Chapter 2: Chapter Two
Welcome home. Different world; I choose you
"But a woman with no family is just a lamb to the slaughter, to you?"
He blinked. Actually, no, but he could not afford to tell her that. Not until she better understood the forces at work in the Anima kingdom. Glancing at the guards, who were all becoming restless, he patted her hand on his arm and began walking again, urging her to follow. When everyone's attention was elsewhere, he muttered under his breath so only she could hear.
"I do not expect you to understand. I will try to explain it when there is time and privacy. But be certain of this, Joyce, you were chosen because you were seen to be better, not worse, than others of your kind."
"Better at what? Dying?"
He had to swallow a laugh because he suspected she was closer to the truth than she was supposed to be. The wolves, he sighed. "Better for Anima, better for me, better for yourself, better to be in this world. A great deal of work strategy goes into selecting the pure one for the rite. You were not chosen at random, I assure you." She opened her mouth to protest again, but he squeezed her hand and nodded ahead. She had been so busy looking at him that she had not noticed the trees opening or approaching the caves. "Joyce, this is your home. For better or for worse, this is where the creator has brought you. I know you do not know me yet, and cannot trust me, but I speak the truth. You will not be harmed here at my hand or by any other if I can prevent it. So come, see your new home, see your new world. Once you get past the shock, you will find it quite enjoyable."
Then they broke through the trees into the clearing, and Joyce's mouth dropped open.
JOYCE
When he had said they were going to the caves, Joyce had envisioned cold, hard rock and a yawning, black mouth with cobwebs and crawling things.
Instead, she walked into a city that looked like it had grown there naturally.
Her mouth dropped open as they emerged from the trees, directly into a large clearing, surrounded on one half by an almost sheer, rocky mountainside, peppered with brightly lit cavemouths and pathways, and on the other by trees so tall, they had to be hundreds of years old. They were widely spaced, but their branches twisted long and low, thicker than a man's waist, and only curled up to the sky after running alongside the ground for over a hundred feet.
If Joyce had been bought to this place as a child, she would have thought she was in heaven.
People were everywhere, yet somehow, they blended into the environment, their movements blending into the nighttime shadows. Despite the late hour, people walked through the forest and mountain face. Even children crawled in the trees, running along the lowest branches and swinging from vines that twisted between them.
And as Sung appeared in the clearing, everyone turned and began to call to him. Some in greeting, some clapping or cheering, others howling or making noises that sounded like nothing more than animals to Joyce.
Though he kept his face calm, she felt his pride and tension swell. Because even as his people celebrated him, they also saw her. It was impossible to miss the shock on their faces and how the applause had died quickly. The people from the circle began to circulate among others, leaning into their ears, whispering, and turning to look at her.
Sung's eyes narrowed, but he led her through the clearing, raising his hand or nodding to many who still called his name or blessings to him. He then directed her to a path that wound past the central clearing and into the trees but followed the face of the mountain.
They continued to walk as the noise and bustle of the cave city were swallowed up behind them by the forest. Joyce noticed that the guards had not left them, even though they were now apparently in his city. She looked up at him. His eyes were flat, piercing and fixed on the path ahead, his jaw twitching with tension.
Joyce was torn. She did not want to marry or mate a stranger, let alone this man, king or not, in this foreign place. She wanted to point out that the people clearly did not want her, and perhaps he should just let her go. But she was desperately aware that without him, she was surrounded by brutal people who would kill her without thought.
"Ignore them," Sung said quietly as they turned in the path, and the moonlight began to trickle through the trees ahead, painting the ground in silver and white. "They are surprised they thought the outcome was decided before we even entered the rite. It will take very little time for them to adjust."
"Is there any chance they would hurt you because of me?" she asked.
He cut her a dark look that spoke volumes about his opinions of anyone who might try.
They continued walking and soon broke through the trees again into another, much smaller clearing, but this one was breathtaking.
While the central clearing had been vast and functional, beaten smooth by all the feet of the city's people. This one was a small meadow of thick grass and flowers peppered with small bushes that became trees at its edge.
Lanterns shone in the tree branches where the path met the open space around it, casting the whole area in a warm glow.
She turned her head to look in every direction as they walked through it. It was beautiful. Breathtaking, if Joyce was honest. The whole place made her want to lay in the grass and stare at the sky. But the fear and disbelief in her would not allow her to enjoy it.
"It is beautiful," she breathed.
Sung grunted. "It is my home," he said, but she could tell he was pleased that she liked it.
