Heirot

Havitharon frowned. He thought he ought to lie to her, to hide whatever weakness this was, but there was something about the way she was sitting so unguardedly in front of him. It was like she actually wanted to help him. He didn't know how he felt about that, but he answered her honestly. "I tried to... possess someone else. It worked. I heard people talking on the street, and I could understand them. I could move, at least slightly. But it wasn't as controlled as it was with you. Then the whole thing kind of turned on me... there seems to be a heavy cost involved. I lost control and couldn't break out of it, and right when I was blacking out, you summoned me with the tether."

She frowned. "I can't imagine what it must feel like to be half in this world and half... somewhere else." She pulled the sword out of its makeshift sheath. "I'm going to try something. It is unlikely to work. If it doesn't, then we'll find something in this book, or we'll wait here until you feel better."

She turned the blade up, rested her hand over it, and then slid it across the surface until it slit into her skin. She hissed at the feel, clenching her eyes as it cut her. Her blood swept over the surface, running in red threads over the shining steel. When she drew her hand away, she watched it heal, watched blue flames lick expectantly into the air and disappear.

She stared at her hand still, remembering the feel of the cut and the fire—her fire. The initial cut had stung, but the healing had felt… pleasant. Wasn’t that supposed to be, though? The wound was going away. Only, it had felt a tad bit more pleasant than the last time she’d done it, or maybe it was just that she was really paying attention this time… or—she finally looked at Havitharon—because she was doing it for him? And the fire… that was her. That was her father’s power flowing in her, and it was still there… a whisper she might be able to coax into a roar. The thought frightened her and comforted her all at once.

“Any help?”

Havitharon shuddered. That warm sensation he'd felt a few times before lathed over him like warm syrup. A feral sound tried to escape his throat, and he clapped a hand over his mouth to stop it. His translucence melded together again, until he no longer looked like he was disappearing. The sensation was too much. After a few more moments, he reached out and touched her wrist, pushing it firmly away from the blade. The successful contact was a surprise, and he jerked back, facing away from her. The back of his neck peeking out from his long hair had turned a much darker gray than usual.

Tenara’s eyes widened, staring at the place his fingers had touched. “You… touched me.” She tilted her had at him. “Curious…”

He didn’t seem to want her cutting herself on the blade, but she was too curious not to. Besides, it would heal. She shucked the sorcerer’s robe and rolled up her sleeve, dragging her wrist over the blade.

She felt the rush of sharp pain, saw the flutter of demonic fire, and tried to hold onto it. The blood washed over the blade, dripping along the metal and her skirts. The wound knit itself together into a glittering white scar, and the fire lingered on her skin, dancing up to her fingertips before she lost focus and it dissipated. It felt good. Her power had never been anything but a bursting, painful, overwhelming pressure inside her. She’d never been able to will a small amount, and this had been so tiny, so minuscule. So… pleasant. She lifted a hungry gaze at him. “Can you touch me again?” It sounded a lot more lewd than she intended.

He shuddered again at the renewed heat. "Why?" he asked warily, glancing back at her. The tips of his horns were beginning to glow faintly azure, like an iron just taken from the forge. The same light had pinpricked to life in the depths of his gold irises. The hungry look in her eyes served to sober him up slightly. "That's a bad idea," he said, barely restraining the strange sensation from making his voice as needful as hers.

She cocked her head, uncertain why he thought it was bad. She admired the color of his horns, the way they seemed to swell with power, and how that translated in his unsettling eyes. "Are you getting more real? How long do you think it lasts?" She looked at the scar. Then, she reached out and poked him, drawing her hand back as if he might bite her.

It was hard to breathe through the renewed rush of sensation as she injured herself. He knew he should make her stop, but... she'd touched him... she could actually touch him? Havitharon slowly turned back toward her, curiosity outweighing his alarm at the intense magic throbbing through him. He reached out slowly, until he pressed his palm to hers. Her skin was soft and cool compared to his. For some reason, it surprised him. He'd expected her to be as warm as the indecent heat licking at his soul. Fascinated, he folded his fingers lightly around her much shorter ones. He tore his gaze from her eyes to the bed next to them and brushed the back of his other hand against the blanket. It shifted under his touch. "How have you done this?" he murmured.

Tenara held her breath as his hand touched hers. She knew he was tall, broad, much larger than her but seeing his hand so close to hers, feeling it against her skin and watching his fingers curl over hers... She swallowed. "I... I don't know. I just... if my blood brought you into this world, I thought maybe... it would bring you a little closer." Her gaze flicked to his hand on the bed, to the pressure of his touch on the luxurious fabric. "Shall we see how long it lasts?"

He stared at his hand on the blanket. He hadn't realized how starved for sensation he'd been until she'd touched him. "Yes... let's see, but don't weaken yourself further. You've had nothing to eat or drink..." He slowly released her fingers and moved to push the sword down, out of the way of her skin. The instant he would have touched it, however, a shower of sparks repelled him. He jerked back, frowning. "Seems I can't touch that."

Tenara drew it away so it couldn't hurt him. She stepped around him and laid it on the bed, glancing around the room. "I guess he didn't think past leaving me in here... There's a pitcher of water, at least." She was thirsty, but not so thirsty as to drink something in a room Elias had seemingly prepared for her. She glanced to the door. It locked from the outside, and there was no way to unlock it from the inside... That meant this was not a place like the Indigo House, because the doors were made to keep pretty things in. It would not be the case if this was just a regular inn.

"Were you... like those women downstairs?" She thought of his eyes, how wild and afraid they'd been that Elias was going to cut off her horns and turn her into... a broodmare of some sort. But, Thvoros's horns were still intact. She immediately flinched. That was such an awful question to ask. "It's okay. You don't have to answer that."

Havitharon froze, and his blue-glinted eyes flashed like sharpened steel. He reminded himself that she didn't seem to know what she was asking. "No.. I wasn't," he said flatly. He rose abruptly to his feet and faced away from her, in part to conceal the way his body had responded to whatever she'd just done to him. Surprisingly, he didn't feel particularly angry with her, although he was a little stunned by her directness. In fact, the apology in her voice put him at ease. Or maybe it was just her voice, period. He glanced down at his hand and found himself wanting to hear her talk more.

"It...requires explanation. Maybe another time," he tried to say less harshly.

She nodded, thinking of Elias and his just-in-case tea. She shivered at the thought and decided to focus on something else. She sat on the floor again, taking the book into her lap. She opened it, thumbing through the pages. She still couldn't read the text. "Do you think there is a spell in here that will help you understand what other people are saying? Other than me, that is. Translating isn't a problem, but it may be safer if you can hear things too. You may pick up on something I haven't."

"The people were wrote this are considered fanatics. It's difficult to be sure what they would care about enough to record it in a book like this, but picking up arcane tongues would seem to be a fairly handy thing." He paused, as if suddenly thinking of something. "Didn't Elias call this place a "tavern"?"

Tenara glanced up. "I don't remember. It has a bar, some food, and rooms. I think it's technically an inn, but someone might call it a tavern. Well, I think it's really technically a whore house..." She pursed her lips together, trying not to think about the women downstairs now that she knew none of them likely wanted to be here. "Why?"

"It's probably nothing. When I was inside that drunk man's head, I heard some people passing, talking about some guy who's been causing trouble at the taverns. A vampire, looking for his daughter. They seemed afraid of him. I thought, if this place is one of them, maybe we should get out to stay clear of him."