Thea Harrison - Oracle's Moon

“No,” Khalil breathed. He looked down at his arm, at her hand. “It felt incredible,” he said. His voice had deepened. “Do it again.”

She held her own breath and tentatively touched him again. This time she curled her hand around the back of his elbow. She drew her hand down the underside of his lean forearm until she reached his broad palm. He hissed at the contact, and a shudder went through him. That simple touch and his intense reaction were unbelievably erotic. His long fingers curled around her wrist, and he held her tight.

“You’ve never felt that before?” she asked faintly.

“Not with such intensity, no,” he said, his voice unsteady. “Creating a more humanlike form is complicated. The more complex a form is, the more energy it takes to create and maintain. I have never been interested enough to descend this deeply into flesh before.”

“How real is this?” she asked.

He stared at his own arm curiously, as if he wasn’t quite sure of the answer himself. “Real enough to feel how pleasurable your touch was,” he said. “Real enough to sustain damage. Cuts and bruises would hurt.” He frowned. “And I do not think I can transport us anywhere while I am bound this deeply in flesh.”

He spoke of his body as if it were a cage. The concept was oddly disturbing, although she could see how flesh would be a cage for him, although he could still discard it anytime he chose.

The whole conversation had created far more intimacy between them than she had expected or welcomed. It had also raised more questions in her mind. She pulled away.

“We’ll have to see that you don’t get damaged tonight,” she said lightly. “And I can drive.”

“In a car,” he said, his frown deepening.

He did not look entirely enthused at the prospect. Suddenly amused, she grinned. “Yes, Khalil. In my car.”

“Very well,” he said. “But I am paying for everything and opening all the doors.”

She rolled her eyes as she went to the bookshelf to grab up her purse. “It sounds like you have quite a well thought-out agenda,” she said. “I would love to know who or what your dating resource was.”

“I went to Florida today,” Khalil said. “Carling and Rune are being held in quarantine in Key Largo.”

She glanced at him. “How are they doing?”

“They’re fine. Rune told me a few things about dating. I must say, I didn’t quite trust all that he said, but his suggestion for a casual outfit seems all right.”

“It’s great,” she said, rather more huskily than she had intended. But then anything he would have worn would have been kick-in-the-head good. She decided it was past time to get out of the house, and she headed for the door.

He might not be able to dematerialize and reform as instantly as he had before, but this new, more humanized Khalil could still move with lethal speed. Suddenly he was in front of her, unlatching the screen door and holding it open. She flipped on the porch light and turned and locked the front door after he stepped out after her. He watched everything she did with an extra-close attention she found unsettling.

She smoothed her hands down the sides of her skirt self-consciously and muttered, “I feel like you’re studying me to take notes.”

“Things acquire more significance in this form,” he said. “You must pay more attention to your physical surroundings when you’re bound in flesh.” He followed her to her car. He opened the driver’s door and closed it after she slid in. She strapped herself in.

When he had climbed in the passenger seat, she waited. He waited too. She told him, “I never drive anywhere unless everybody in the car is wearing their seat belt. It’s a thing of mine.”

He shook his head and looked mystified. She sighed and leaned over him to fumble for his seat belt strap. It brought her breasts against his arm and the left side of his chest, and she caught his scent. He smelled like clean, healthy male. She caught her breath and tilted her head back to look up at his face. He was watching her intently, eyes blazing.

“Sorry,” she croaked, pulling back.

He gave her a keen, bright smile that had every bit as much mischief as it did in his old form. “Don’t apologize. Really.”

“Just pull that strap around and buckle the two parts together, like mine.” She gestured, and when he had done so, she started the car and backed out of the driveway.

Almost every metropolitan area in the States had at least one bar or pub that catered to a mix of Elder Races clientele. Louisville had two, both under the same ownership, although they were located in very different parts of town. Grace drove to the nearest one, Strange Brew, a pub that was located about fifteen minutes’ drive away on the edge of the historic district of Old Louisville.

Old Louisville was located north of the university and south of downtown. While it was not actually the oldest part of the city, the area had a large collection of pedestrian-only streets and almost all of the architecture was Victorian. Historically, it had housed some of the area’s wealthiest residents but had suffered several declines over the last hundred years. Now it held a diverse mix, including large professional and student populations, and some areas were more fashionable than others.

Strange Brew was the area’s original Elder Races bar, and it was not located in one of the more recently fashionable areas of the neighborhood. An immigrant Light Fae from the Seelie Court in Ireland had opened the pub in 1878. The second bar, Deep Waters, was located on the riverfront, near the Waterfront Park and the river cruises. That one tended to attract the out-of-town tourists.

Strange Brew was more of a hangout for locals. So far, it had successfully weathered all the many changes the area had undergone. It was located at one end of a block-long, utilitarian brick building. It had a storefront entrance on the street, an alleyway entrance that led to a pothole-filled parking lot and a long mishmash of different levels and rooms in between, including a basement bar. The pub was wildly popular on St. Patrick’s Day, although to the best of Grace’s knowledge, it had never boasted a visit from a real leprechaun.

Grace was already rethinking the whole excursion when she turned down the side street that led to the packed parking lot. Going to an Elder Races bar had sounded good in theory, but the reality was, at ten thirty on a Saturday night the pub would be crowded and noisy and probably filled with more than its fair share of students.

“Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea,” she muttered. She cruised slowly, searching for a parking spot. The lot was full. She pulled out and looked along the street for a space.

“I do not see why not,” Khalil said, looking around with curiosity and interest. “You require supper and a drink. This seems popular enough. People must approve of the nourishment.”

She bit back a smile. He had his own kind of wisdom and deep knowledge, but he didn’t have a real connection to some things. Maybe the difference had to do with being embodied. It would be easy and potentially lethal, she thought, for someone to mistake that difference for naiveté.

She said, “I don’t think people really come here for the food.”

He glanced at her, amused. “Then why did you want to come?”

Good point. Khalil knew of Janice’s and Therese’s reactions to his presence, but he wasn’t aware of how the other witches had acted earlier that day.

She was tired of tensions and difficult conversations. She rubbed her face. She had told him about the one conversation that would really matter to him. The rest, she decided, was irrelevant, at least for tonight.

She settled with muttering, “You’ve never been on a date. I just wanted you to be comfortable.”