The clearing was a wide bowl hugged by one side of the forest but tapered at the other end to a V-shaped crevice in the rocky mountainside. At its peak, there was an open cave mouth, but rather than a black hole, it glowed with a warm light that turned the dark rock walls into smooth, warm stone.
As they moved through the clearing towards the cave, the guards spread themselves around and behind them, taking positions around the clearing and facing the trees.
Joyce looked over her shoulder as they walked inside, and from this angle, with the moonlight overhead and the lanterns under the trees, the place looked magical.
How could a massive and ruthless man live in such a beautiful place?
"This is my sanctuary," Sung said quietly as they took the first steps into the cave. "On a normal day, no one would interrupt us here unless we asked them to."
"But today is not normal," Joyce said, her voice shaking. And as the rock closed in around her, she became aware of the scars on his skin, his massive size, and how he would have beaten that other man in a heartbeat. The cave mouth led to a corridor to the right, so the opening could not be seen inside.
"I will never harm you, Joyce. Do not fear me," he said softly, almost tenderly.
They reached a door at the end of the corridor made from raw wood that seemed to have grown into a shape to perfectly fit the rock walls and ceiling arch. Sung dropped his arm to reach for a massive iron ring on the door, and even though the lanterns here were bright, the cave seemed to darken as Joyce found herself suddenly cold without his steel arm to steady her.
He pulled the door open quickly, then stepped back, swinging it wide and smiling at her as he bowed his head slightly.
"Welcome home, Queen Joyce."
JOYCE
The cave itself was warm and inviting, a warm and tall space that should have echoed, but there were rugs on the stone floor, curtains and tapestries hanging over the wall to give the big room a comfortable feel. Joyce swallowed. If she had been able to me here by choice, to explore and then go home, she would have wanted to stay a very long time.
Although the furnishings were simple, they were also thick, warm, and of excellent quality. If a little too masculine for her taste. At the narrow end of the room, in the direction of the clearing, a fireplace had been carved into the rock at the front. A couch and several chairs were scattered around a large, dark wood coffee table in front of it. The rest of the room was made of different ideas, with rock platforms for seating, benches, wooden cupboards, and drawer sets where needed. He had a full kitchen with a wood stove, though it looked like it had never been used.
The cave had no natural light, but a string of lanterns circled the space and bowed across the ceiling, bringing a bright, warm glow to every corner. And at the back, the room seemed to curve to another area. This was the direction Sung led her, his steps faster than they had been outside.
"We do not have a lot of time," he said as they rounded the corner through a narrow, natural arch in the rock that opened into a much smaller room which was dominated by a vast stone platform at its centre covered in furs and pillows.
Joyce blinked. This was the king's bedroom.
He walked past the bed platform, which was three platforms on different levels; she noticed a set of wooden doors to the right, pulling something out of the space and walking it over to the bed where he placed the pieces.
Because they were fur, she had trouble telling what part of the bed was and what he had taken out of the closet. But then he lifted one piece, clearly a single-shouldered top in soft, gold fur that would cover the chest modestly but leave the stomach bare. He extended it towards her, frowning. "It might be tight, but I think they judged it well."
She blinked at the tiny top. "You mean too small for you, right?" she snapped.
Sung's face stayed expressionless.
"I won't be wearing a top," he said dryly, then raised an eyebrow at her. "It will be warm at the flames; you will be grateful for the lighter clothing," he said, nodding at her suit jacket and jeans. "And while I appreciate that the shoes were effective in the rite, there will be no need for them tonight. The ground at the square is smooth."
Joyce looked down at herself, realising how out of place she must look to these people. Everyone she had seen so far wore natural fibres, fur, leather and linen clothing if they wore it. And she did not think she had seen a pair of shoes among them.
Then she looked up at Sung, this huge man, this king and the impossibility of her situation hit her all over. She dropped her face in her hands. It had to be a dream.
"Joyce," he said softly, gently. She could hear him moving toward her but did not look up. She could not believe she had somehow ended up here, wherever he was, and with this man, and now she had to marry him. "Joyce, you are safe; you did it; you survived. And now you are here. I know it is a shock, and I do not expect you to smile about it yet. But this is the life you have been given by the creator. Tonight's ceremony is a celebration. It will bind us before the people of Anima so that you are known and understood to be my mate and the queen."
"What does that even mean?" she replied. "How can I be the queen of a people of people I have never met? How can you expect me to just be here? Send me back! I won't try to make trouble for you. I just –"
"That is not possible," he said firmly but with compassion. "The barrier between our worlds is complicated, designed only for the Anima. As a pure one, you gained entry safely. But if I was to send you back, the likelihood is that you would end up either dead or insane."
