It does not escape her notice that as her lips seek and find the feathers of one single, beautiful wing, Tamlin shifts to make it easier to reach more. She pauses a moment, surprised but not hesitant, and feels something indescribable ignite in the pit of her belly. It is all the invitation she needs to explore more of him, to touch her mouth to his neck and his hair, to trace the curve of his handsome jaw only to discover shyness again.
And then his nose is in her mane too, his breath a welcome heat where it lingers just above on her black velvet skin. There is a blush that creeps over her, a literal blush that follows in the wake of skin prickled by the sensation of curious goosebumps. Her coat shifts beneath his mouth, the color at first a deep burgundy so close to the true black shade that it is almost indiscernible until it fades slowly to a sweet, soft pink.
But she is completely oblivious to it as it spreads gently outwards, even stealing into some of the tangles in her mane. Color changing was never something she learned how to control, and like a muscle unused, it was left to atrophy. But now with his lips on her skin and this uncertain ache inside her chest, the ability revives.
“Maybe?” She repeats, and her voice is something smaller than she intends it to be - a whisper too soft to even carry a snowflake aloft. He gulps and it is instinctive now to reach for him, to press her lips to his neck until he laughs and kisses her and suddenly her mouth is a gasp pressed to his warm, beautiful skin.
A kiss.
She pulls back to look at him, and at no moment does she consider that this might look like she is pulling away from him. But she is surprised and confused and dying from this ache inside her chest that is demanding she never know anyone but him. That Tamlin is her mate, even though neither of them are wolves. It does not change this need to be his, or for his heart to belong to no one but her.
Except this feeling is something that chafes inside her chest, and when her eyes find his face again they are filled with the quiet fear of this, of something new. In all of her life, she has never been wanted in any capacity. She has been like a ghost, like the sun or the moon but never both. A thing that comes and goes in perpetuity but never truly stays. “I can’t.” She tells him, though her eyes say something entirely different as they wander his face again, fall to those lips she can still feel pressed against her in a kiss.
But then instead of turning away from him she takes another quiet step toward him. “I don’t know if I should stay or go.” There is a gentle furrowing of her brow beneath her forelock, a frown on her lips that is entirely some kind of fragile uncertainty. “No one has ever wanted me to stay before.”
the devil in my arms said feed me to the wolves tonight