The Cursewright's Vow

Chapter 8: Lord Marhollow's Pursuit, Part 3

 "Ah," Demelza remarked, at once releasing his hand. Denisius drew it back with obvious reluctance. There was something in her strange feline eyes that he couldn't understand -- not hurt, really, but a species of surprised disappointment. But she recovered quickly. "Namarri are not to the soft human's taste? This is sad. Such stories you tell of us! Such tales!" Her own tail flicked rapidly against Denisius's ankles now, teasing as much as her words. Again her lips pressed to his ear, and while she did not guide his hand to her loincloth as she had before, her thighs parted just enough to allow him to stroke there if he so desired. Those growled words, so low he wondered if she was speaking at all or somehow murmuring directly into his brain: "Eighty gold, then. Still you may linger until dawn. Demelza finds you pleasing, so much as any Namarri might find a human so, and the soft human has a lovely smile." 

A velvet fingertip stroked his lower lip, the tip of a claw prickling it. Drawing on wells of reserve he didn't know he possessed, Denisius took her paw (and it was wonderfully soft, despite feeling almost gravid with an unknowable physical strength) and lowered it.

"No, Demelza -- it's -- it's not that -- I -- I -- "

The tigress gazed at him, finally silent but clearly perplexed. Denisius thought she was studying him the way a barncat might look at a fieldmouse that had taken it into its head to dance a waltz: intrigued but utterly baffled.

Denisius looked into those vividly jade-gold eyes and managed to smile weakly. "I'm promised to another. I have to, um, honor her." Still the tigress stared, though her tail flicked idly against his calf. "Not that you aren't lovely, I mean -- if I wasn't -- if she -- "

"Is the nice soft human promised to a Namarri?"

"Ah -- well, no, you see -- "

"Then perhaps to be with one would not break his promise?"

Denisius laughed shrilly. Demelza's jade-gold eyes glittered with their own brand of humor. He wondered if Namarri logic was merely playful or downright crazed. "I, hah, don't think it works quite like that."

"Is this girl pretty like Namarri are? Some men find it hard to compare, yes, even nice soft men like you." That paw, roaming his chest idly up and down, just low enough on his belly to make him think she was about to caress his prick but never quite managing it, somehow.

"She's -- yes, she's very pretty."

Demelza seemed to hear something in his voice, and her paw withdrew, her striped thighs seining together a trifle more primly. She remained curled against him, her heat and scent compelling as ever. "Very Namarri looking? Or better?" Demelza purred softly. Denisius looked at her curiously.

There had been something in her strange Namarri eyes that had stopped his otherwise irresistible arousal short of overcoming him and forcing him to hand the tiger-dancer his purse and allow her to lead him to her no-doubt lovely rooms, where the gods alone knew what she might have done with him. It had been a watching coldness, as he had seen in the barncats that stalked prey in the fields outside Coldspring Hall, and while he no doubt thought of that because of her feline appearance, it was really nothing more than the businesslike air any prostitute evinced while propositioning a potential client. Only her innate sensuality and her nearly animal nature disguised it far better.

Now, though, that businesslike (or predatory) air was gone, and she regarded him with real and rather intense curiosity. Even though she was no longer caressing him quite so intimately, something in that more genuine expression made her even more difficult to resist.

"No," he said softly. "Not better, but . . . different." Then he said something almost by instinct, perhaps unguarded not just because of Demelza's attempt at seduction but by that warm curiosity in her eyes. "More wolfish."

"Wolfish girl?" she said doubtfully. "Demelza has heard tales of wolves lately, it is strange nice faithful human should say so. Tales of wolfish men on the docks when Saya smiles brightly on the waters. A city guardsman spoke of it, while drunk on Aznia liquor and putting his hands where Demelza did not want them." A snarling laugh escaped her muzzle. Denisius wondered what grisly fate awaited a guard stupid enough to put unwanted hands on a Namarri tigress. But the laugh sank into a low purr and she pressed her muzzle to his cheek. "But Demelza wants nice soft human's hands on her, wherever he wants to touch. Come up to her rooms. No charge. Tell her of your pretty wolf girl. Demelza has never heard of such a thing, a human promised to a wolf of the white moon."

The tip of her tongue, not rough but soft as velvet and sinfully warm, touched the corner of his mouth. For a moment Denisius couldn't take it and his hand found her waist, stroking softly up and down, glorying in her pelt. She reacted at once, arching her spine to press her body tightly against him, letting her tongue wander his jawline.

But the image of Carala -- not Carala in the Ivory Room holding his hand; or Carala in the solarium smiling as they carried on polite conversations under the gaze of her handmaidens; but Carala as a she-wolf before the tall windows of that ruined tower, amber eyes horrified and filled with an unspeakable grief for what had happened to her; those amber eyes begging him to do something to help even as she struggled to say his name -- that image danced before him. And at last Denisius drew his hand back, ran it through his hair, and stiffened his body in such a way to -- hopefully -- communicate to Demelza that this wasn't happening tonight. "I would if I could. You're an amazing . . . um. Woman?"

Demelza chuckled a low purr. "Did nice human think Demelza was male?"

"Oh! Oh, gods no, I just -- "

"Be still. Demelza teases you." Stretching languidly, quite obviously and intentionally showing off the sleek striped muscles of her form, even raising her tail to give him one last glimpse of the mysteries under her loincloth, the tiger-dancer rose from his lap, gazing down at him warmly. "Demelza is sorry. Nice soft human is not much like other humans that come here. He should visit Summervale sometime. Demelza goes back when the sun is highest, when Summervale lives up to the name your people gave it." She fixed him with a nakedly inviting look in her jade-gold eyes. "Perhaps nice soft human should bring his pretty wolf girl with him. Demelza would be most curious to meet her."

Denisius nodded, not quite able to help himself. "She might like that."

"Of course she would." Demelza bent down, pressed her muzzle to his surprised lips, and darted her tongue into his mouth for what felt like an eternity, exploring, teasing, tasting. Her taste was surprisingly sweet, and Denisius wondered if she had taken a sip of some liqueur before slinking over here to entice him. Then she straightened, as imperturbable and self-possessed as any feline worthy of the name, licking her whiskers with unmistakable satisfaction. "Bring the pretty wolf girl to Summervale, nice human. Even when the white moon is at its brightest, we do not fear her kind."

The tigress sketched another curtsey, turned, and sauntered away, perhaps to dance again or perhaps to find some other fortunate man (or pretty wolf girl) to spend the night with. Denisius exhaled an enormous sigh and sank into his chair.

After a moment, he realized Vos was there, staring at him incredulously.

"Didn't think you had it in you, milord," he said in tones of undisguised wonder. "Broadening our horizons, I take it?"