"What? Why?"
"Because the human mind was never intended to see the world," he said frankly.
'You were only ever granted access one way across the barrier. Only Anima may go back and forth. If I sent you back, the barrier would fight you; I do not know why; it is the creator's way."
Joyce waited, but there was nothing more. He said that as if it were an explanation. "So, that is it? My life is gone?"
"Yes," his stark tone, his unbending expression. Joyce wanted to scream.
"You can't just say yes!" she shrieked. "You can't just tell a person that their life is over like that as if that is just a plain fact!"
His brows pinched in. "But it is?"
"But you can't if your life..." she sputtered.
Sung stepped across the final inches between them, his eyes burning with intensity as his presence suddenly filled the room. Joyce was left shaking, forcing herself to hold his gaze and not back down.
JOYCE
"You say your life is over," Sung began.
Joyce coughed. "I don't just say it. Whoever stole me from my world had killed me and ended my life just as surely as if they had murdered me on the spot. It is over to everyone who knew me for everything I have ever done or been involved in. They will never know where I went or what happened to me. I will never finish anything I started. My life, in my world, is over."
"And you grieve it?" he asked.
"Of course, I grieve it!"
He frowned. "But was it such a life worth holding so tightly? The sacrifices from the humans are selected, it is true, but only in certain situations. You are an orphan with no family.
You had no lover. Can life be whole without family or a mate?"
Her mouth dropped open, and she gaped like a fish on a hook.
"I would have; there was a man I thought those things would have come. I only needed time."
A strange expression crossed his features that she could not read. He looked down momentarily in the most uncertain way she had seen him since he appeared in the clearing. Then he looked up again, his eyes locked on hers.
"What happened to your parents?" he asked softly, gently. If he had asked in any other tone, she would have told him to mind his own business. But it was as if he cared.
She swallowed.
"When I was in my last year of high school, they were in a car accident. My mother died at the scene. My father held on for a few days, but it was better that he did not wake up," she cursed, the tears threatening again. She was so sick of crying! Of feeling weak! But this night, it had all been too much.
As she cursed and tried to wipe the tears from her face, his face dropped, and she saw lines next to his mouth for the first time.
"I don't know if it is a comfort, but that is one manner of death you do not need to fear in the wildwood," he said carefully. Then he cleared his throat. "I am very sorry that your parent passed. They were – I am sure they were good people."
"How would you even know that?" she snapped, trying desperately to stop her tears.
"Because they raised you," he said.
She blinked and frowned at him. "You do not know me."
"I know enough."
"No, you do not!" she snapped, glad for the anger that kept her grief at bay. "You ripped me out of my life and brought me here and, and…."
"And made you Queen," he said simply. His eyes never left hers as he approached and reached for her hands. She was so overwhelmed she just let him take them. He raised them to his mouth and kissed her knuckles, never breaking eye contact. She knew she should be awed. But all she could feel was a boiling rage twisted with teeth-chattering fear. "Joyce, no matter what you may feel, this is real. You are here, and here is very different to your world. Here, we have learned to accept what we cannot change. Fighting it only brings pain and steals peace. And right now, the thing we cannot change is that we have been thrown together, and we must publicly be seen to be together for the good of my people and our own safety. I understand that you are afraid. I wish I could change it, but I cannot. For tonight, at least, you must become Anima. You must become the lioness who will rule her people. And you must do so in the furs of a desired and strong woman. I promise the flames, and the smoke will help, but until we get there, you must pretend. Show a stronger front than you feel. I will be here, and I will not let you fall. But where the choices are yours, the words and actions will measure you for what you do and say. You must accept this and walk into the new life the creator has given you. One step at a time, and this is your first step."
She took a deep breath and swallowed all the feelings back. Then she took her hands back. Then she turned to the clothing on the bed and sighed again.
"Excellent, Joyce," Sung said.
While she leaned down to take off her high heels, he returned to the closet and shrugged off the vest he had been wearing with its lion's mane collar. As he hung it up, his back was revealed in the light of the lanterns; Joyce swallowed.
His muscles gleamed, crawling like ladders from his trim waist to the vast expanse of his shoulders. The spine line made a deep crease down the centre of his back. But here and there, all over his body, his smooth skin was marred by white, puckered scars, some in deep, parallel lines, like claws. Others in half-moon punctures like teeth. And one at his shoulder blade made Joyce swallow to imagine what must have caused it.
