Page 171 of The Demon Tide

Xishlon night, twenty-first hour

Mora’lee watches Fyon come to her, her eyes lit with loving amusement, as he strides toward her through the violet-washed garden where Mora waits for him beneath her favorite tree in all of Voloi—the large Wisteria ensconced in the garden’s outer edge.

Her restaurant, normally only open for breakfast and lunch, has just closed for the evening after a wildly successful Xishlon. Every last pastry and morsel was sold, and Mora’s spirits are buoyant from the enjoyment Olilly, Nym’ellia, and even painfully shy Ghor’li seemed to draw from all the delicious food as well as the moon’s lovely embrace.

And her heart is more buoyant still, with the promise of Fyon’s kiss.

She can barely keep her soles on the ground.

Fyon’s silver eyes blaze as he catches sight of her and deftly sweeps aside the tree’s veil of floral tresses, his gaze sliding over her short, tight-fitting Xishlon dress patterned with a blooming Wisteria tree embroidered on deep-purple velvet in gleaming, phosphorescent thread.

Mora runs her own gaze over Fyon, who is garbed in a dark green formal Smaragdalfar tunic, the design worn solely during a formal courting.

Now that we’ve had those millions of cups of tea, Mora laughs to herself, delight bubbling up that’s impossible to contain. Leaning back against the Wisteria, Mora sighs and gives in to the moon’s pull toward matters of the heart, grateful for its aid in drawing her focus away from war as she forces back the hard reality of Fyon’s imminent deployment. But the looming truth can’t be fully erased—she’s all too clear that this might be the last chance for her and Fee and everyone else in the Eastern Realm to embrace each other before the coming fight.

“Mora, tia’lin,” Fyon breathes out as he draws near,Mora, my beloved. “You’re the most beautiful thing in this garden.”

Mora smiles and reaches up to trace a fingertip lightly down his silken tunic. A warm knot of emotion forms in her throat as she thrills to the feel of him so solidlyherebefore her.

“I meant what I said on my ship,” she tells him, pushing aside the nervous reticence fluttering inside her. “Kiss me all you like.”

The intensity of Fyon’s gaze deepens, his voice rough and emphatic when it comes, as if he can’t quite wrest hold of his emotions. “I’ve wanted you for so long, Mora...”

Mora grins, lit up. “Then take me,” she playfully eggs him on.

“Mora,” he says, serious. “I don’t think you understand. Not just to touch and hold.”

The look in his eyes is so passionate, tears spring into Mora’s eyes. “I know that, Fee. But the fact of the matter is that I’ve been yours for quite a while now and it will be nice to stop imagining kissing you and actually kiss you instead.”

Fee swallows, hesitating, as if his want is too great for him to handle. He briefly looks to the West, at the lavender moon hung over the skyline, his elegant face tensing. He turns back to her, his gaze weighted with feeling. “To be pulled apart from you now, of all times...”

“I know,” Mora agrees, part of her railing against him going west again when they’ve finally found each other in this new way, but also knowing he has to go.

Fyon reaches up to gently touch Mora’s cheek, as if he’s touching something precious and fleeting. “Tia’lin...” His voice catches on the Smaragdalfar endearment. His fingertips slide down and brush along the base of her glitter-dusted neck, so lightly it’s barely a touch, and a delightful shiver courses through her.

And then Fyon cups her cheek, leans down, and brings his lips to hers.

The moment their mouths touch is suspended in bright magic as warmth slides through Mora’s body, and Fyon’s hands—those elegant sorcererhandsof his—slide around her waist and up through her braided hair, his honeyed kiss deepening as Mora traces her fingers down the long column of his neck, over the straight line of his back, thrilled to finally touch this friend she’s pined for, for so long. Who she’s dreamed of so many nights. Mora traces her hand over Fyon’s lean, muscular chest, reveling in the masculine feel of his body as they kiss each other under the Wisteria, rapidly losing all track of time.

Mora pulls him closer, caught up in wanting more of him as she parts her lips and dares to kiss him with her tongue, as well.

Fyon lets out a surprised groan, his hands tightening on her, his kiss losing its softness, his newfound urgency setting off a pleasurable tightness low inside Mora as he grasps her so deliriously close.

“What do you think, Fee?” she asks, breathless from wanting him and feeling like a decadent confection. “Do you like the taste of me?”

Fyon smiles, his eyes molten silver. “Yes, Mora. Can’t you tell?”

Mora grins enticingly and grasps hold of the sides of Fyon’s tunic, drawing him even closer.Yes, Fee, I can tell,she thinks.It’s a bit startling how much I can tell.

“I’ve an inkling,” she says instead, and he gives a low laugh. “Come back to my ship with me,” she huskily invites. “I’ve Sanjire root...”

Fyon draws back, his green brow tensing. “So fast, Mora? Are you sure? You might not be thinking clearly with the lull of the Xishlonmoon on the air. This thing between us...it isn’t some fleeting Noi holiday for me. We should wait...”

“For what, Fyon?”

He blinks at her. “The twenty days of tia’linel.All of the courting rituals. The presentation of my intentions.”

Mora gives him a suggestive look, her eyes sliding down his long frame. “Oh, I think you’ve presented them well enough.”

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