought. “But it’s taken me so long to find you again. Why?”
“I don’t know.”
She pouted like a child, then laughed, tossing off the mood as she sauntered all sway-hip over to him. Her eyes were the same dark blue as her hair, and they were utterly mindless, like pools of water, glittering and vacant.
“You look so cold.” She was staring at him, studying his face. “You don’t love me anymore, do you? You’ve forgotten.”
Big tears rolled down her cheeks, but rather than falling, they merely vanished. Yet her sobs, the big gulping gasps of a heartsick child, were real enough.
“I’m sorry.” Rhodry felt her grief like a stab to his own heart. “Please, don’t look so sad. I just don’t understand.”
The tears stopped. Again she tilted her head to consider him, then suddenly smiled.
“I know what you’ll remember.” She caught his face between her hands and kissed him on the mouth. “Oh, you’re warmer now, truly. Come lie down with me. I want to hold you just like we used to. Do you remember that? I’ll wager you do. Men seem to like it so much.”
As she ran her hands through his hair, Rhodry did remember it, a slow, sensual kind of pleasure, utterly different than being in a human woman’s arms. Yet as he drew her close, as he kissed her, he remembered something else as well: her lips, bright with his blood in the moonlight. That was only a dream, he told himself, it all meant somewhat else. He took another kiss, then another, tipped her head back and softly kissed her throat. She began to laugh and cling to him, so perfectly happy, so suddenly solid and radiant in her happiness, that he laughed himself in the simple joy of finding her again. When they lay down together, he could think of her as nothing but a woman. Yet when he caressed her, his hands knew the difference in their blind way. Her skin felt more like silk; her flesh, oddly soft, without resistance or muscle. At first he was repelled, but with every kiss they shared, the difference faded. She grew warmer, more solid, heavier in his arms. The tattered dress faded away, too; he never took it off, but suddenly she was naked in his arms. He ran his hand over her breast, then cried out and pulled his hand back. She had no nipple, merely a soft curve of not quite real flesh.
It was her need of him as much as lust that kept him in her arms. When he opened his eyes and saw that she had no navel, either, he drew away. She looked up, her beautiful eyes brimming tears, and she seemed so desolate that he kissed her to keep her from weeping. Once he kissed her, he could no longer stop, though for a long time he was content with kisses alone, while he let himself forget what his hands had discovered. Finally, with a little laugh to mock his shyness, she reached inside his brigga and fondled him. At that he could think of nothing but taking her.
Yet the passion was different, a slow thing, languid, wrapping him round like warm water. It was enough to stay inside her, hardly moving, feeling her arms wrapped tightly around him. She whimpered like an animal, shifting under him, keeping him aroused for what seemed like a blissful eternity until his pleasure built close to pain. When he began to move, he nearly fainted from the agonizing delight, and as he sobbed into her shoulder, she laughed, a crow of triumph. He lay next to her, pulled her into his arms, and panted for breath.
“Shall I show you things like I used to?” she whispered. “Shall we go to the pretty places? Not the dangerous ones, not the ones where she is, but the safe ones in my home country.”
“I don’t understand. Who’s this she?”
“You never did get