Then he unbuckled his belt and shoved his pants down, and Joyce's eyebrows shot up. She turned, trying to ignore the clinking and rustling sounds coming from where he stood; that must mean he was removing all his clothing.
"I… uh… is there a room where I could change?" she said faintly.
Sung chuckled. "I will keep my back turned until you tell me otherwise, princess. But this is one thing you will need to become accustomed to; the Anima are unashamed of our bodies."
Joyce thought that she would probably be unashamed if she looked like that. She swallowed hard. "It is not… I just…"
He turned only his head to meet her eyes for a silent breath.
"You are safe here. I will not disrespect your wishes and look. Take your time," then he turned back to the closet and muttered something under his breath that sounded like he had said sweet girl, but she could not be sure.
Joyce looked at the clothing on the bed that amounted to not much more than a bikini. His word from a moment before echoed in her head. Here, we have learned to accept what we cannot change. Fighting it only brings pain and steals peace…
She shook with fear and frustration and rage. She let the unfairness of it all wash over her for a moment. She would give herself just one slow breath to feel it, then push it away and try to accept it. But before she had taken that second breath, Sung's voice rose softly from behind her.
"For what is worth, Joyce, I am truly sorry that you were brought here against your will."
She did not answer; she did not know what to say. Did not think there was anything she could say. So, she lifted her hands in a desperate shrug and unbuttoned her blouse.
It was not until later that she realised he had not said he was sorry she was there. Only that she had been brought against her will.
SUNG
The look on her face set his teeth like a cub that had lost its pride and saw its death in the winds. Which, in a way, he supposed was true; she had unbuttoned three buttons on the silky shirt she wore before she looked up and met his eyes.
His eyes widened, and he turned quickly back to the closet. "Apologies."
She gave a little huff laced with humour, and he grinned, though he prayed she could not tell. The sound of her clothing and smell soon worked on his body, already taut with the night's tensions and knowing what would come. As he pulled his kilt out of the closet and began to wrap it around his waist, he spoke more to cover the sounds of her than because he needed to say it.
"Being my mate will come with great responsibility, but it will also provide you a great deal," he said quietly. "Humans in Anima live longer than those in their own world. And as my queen, you can live out your days here; you will not be required to share a home with pride or work for your living. You will be free to pursue whatever you were made to do."
"What if I do not know what I was made to do?" she said in a small voice. "Never mind, do not answer that. I need to stop looking ahead because it is hard to figure out what I am supposed to do right now. Tell me about this wedding ceremony or whatever it is. What will I have to do? Is it anything like our weddings where I am from?"
He chuckled. "No, nothing like those," he said. "The mating ceremony is a declaration of intention. In our world, nothing worth having is gained without fighting for it."
"Fighting?"
"Not in the way you think, do not worry," he reassured her. She had stopped moving at the word, so he put his hands up and cursed that he could not turn around to soothe her. "I did not mean to frighten you. The ceremony is… theatre. It has roots in our animal ancestry, but the intention is to ensure everyone knows who belongs to whom. Think of it as the Anima equivalent of an engagement ring; whoever sees it knows you are taken."
"Why do you sound like you want to laugh?" she said darkly. "Are you messing with me?"
"Not at all," he assured her. "I was thinking of Lucan's face when he watches me kiss you later tonight."
"Kiss?"
Sung clawed his hand through his hair and cursed himself for speaking without thinking. "Like a wedding kiss, Joyce… a statement of our union. Something to show the other males that you are not to be touched. That is all."
Joyce shoved out a breath and muttered something he chose not to hear. "Anything else? What do I have to do?"
"You simply have to choose me," he said, his voice gruffer than he had intended, the idea much pricklier than he had realised. "When the time comes, if I have protected you and shown myself worthy, you just have to choose me over the others."
"Worthy? On what planet would you not be worthy of me? Surely you mean it the other way around?"
He started to turn at the pure shock in her voice, then caught himself, his hands clenched into fists. He needed to see, read, and think through his words.
"You can turn around," she said with a sigh.
"Thank you," he rumbled and turned. "The worthiness is only a matter of," he had kept his eyes down, just in case. He had expected her to shrink in on herself, covering herself with her hands or looking uncomfortable. He planned to give her space if she felt self-conscious in the clothing much more revealing than she'd been used to.
