Sunny - Mona Lisa Eclipsing

“What are you doing?” I gasped, shocked and appalled as he nuzzled his way between my legs. The sound turned into a moan as he did something even more shocking with his tongue.

“I’m kissing . . .” The pause was punctuated with like action. “. . . licking . . . tasting you. Open your legs wider . . . yes.”

He lapped and laved and pleasured me until I was half-crazed and wholly blinded, overwhelmed with searing sensation, beyond thought, beyond embarrassment. And still there was more.

Searching deep in my wet folds, he licked and sucked over an area that arched my back and spasmed my legs, building a tense, spiraling, frightening pleasure that suddenly crested and ruptured, free of skin, body, and fleshly containment. Light blazed forth in a rapture of incandescent brilliance as I cried out and seized in ecstasy.

A blissful moment where time seemed to suspend for an indefinite moment as I felt his tongue thrust deep inside me, as I felt him pull my light into him, illuminating his own skin more brightly. A moment of connection, of shattering, of giving and receiving. Of being flung up in pieces toward heaven and then falling back down reassembled.

He pressed a gentle kiss to my hip. “My lady,” he breathed, resting his forehead there.

I opened my eyes and blinked.

Same place but different reality.

Dante’s blistered back, buttocks, and weeping arms were healed. No redness. Even the black charring burns over his wrists were gone, leaving healthy, healed flesh in its place. My own scrapes and bruises had vanished as well, and the leaden, drugged weariness was gone. I felt refreshed, at full and normal strength.

A twist—an easy, simple pull and twist—and my arms were free. “What happened?” I asked.

Dante’s glittery silver-blue eyes opened. “You can also heal with sex.”

I could heal? That was my most heartfelt desire, an instinctual yearning I had felt my entire life—the ability to heal. The manner of doing so, however, was . . . well, let’s just say—unexpected.

“That technically wasn’t sex, was it?” I said doubtfully. I rose to my feet and rubbed my sore arms to get some painful circulation going.

“Part of my body was in yours,” he answered.

Yes, I recalled that quite vividly: his tongue buried in my spasming depths.

I felt my neck and face flush as I freed Dante’s wrists.

“How do you feel?” I asked, helping him stand.

His hand lifted, not to rub his sore arms, but to lightly touch my face. “Well and renewed by your light and healing grace. We can correct that technical point later, if you like, when we have more time.”

Imp.

I smiled as a new and deeper intimacy stretched between us. “I would like that,” I said, nodding, then smiled. “So that’s what all the fuss about sex is about. I never knew.”

“Next time,” he promised, “will be even better.” He brushed an all too fleeting kiss against my lips. “Let’s get out of here, shall we?”

It was about thirty feet up to the netted ceiling covering the pit, a bit more distance than what I could jump straight up. I solved that problem by springing off the side of the wall, launching myself farther upward. Grabbing hold of the center of the silver net, I tore it open down the middle. Using the natural swing as it gave, I went backward, then propelled myself forward, flipping myself up and out to land on the edge of the pit. An alarm suddenly screeched, ruining our quiet getaway. A motion detector—a surprisingly sophisticated bit of gadgetry in these primitive backwoods.

Dante sprang up and out in a straight jump through the torn silver netting to land lightly on his feet beside me. Six guards came bursting through the trees, hands reaching for venom-tipped throwing darts sheathed in straps slung across their chest. More voices raised in the distance, slower in coming, as if they were being roused from slumber. When they came, however, they would arrive in overwhelming numbers.

“Shift your form and fly away! I’ll hold them off,” Dante yelled as he leaped toward the six men. At the highest point of his jump, he transformed himself with a palpable wave of energy and the loud sound of ripping clothes. Bits of cloth sprayed the air in all directions as a one-hundred-and-eighty-pound man transformed suddenly into a five-hundred-pound-plus saber-toothed tiger. He was huge. Massive. Even taller than the men.

He was the most terrifying creature I’d ever laid eyes on. The sheer size of him, not to mention those wickedly long saber teeth, complete with a spine-chilling roar, stunned the attackers. If I was standing in their shoes, I would have shit myself.

Two hunters managed to hurl their darts and roll out of the way. The rest froze in that critical moment as they saw death racing toward them in prehistoric form. The beast swiped with his enormous paws, claws fully extended, several inches long, sailing past two attackers and grabbing up another in his jaws. The two long ivory sabers sank through the hunter’s chest like the weapons they were named after. A savage chomp with the powerful jaw, and most of the hunter’s chest, including the heart, was bitten off as easily as taking a bite out of a hamburger. Before the body, what remained of it, hit the ground, there was a bright flash of light.

The body poofed into ashy dust, empty clothes and weapons falling to the ground.

I thought for a moment the tiger had missed the other two hunters because they stood frozen there like statues. Then in slow, ponderous motion, as they started toppling over, a thin line of blood appeared across their necks like red paint seeping out. As their heads slowly separated from their necks, a bright light leaked from their open bodies. With an immolating poof , two more piles of ashes dusted the ground.

With an easy pounce, the creature swatted the three other men into the air like a big cat playing with amusing mice. He broke the spine of one, by the sound of it, partially eviscerated the other, and tore through the ribs of the last, sending them thudding to the ground, an incapacitated bloody mess.

The prehistoric tiger glanced back at me.

I stood there with my mouth opened, stunned by the carnage and odd light-and- poofing -dust display—was that how Monères died?

The two darts protruding from the tiger’s chest didn’t seem to bother him; too big, perhaps, to be knocked unconscious by them. He chuffed at me, a loud coughing sound, and tossed his head in a gesturing motion, like he was trying to tell me something. Oh yeah, to run away. Or more like, fly away.

I tried. I brought the image of a vulture to mind and tried to picture myself becoming that image, but nothing happened. I didn’t know why—perhaps it was the shock of seeing Dante becoming that tawny, striped, enormous beast. Or maybe sensing more than fifty hunters running toward us wasn’t enough peril yet to force the change. Maybe I had to be hurtling down a gorge, in eminent danger of going splat, before I could shift.

“I can’t change,” I said to the huge creature, not sure if Dante even understood me. “I tried but I can’t shift, and I know you want to be heroic and hold them off while I escape, but hello, here. I need some help. For one thing, if you didn’t notice, I have no shoes, and my feet don’t have the inch-thick calluses these guys seem to have. Are my words even reaching you? How about this? Here, kitty, kitty,” I coaxed.

The big, magnificent cat eyed me balefully.

My heart lifted into my throat as I felt—and saw—the first wave of reinforcements crest the small ridge above us. “We have to hotfoot it out of here, Dante, and I can’t do it without you. Please, Dante. I need you.”

With a hissing snarl, the saber-toothed tiger delicately snatched up with his teeth the dark, reddish bracelets from the ground where they’d fallen in his transformation. Then he was in front of me, crouching down on his belly.