The lapin started to protest, “I’m supposed to help he—”
Wren glanced at Ashe, then back to the lapin servant. “Come back in an hour.” She leaned close to the furry creature, and through the drunken haze inhabiting Ashe’s brain, she heard the words ‘Solanine’ and ‘knows’ before the rest blurred into babble.
The lapin hesitated only briefly before curtsying and left.
Alcohol whirlpooled around her skull, hazy, but coherent, understanding in the knowledge of what was happening yet not quite certain if it was real or not. The room was dark, aethecite lights left off in the bed chamber beyond the narrow door, a smoldering fire burning in the brazier across the room.
Wren sat lithely upon the edge of the tub, carefully pulling off her boots, face hidden in the gloom, smile bright and eyes even brighter. “I’ve waited for this.” The boot dropped with a perceptible thud.
A chill ran up Ashe’s spine despite the warmth of the water in the tub. So had she. “O?” Her tongue thick against the roof of her mouth.
“Yes, Mother Marrow, yes.” Standing, Wren’s hands went to the folds of her pleb tunic, undoing the buttons one by one.
Ashe’s mind swam. The small puddle of mist that had followed her now circled around the base of the tub. Its aether sparking within as there was a craving thirst. A thirst within her own body. She should’ve asked Wren why the little bird was here on Gargantua when she most assuredly shouldn’t be.
But she hadn’t.
In fact, Ashe wanted what was to come more than anything. She knew it the moment Wren walked in. Knew it the moment they first met. That threshold she’d been unwilling to cross before killing that servant in Silk Circle. The murder had shattered something inside of her, and she knew it was her purity. She was a child no more.
This was the only door yet to be opened. And walk through it she would.
The tunic fell from Wren’s shoulders, slipping so effortlessly down her curves. Soft flesh of a woman aglow in the dying embers of the fire behind. The desire in Ashe grew as she drank in the woman’s body. Porcelain skin a faint umber. Breasts pert, navel flat, hips wide, dark enticement between her legs. Her aura was a blinding ruby tint.
Reaching toward the perspiring wine decanter next to the tub, Ashe sipped at it, wetting her suddenly dry mouth.
O Zenith, she was suddenly shy. Weak and shaky. What a chicken shit she’d become.
“Those eyes of yours,” Wren said as she gracefully lifted her legs over the lip of the tub and eased herself in. The tub was more than big enough for both of them. “They drew me in, from the first.”
Their legs touched underwater. The need grew. Nerves assaulting her again. She could stop this, should stop this. Her mind argued with her body. It wasn’t much of an argument. It was her first, that was all she kept telling herself. Normal it was to be nervous. That was the best explanation she’d give herself for acting a bloody dunce in front of Wren.
She shouldn’t be here.
The mist tried its best to soothe her, but it kept pushing her onward, ignoring her brain’s protestations. Wren moved toward her, the water gently lapping against Ashe’s chest as the little bird was inches from her face, eyes locked together. The mist churned faster below the tub, its aether growing, its pall pierced the basin directly into Ashe.
“You’re shaking. Do I frighten you so?”
Ashe shook her head, which felt like a thousand pounds at the moment. “You’re not suppo…” her words trailed off when Wren smiled. O it was a beautiful thing, that smile.
The woman lifted Ashe’s left hand, water wove along her tattoos as Wren pulled it toward her face. O so warm her skin was. Wren gently kissed each finger around the mysterious bangle. “This fits you. Couldn’t ever think of you without it even though you’ve only had it for a few days now.”
Ashe giggled at the ticklish brush of the Wren’s lips. “You know me so well? I wouldn’t waste your time, Little Bird.” Dark eyes glanced up at the soft rebuke, affronted, but still gleaming. “Couldn’t pry it free if you tried.”
“You wound me,” the other jested.
Wren kissed the inside of Ashe’s wrist, where one of her runes had been tattooed into her flesh. ‘Many know only Scattered Shards sprat have tattoos such as yours.’ Wet kisses danced along her arm with each word spoken by Elian.
“I’ve heard told only those of the Shards bear these.” Wren ran a trail of lips along more of Ashe’s runes, leaving gooseflesh despite the warmth of the bath. “Is this true?”
Wren shifted upon Ashe’s lap, a shift accompanied by a push of hips, closer as it were.
‘Many know.’ The words of Elian swam upstream through the sea of spirits in her mind. She shouldn’t be here. Why would she think of him at a time like this? She forced the gang leader from her thoughts. She drank more of the wine, her mouth was still parched, but the liquid courage it brought began to seep throughout.
Her insides went to jelly, shivers shooting throughout. “Yes,” she breathed as Wren drew Ashe’s hand to her chest, the woman’s heart beating under her touch. “No. I mean,” she licked her lips, again, so dry they were. “I spent years training in Kalderim.”
Blonde hair shading eyes. Heart racing under her hand. Warmth from both their loins mere inches apart now, a tempest of the coming storm between them.
“You’ve lived some life, Ashe.”
“I… no… I mean, I have.”
The tenderness within Wren was like a lit beacon ready to steer her ship back from the brink of crashing waves. The envious mist curled about the tub now, up the basin, urging her, and tripled the emotions she felt.
Want.
Desire.
Need.
Nerves be godsdamned.
Without thinking, Ashe shot forward, splashing water everywhere as she kissed Wren. Their lips met in a fury of need, the ache. The little bird pulled her close, wet arms wrapping around as Ashe ran her fingers through the blonde waves of hair. The press of Wren’s tongue against her parted lips, the force of her mouth against hers drove her on, begged her to continue.
She didn’t know what was happening, but she didn’t care. She needed the comfort. Needed that touch, that presence. The physicality. The ardor of another. The lifeforce of someone else. A threshold to shatter.
And the mist fanned the fire of her need.
Wren’s hands roamed across Ashe’s skin. Enthusiasm under her touch, Wren’s fingers radiated gentleness and care for her in a way she never felt before. Ashe’s fingers trailed across Wren’s back and clawed at her when the little bird kissed her even harder.
