Soteria

[Tristan]

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Tristan was frozen as a troll stone. Her lips brushed tantalizingly close. Her hand roamed the breadth of his shoulders, the other grazing his hip. The sensation was light, tickling. She was so different from Long Eye, whose teeth nipped and hands clawed. Though Sierra was not far from his thoughts, being with her was incomparably glorious as witnessing the majesty of night versus day, but while she summoned the wolf, and Tristan answered the call, Sierra wasn't here, and someone else was. Someone older. Someone touched by darkness.

She was slow and careful, though he wasn’t sure if her caress was timid from fear or gentle to induce pleasure. His heart throbbed drums in his ears, pulsing in tune with the cock she surely felt in her hands. The cool air washed his legs next, though he didn’t discard them on his own. They simply disappeared. He cupped the bend of her elbows in return, trailing fingers up the back of her arms. The push and pull of their hands took their turns. Sudden as the clothing disappearing, the grass nestled soft beneath his back, and Nim sat astride his hips. The gentle rock and rotation of her legs throbbed an ache that made him groan. The call was more than pleasure. It was awakening. Then, the paint that marked him a warrior lengthened like shadows, wrapping his shoulders and ribs, stretching longer and thicker like tongues seeming to lick at her bare thighs.

When he opened his eyes, the gold irises of the wolf patinated. Black crept into the rims as if the paint had leeched from the skin until the whole of his eyes were glossed black rocks. It seemed the paint that marked his face and chest wasn’t paint at all. It was alive as sure as the poison of a troll living inside. They were the mark of a troll that lived in the Other world and the Dream world, and Tristan wanted to lose himself to it. 

With Nimeda, he might.