Instead, when he lifted his eyes, he found a proud woman standing with her feet shoulder-width apart. She had fur hugging her breasts and an angled fur across her hips and thighs that was just snug enough to hint at the curves underneath. Instead of positioning herself with the loose, suggestive air that most women would have adopted if she stood in his bedroom like that, Joyce stood with her hands on her hips, which only emphasised her waist and stared at him with a fixed jaw and a light in her eyes that made him wary when he saw it in any female. It looked like he would pay if he said the wrong thing.
Sung mentally scanned back through the last moments of the conversation. He had only spoken about her choosing him. Why would that get her angry? What had he said to her that would make her angry?
Human women were strange. She had him tied in knots, and she was not even trying.
"Well?" she snapped.
"I am sorry; what did you ask me?" he said, then cleared his throat. She was stunning when she was not cowering.
"I said, on what planet would I have to choose you? You are the king. You are the rutting stag. I am the… what did they call me? The weak human? The coward? Why would the choice be mine?"
"Because you are the female," he said, confused. Had he so severely misunderstood the mating rituals in the human world? "The female always chooses.." he cleared his throat again and scratched the back of his neck. Her sensitivity to the subject was beginning to rub off on him, which was ridiculous. "In the animal kingdom, it is always the same. The males either fight for the female favour or demonstrate their ability to provide. In the end, it is always the females who choose their mates. We are not animals. But old instincts die hard. As king, of course, I have a choice. But when I have made one… it is up to her, to you to accept me."
Joyce shook her head slowly. 'This is crazy," she breathed. "I can't do this."
"Of course, you can," he said gruffly. "All you have to do is turn down any offers, then accept mine."
"Offers? What offers?"
He rolled his eyes. "It's theatrical like I said. But during the ceremony, other males will try to take your attention from me. Simply refuse them," he paused and indicated his chest. "Let us be honest; you would be crazy not to," he winked at her; then, her eyes flashed with humour for a split second. But it died as quickly as it appeared, and she looked uncertain again.
Sung sighed and approached her, lightly touching her upper arms.
"Look at me, Joyce," he said. When she did, he held her gaze. Her eyes were a blue so deep and bright they were almost purple. He remembered them from her childhood. He ached to stroke her face, but he knew she was pulled tighter than a toad net. He could not do anything to trigger her panic. "We will go to the flames," he said softly. "And there will be long boring speeches about the king's pleasure, blah, blah, blah. Then they will put herbs on the fire that create a haze of smoke that is… intoxicating. It will free your mind and your inhibitions. And then the males will try to tempt you; it's all for show. But in Anima, it has a purpose by forsaking others; you show your willingness to mate for life. Then, when I fight for you, I show my willingness to fight to keep you. And at the end, when I am the only man standing, you choose me, we kiss, and then we will leave."
"That's it?"
"That's it."
Joyce blew out another breath, then nodded. "I can do that."
"I know you can. I hope you can do that soon because we need to get out there."
"Okay," her shoulders rose and fell slowly. "One last question?"
"Sure."
She swallowed. "What are you getting out of this?"
The dance, Meat market, Mate
Sung blinked. The question was unexpected, and no one had ever asked him that.
"I'm sorry?" he said to buy himself time.
"You said you fight for me, pretend to fight, whatever my point is… you had to do that already tonight at the rite, and now you will do it again. You said all I have to do is choose you. But why… if it is not pity… why would you choose me? What do you get out of it?"
It was on the tip of his tongue, the whole story, their history, how he knew her, why he cared about what happened to her, but the words died in his throat. He could not put that on her now, on top of everything else. Trying to explain everything made her believe he was not the one who had chosen her to come to Anima… it was too much.
So, in a flash, he told the only other truth he could. He gave her a wicked grin and leaned into her ear. "I get to stop dealing with women who look at me and see an unmated king. And, perhaps more importantly, their mothers."
Her eyes went wide. "They pressure you?"
He shrugged. "Annoy me would be closer to the truth. But yes, political pressure always exists on a leader, especially in Anima, where ancestry is so important. There are always tribes looking to improve their standing or women looking for an easy life."
"And they will stop pressuring you after tonight?"
"Yes. So, while I am sure we will have a wonderful life, Joyce, no matter what. I will be eternally grateful that you don't look at me like a prize pelt and that your presence will have stopped the others from doing it, too."
She sucked in a breath, then nodded. "Well, okay then. Let us do this. How do I look?"
"Delicious," he said honestly.
Her eyes slid from his face to his neck, chest, and abdomen, and he felt her gaze like she had dragged her fingers down his skin. The slightest hint of arousal in her scent made his groin clench. Then she swallowed, and he turned and offered her his arm before embarrassing himself.
