Serpent's Touch (Serpent's Touch 1)

“I won’t.” I kept my eyes on his reflection in the mirror.

The small diamond-shaped head tentatively poked out from under his hood.

“Come on, little one,” I coaxed, wiggling my fingers. “Don’t be scared.”

Kyllen snorted a laugh. “You realize you’re talking to a part of my body, right? It’s like if I was talking to your finger.”

“It doesn’t have its own brain?”

“Of course not. What do I need a headful of sentient appendages for?” He chuckled.

“Well, but they have eyes.” I pointed at the pair of shimmering golden beads on each side of the “head.”

“Which are connected to my brain. I’m the one with the fifty eyes, remember?”

“Don’t they have a tongue, too? I think I saw something.”

“Yes, they do.” A slim ribbon of forked tongue flicked out of the open mouth at the end of the “head.” “They have mouths, too. But I make them open. See?”

The little mouth opened wide.

“There are no teeth,” I noted.

“No. They don’t eat.”

I noticed there was no throat inside the mouth, either. Instead, the top and the bottom parts fused inside like a mouth of a sock puppet, with the tongue sticking out from the middle.

“Why do they need the tongues?” I asked, fascinated by this part of his anatomy.

“Senties are sensors. Like fingers, they can touch.”

The little head moved closer to my cheek, brushing my skin, then gently slid down to my neck.

“The tongues are even more sensitive. With them, I can smell.” The tongue flicked out, coiling like a spring next to my skin. “I can taste.” The fork of the tongue touched my neck.

Kyllen’s chest expanded at my back. A muffled groan vibrated deep inside it. He tipped his head back, half-closing his eyes, as if savoring a sip of fine wine.

“I’ve been dreaming of tasting you, my sweet pea.” He leaned his forehead to my temple.

More little touches came from everywhere. Slipping out from under his hood, the senties wound around my neck, slinking under the neckline of my sweater, burrowing into my hair to rub against my skull.

It was like being touched by twenty-four gentle but insolent fingers. I felt one of them sneak into my bra and raised my hand to slap it, but paused. I could always stop it later. But what would happen if I let it go for just a little bit longer?

How far could this tingling sensation along my skin grow?

How hot can the warmth in my lower belly get?

What would happen when I couldn’t stand the teasing any longer?

What if I needed more?

A woman cleared her throat behind us. “I beg your pardon, but are you buying any of the clothes?”

The voice of the saleswoman yanked me out of the warm, shimmering dream that Kyllen’s touch had plunged me into.

He half-staggered as if coming out of a trace, too. Yanking his hood down, he turned to face the woman. “We’ll take them all.”

“And the pashmina?” She wished to know.

He took the pink scarf off his shoulder and draped it gently around my neck. “What do you think?”

It felt like a kiss against my skin. I sank my hands into the scarf, nuzzling into the material, which was as soft as a cloud I imagined would be. I closed my eyes and moaned.

“Yes,” Kyllen said to the woman. “We’re taking the scarf, too.”

I left my old clothes at the store, letting the salesperson dispose of them however she felt fit. The only thing I wished to keep from my old life was the dragonfly barrette Kyllen had made for me. I clipped it into my hair, just above my right ear.

When we finally left the shop, I buried my nose into my new scarf and took a furtive glance at Kyllen.

In his coat, he almost looked like any regular guy now. Taller than most and wider in the shoulders, he walked in a confident swagger few could master, but he no longer stood out like a visitor from a magical kingdom.

I noticed people no longer threw curious glances my way, either. Now, we both blended in so much better. Even Kyllen’s hood didn’t stand out too much among so many other hoods of sweatshirts and jackets pulled over people’s heads against the wind.

Kyllen shoved his hands into his pockets, and I hooked my arm into his.

“You never said whether you liked my new outfit.” I nudged him with my elbow.

“Do you like it?” he asked.

I snuggled with my chin into my new scarf. “I love it.”

“Then I like it, too.” He smiled.

“That’s it? You like it if I do?”

He slowed down his steps. “Sweet pea, I liked you well enough in those dreadful things you wore before, and I’d take you dressed in a burlap sack. It doesn’t matter to me what you wear, as long as you’re happy.” He tilted his head. “Did wearing the bracks’ clothes make you happy?”

I frowned. So many memories came with those old clothes, hardly any of them were worth remembering.

He nodded. “Didn’t think so.”