touch

Their chanting surrounded me and I closed my eyes. I bit my lip to keep from smiling. Anticipation finally won over trepidation. Whatever came would be the result of a deal of my own making, not someone else’s. I felt each light touch on my bare arms. Mom’s, strong and sure; Aunt Grace’s light and shy; Aunt Danielle quick and cool; Gran’s soft and gentle. Then it was over.

Mom led me with a steady arm wrapped around my shoulder to my room. Pulling back the quilts, she helped me into bed. I didn’t feel any different. The strange compulsion to sleep gripped me as usual. I struggled to keep my eyes open as she turned off my light and closed my door.

Frustrated, I rubbed my eyes. But that meant closing them. And once they closed, they refused to reopen. I hovered on the verge of sleep.

Time slipped away from me until I heard a slight noise in my room in the direction of the chair.

“Tessa,” a deep rumbling voice quietly drifted to me, “its Morik. Open your eyes.”

My heart gave a little flutter at the sudden sound of his voice. I took a calming breath and pushed any fear I had aside. He told me to open my eyes as if I’d purposely closed them, as if they listened to me. I tried opening them anyway and to my surprise, it worked.

It took a moment for them to adjust to the darkened room, the only light coming from under the bedroom door. I heard the TV on in the living room. I’d always thought they went to bed after I did.

“Can you turn on the reading light?” I whispered not wanting to turn on the bedroom light.

A quiet click later, the dim yellow glow from the light blinded me. Usually kept in a kitchen draw for emergencies, I’d snagged it when I’d gone for a glass of water before brushing out my hair. I’d thought I’d need it to stumble around outside in the dark.

I sat up in bed, mentally bracing myself. No fear, I reminded myself as I swung my legs over the edge of the mattress and turned toward the light. He wasn’t as I remembered him.

He stood near my desk, holding the light loosely in his hand, watching me. The light created small shadows on his very real skin. I held myself still focusing on slow even breathing while I studied his face.

Pitch back hair fell in soft short waves back from his brow. The tips of his ears, about the same size as my own, poked through the thick waves extending his ears by another inch. Two worry lines married his smooth wide brow. In the dim lit, the color of his skin hinted at Native American, but with a greyish cast. I wondered if it was due to the shadows. Then, his eyes captivated me. Swirling prisms of color, his irises contrasted the muddied backdrop of the whites of his eyes. The difference between the two as scary as it was beautiful.

He held himself still as I continued to study him, though his wide full lips turned down in a slight frown. I noticed his lower lip protruded slightly as if he had an under bite. Before I had time to study his mouth further, I discerned a slight dent in his chin. Not quite a butt chin, but still a strong one.

My eyes drifted down. He wasn’t wearing a shirt. Why wasn’t he wearing a shirt? My eyes did a quick travel lower and I breathed in relief at the site of kaki cargo pants. Calmer, I went back to his chest. No hair sprinkled his skin there, everything lean muscle. He was right. He did blend well. Better than my first glimpse of him. I forced my eyes back up to his face not wanting to be rude. His body looked very human, unlike his eyes and ears.

Seeing the real him without fear? Check. Touching him… “So, where exactly am I supposed to touch you?” I kept my voice low so no one would hear. The no shirt business made me wary.

At the sound of my voice, the worry lines disappeared and he smiled. When he did, I saw the reason behind the prominence of his lower lip. His lower two canines, longer than the rest, extended just enough to overlap his top teeth. The slight curve of them pushed against his lip. So he didn’t really have an under bite. Definitely not human.

He stepped forward and extended a hand to help me stand. Still sitting on the bed, I had an up-close view. Fine dark hair dusted the back of his hand. Normal enough. Sharp black nails neatly topped each digit. Not normal. I stared at them for a moment pushing back at my rising fear. He patiently waited with his hand outstretched. Hesitantly, I lifted my hand. Please don’t shred me with those nails.

His warm fingers closed around my own and he gently tugged me to my feet. Taller than me by a foot, I found myself suddenly staring at his chest. He didn’t release my hand. Instead, he pulled it up toward his chest turning my hand in his so my palm would make first contact. His skin radiated heat before I even touched him. Once he placed my hand, he let go again standing still for my inspection. The texture of his skin distracted me from my embarrassment.