JOYCE
The problems only started after they put those herbs on the bonfire.
Until then, Joyce was surprised that the ceremony had almost been boring, mostly long speeches and songs punctuated by the occasional joke about the first-time mating.
But then the drums started. Reminded of the rite earlier, Joyce's heart raced, and she began to shake. Sung took her hand and leaned into her ear.
"No more killing, I promise," he whispered.
She nodded, but her heart did not slow.
Then the woman who had questioned Sung after he chose Joyce as her mate walked forward with a large basket that she placed on the massive fire. The first curls of smoke smelled strong, but it was not offensive. It reminded her of basil or thyme. But then the smoke began to bloom, curling over itself and expanding, fingers of dark grey twisting together and waving through the air like snakes. Joyce's first inhale after it wafted over them turned into a cough, as did many people around her. But as the cloud became a haze that enveloped the entire clearing, Joyce found herself… well… buzzing.
It was an odd feeling but not unpleasant. As if everything was slightly unreal. The night, the flames, they all had a somewhat dreamlike quality. And for the first time, since she had opened her eyes in the clearing for the rite, she felt herself relaxing. She turned to look at Sung. He had a small smile as he stared down at her.
"I told you," he whispered in a rumble. "This is the fun part."
Joyce did not feel like talking, so she nodded and took another, deeper breath. The smoke pinched her throat, but the rest of her tingled deliciously. She looked down at her arm and touched it, marvelling at how even her touch made her skin fizz, and the little hairs stood under her hand. Then Sung took one finger and pushed a strand of hair back from her face to behind her ear, and she shivered.
"Oh yes," he said, his voice so deep it seemed to come up from the ground. "This is the fun part."
The drums… drums were not beating a funeral march anymore. They kept the beat of a song only she could hear, as if the melody floated in the smoke. When you tried to grab it, it slid through your fingers only to curl around your skin and stick to you.
A small laugh bubbled out of her throat, and she clapped her hand over her mouth. When she looked at Sung, he was griming.
"May I have this dance?" he asked as he held his hand to her.
Unable to resist, she placed her hand in his and let him walk her forward, closer to the heat of the flames, where he pulled her into his chest until they were pinned together. He loomed over her as they swayed together.
She was about to say that she could not dance because everyone would watch when she realised everyone else was up on their feet and swaying to that distant music.
She had no idea how long they swayed, turned, and leaned more than once. Sung bent her backwards over his arm until she was stretched almost back onto her head. But instead of worrying that her tiny top would slide up or her legs might give way, she relaxed into his grip and let her skin tingle under his touch.
Her breath came faster, but not because the dance was complicated. Instead, his closeness and scent made her blood fizz like her skin did when he touched her.
Everything within her suddenly wanted more. But more of what?
She swayed, skin lighting up everywhere Sung touched her until she wanted to purr.
Then he turned her so her back was against his chest, and they swayed again. The drumbeats picked up, or maybe there were just more of them. Whatever it was, the crowd closed in until her skin was pebbled with goosebumps from the warmth and brush of countless hands and arms.
She put one of her arms up and back, looking for Sung's neck, something to grip to keep her centred in this ocean of bodies. His hand found her wrist and slid down, down, down her arm as she arched back, lighting fireworks in her blood that followed the trail of his touch.
Then he dropped his chin to her shoulder and whispered into her ear. "One piece of advice before we go any further," his lips brushed the shell of her ear, and she shivered.
"What is it?" she whispered back.
"Follow your instincts."
His heavy breath puffed across her neck, sending goosebumps down her thigh on that side.
His hand slid to her waist, and this thumb strummed her skin like a guitar.
"I am a human. I do not have instincts," she gasped, leaning back against his chest wall.
"Yes, you do," he breathed, then nipped her ear lobe. "They are buried deeply, but they are there. Follow your instincts, follow your gut, do not doubt yourself, and do not doubt me," he rasped.
"Why would I doubt y-" she had not even finished the words when his warm solidness disappeared behind her. She began to topple backwards but was quickly caught by another set of hands, another warm broad chest.
Joyce was about to protest but stopped when she felt his fingers dance down her side in a sparkle of sensation that left her breathless.
"Who?"
As quickly as the man had appeared, he was gone and replaced by another. And as the effects of the smoke heightened her senses, it also dulled her fear until Joyce found herself dancing, turning, swaying from man to man…
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Weekly Power Status
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