Serpent's Touch (Serpent's Touch 1)

“Maybe. Eventually. When we’re long gone.”

I chewed on my lip. “That’s wrong.”

He huffed. “Fine.” He produced two fifty-pound notes from his boot and tossed them on the table. “Will this make it right?”

It was better than stealing food.

“Okay.” I nodded and bit off my sandwich, pacified.

He finished his yogurt quickly, then ordered a second pot of tea. Though his eyes remained hidden beneath his hood, I sensed his attention was on me by the way his head was raised, as if he tried to see as much as possible of me, below the eye level.

“Why are you hiding your hair?” he asked unexpectedly.

“Why does it matter?” I muttered, caught off guard by his question.

“I’m curious.”

No one had ever asked me this question before, but I knew the answer. It was because I hid everything I could of myself, including the hair. Most of the time, I wished I could hide the rest of me, too.

Of course, I couldn’t tell him that without risking him thinking of me as a weirdo, like so many people did.

“It’s long.” I said instead, drinking my coffee. “It gets in the way. Especially when I work.”

“How long is it?” There was something in his voice that made my cheeks warm, and I dropped my gaze to my coffee mug.

“Long.” I swallowed.

He wouldn’t give up. “Can I see all of it?”

“Now? Here?”

“I never saw hair up close before I met you. Never touched any, either.”

“Really?” That shouldn’t be surprising. Gorgonians didn’t have hair. Just senties, whatever exactly those were. “Well…”

I glanced around to make sure no one was watching us. The few people at the tables in the cafe were busy with either their phones or their own conversations.

“Alright.” I tugged at my braid, pulling it out from behind my scarf and my hoodie. When braided, it reached a little past my waist. Unbraided…well, I never wore my hair loose.

“May I?” He leaned across the table and took the end of the braid from me.

Yanking the elastic off it, he unraveled the good third of the braid. Naturally wavy, my dark hair retained the crinkled shape of the braid I’d made when it was still damp after the shower last night.

He ran his long fingers through the strands. “It’s so much softer than a horse’s mane.”

That made me smile. “I sure hope so. Does it feel weird?” It was completely new to him, after all.

“It tickles… In a rather exciting way.” He grabbed the ends in a fist and twisted his wrist, wounding the braid around his forearm. He yanked at it, bringing my face closer to his.

“Kyllen,” I exhaled against his lips.

“I love it,” he rasped in a coarse whisper.

I tilted my head, increasing the pull at my roots. My scalp pricked and burned slightly. It felt oddly…exciting, just as he said.

“Do you like it?” he murmured, as if we were all alone in the room. “Do you like it when I play with your hair?” He moved his arm, making me turn my head the way that suited him.

It was bizarre being completely at his mercy like that, like a marionette on a string. At the same time, I felt more in control than I’d ever been before. I’d spent my life led by the will of others, having no say in what was happening to me. With Kyllen, it was different. I knew no matter what he did, he cared about what I thought and felt.

“Let me go,” I said softly, just to test if he would.

He relaxed his fist, releasing my hair. My messed-up braid unraveled from around his arm and dropped to the table.

“Did I scare you?” He flashed me a self-assured grin. “In a good way, I hope.”

Was there a good way to be scared?

I supposed there was, but only because I trusted him. The echo of the tiny prickles to my scalp spread down my neck and arms in ripples of pleasure.

He toyed with the ends of my hair on the table between us. I watched his deft fingers quickly braid it in a neat plait again.

“For someone who hasn’t seen or touched hair before, you’re pretty good at braiding it.”

“I’m good at many things,” he boasted, without shame. “This is just one of the ways to make a rope.” He snapped on the elastic to secure the ends, then waved the braid in the air between us to demonstrate his work. “See?”

“Thanks.” I slid my finger along his knuckles. The dark mesh pattern on them had almost disappeared. Only traces of it were still visible when he turned his hand to the light in a certain way.

“Your skin feels softer,” I noted.

“Hm,” he agreed. “The bath helped last night. No matter how much I drink, the air is too dry in this world to keep me properly hydrated. Soaking in the tub allowed me to drink enough for once.”

“To drink? Do you mean you drank the bathwater?”

He laughed at my bewilderment. “Yes, through my skin that absorbs moisture from the air. It sucks it in like a sponge, which makes our skin supple and soft.” He stroked my fingers with his. “It allows for a much better perception by touch, too.”

“It does?” I breathed out, mesmerized by his caress.

“For us, touch is even more important than sight.” He wrapped his fingers around my hand, pressing it gently. “My hands often can tell me more than my eyes.”

“How? What can you tell by touching my hand?”

“Right now? That you’re cold.” He brought my hand to his lips for a quick kiss. “Which is not surprising at all. It’s freezing here, even inside.”

“Alright.” I took my hand from him to tuck my braid back into my hoodie. “Let’s go get you some warm clothes. I can’t stand you being this miserable.”