Unable to help myself, I blurt, “Is that… your tongue?” He’s still focussed on the dye, but when his lips part slightly, I catch a glimpse of a long, slender tongue, dark and slightly forked.
He raises an eyebrow, glancing at me with amusement flickering in his gaze. “Curious, are we?”
“What?” I flush. “I mean, I didn’t know if… uh, if monsters, uhm… different species, you know, use it the same way we do.”
He chuckles softly, though there’s something intense in his gaze. “My species may be different, but we experience… closeness… in our own ways.”
As he says this, his hair flickers, the tendrils seeming to float, almost reaching, like they have a life of their own. They undulate subtly in time with his breathing, reacting to something beyond my understanding. It’s enough to distract me that he immediately responded to my interest in context to “closeness” rather than tasting food.
“What’s going on with that?” I ask, gesturing to the strands. “It’s… your hair… it’s like it’s responding to me?”
“Not just you,” he says quickly. “These aren’t exactly hair, not in the way you understand. They’re—” He hesitates, the tips of the strands curling as if considering how to explain. “—a part of my sensory system. A kind of living flame, in a way. They react to my surroundings, to people… and yes, to emotions.”
“Emotions?” I whisper, transfixed by the gentle, flickering movements. The bright strands sway and shift, a physical embodiment of whatever emotions he’s trying to contain. “So, they respond to what you’re feeling?”
His voice drops, quiet, almost vulnerable. “They do. And they’re sensitive, in more ways than one.”
“And… if someone were to touch them?” I ask, my curiosity piqued. “Would it hurt?”
He considers my question, his gaze softening as he watches me. “For a human, it would. They carry a heat that can burn on contact. My species has to learn to control it. It’s part of becoming fully grown.”
“Has anyone ever…?” I start but pause, feeling my own cheeks heat. Because yeah, asking the guy if damage is caused when he’s fucking and things get out of control, resulting in someone gripping his hair, is definitelynotwhat I should be thinking, let alone asking. But screw it. Focussing on this gets my mind off other shit. “Like, do they… interact with your emotions like that? If you feel out of control?”
He holds my gaze, a beat of silence stretching between us. “They can,” he says slowly, and it’s crystal clear he’s read between the lines. “For us, there’s… a bond. A mate. One person who’s like a second soul.” He clears his throat, looking down at the dye as he continues applying it to my shoulders. “When the connection forms, it’s a link deeper than anything else. Physical, biological… emotional.”
I can’t look away from him, my mind racing with questions I can barely find the words to ask. “A mate… like… a soul bond?” That’s a thing, right? In books, in movies? And bloody hell, in real life, too, apparently.
He nods. “It’s rare. But when it happens, it’s as if every part of us, from those ‘tendrils’ to our emotions, is in tune with that other person. It’s… consuming. And no part of me—my flames—could ever hurt my mate. It’s physically impossible. I would rather my heart and soul perish before I hurt them.”
His voice is soft, but the emotion there is real, raw in a way that makes me ache. I want to know more, to ask if he’s ever experienced anything like that, if there’s someone out there who’s felt that connection with him. But before I can find thewords, his hands glide down my arms, his touch lingering just a moment too long.
The final bit of dye applied, he releases me, pulling back to give me space. “There,” he says, voice low. “You’re ready.”
I’m almost disappointed when his touch is gone, replaced only by the cool weight of the blue dye on my skin. But the air between us is electric, charged with an unspoken pull neither of us seems able—or willing—to break.
Who am I kidding? My dick is hard, and not even my confusion can get it to behave.
He doesn’t say anything, and neither do I. But as we gather ourselves, preparing to head back into the wilderness, I can’t shake the thought that maybe this strange connection, this intensity, isn’t so one-sided after all.
It’s not something I should be thinking about. But the very idea of “mates” constantly swirls in my thoughts even as we draw closer to the market town.
It’s obvious we’re almost there. What’s also worryingly obvious is, I don’t have a clue what I’m doing.
I’ve spent a good portion of my time talking to cattle and living in my own bubble. The sight before me is the result of a thick, sharp needle that’s exploded it well and truly.
How the hell do I “blend in” when surrounding me are more and more varying shades of blue monsters? I’m doing a stellar impression of a dying fish, but it’s impossible not to gawp. And if I carry on, I’m going to give myself away.
We’re on foot, having stashed Geralt away from prying eyes. A cloth of sorts covers my head and part of my face. Another is wrapped around my jeans, much like a sarong. Honestly, when Solan dressed me, I was more than a little dubious, but the further we walk into the hustle and bustle of the town, the greater variety of species I see.
Not that there are many compared to the number of Glowranth.
The Glowranth is definitely the dominant species—obviously being born in this world will do that. But after spotting at least five different types of creatures, it’s clear that rifts have been happening more regularly than I thought. That or some of the dimensional merges happened in built-up areas and resulted in a huge population growth.
Solan remains close, his familiar heat a steady presence, which sounds crazy, considering it’s only been a day since the world showed me its arse, so nothing should be feeling “steady.” As we walk, several Glowranth and almost every other species dart their attention Solan’s way. The majority offer a barely perceptible up-nod. It would be easy to miss, I’m sure, but since I’m wide-eyed and not being subtle, I notice every single one.
But it’s the sometimes-wide-eyed looks of fear that capture my attention, closely followed by the terrified monster scuttling off. Two go as far as doing an about-turn and bolting down the closest alley.
“Does everyone know you?” I say quietly, fully aware speaking English in the bustling streets is likely to cause more heads to turn. The buildings around us are mostly single-storey. They’re brightly coloured in various shades of the rainbow. Another time, I’d be joking about preparing for a Pride parade and feeling right at home. But I’m certain that’s not what’s going on here.
