Whispers on the Wind

by Judy Griffith Gill

  “Which is probably a good thing. My heart might have stopped dead if you’d controlled yourself, controlled our joining, denied us both release any longer.”

  He laughed softly as he cupped her face between his two hands. “No it wouldn’t have, my letise. I would never let that happen.”

  The mazayin returned then, and Lenore wondered if Jon had called them or if they had just known their presence would no longer be an intrusion on the privacy of the people who’d had other games in mind.

  How long they swam and played, dived and leapt with the mazayin the second time, Lenore never knew. Time had crystallized for her, but the psychic animals knew when hunger pangs began to gnaw at her, for they turned and sped back toward the island, which was nothing more than a distant blur on the horizon. Long after the mazayin had carried her and Jon back to the shallows and left them there, she endured a fierce longing to return to that place of shallow water, far out of sight of land, where there had been only her, and Jon, and the water that surrounded them.

  As Jon showed her what fruit to collect from three different shrubs, and, with a florentia shell, dug nuts from beneath a belgrina tree, the warm winds dried their skin and hair.

  Looking into the shell, she saw the shimmering mixtures of shades Jon claimed he had found in her hair. As the light winds tossed her tresses, blowing them across her eyes, for just a moment she thought she saw what he could see. For just a moment, she felt beautiful.

  She touched her skin, finding it as silken and smooth as the water had been. She felt as if she had been bathed in the most luxuriant spa ever dreamed of. Inside and out. Simply looking at Jon was enough to make her shudder with want again, desire such as she’d only dreamed of—but not until he had entered her dreams. She pushed that thought away. What he had done, what she had done, the bond they had formed, both physical and emotional, seemed far more real than anything, even in the dreams.

  With broad, reddish leaves from the belgrina tree as impromptu bowls filled with a variety of fruits, they reclined in the mossy growth and fed each other with the sweet, succulent flesh.

  It satisfied both thirst and hunger, but somehow, honed a different hunger in Lenore. And, she knew without being told, in Jon. She leaned over and kissed his warm shoulder, feeling him quiver beneath her touch. She ran a hand up his biceps, lifted the other and cupped his face, marveling again at his lack of beard, and turned him toward her.

  “I want you to kiss me,” she said.

  “I want to do much more than kiss you,” he replied, but continued to hold back.

  “Then do whatever you want,” she invited him.

  He did whatever he wanted, and miraculously, it was what she wanted, too.

  “Now is it my turn again?” she asked.

  He laughed at her eagerness. “Soon it will be, but first, we will rest.” He laid his hand on her forehead, stroked gently from temple to temple, and when she awakened, they were back in the bedroom in her Port Orchard apartment.

  She touched Jon’s face, slid her hands into his hair, so thick and soft to the touch it was like exploring the pelt of an exotic animal. She wove her fingers through it, reveling in its texture.

  “Where did you take me?” she asked. “Was it real, or a dream?”

  “It was real while we were there. My Kahinya helped me to recreate it for us.”

  “But where was it?”

  “A place neither of us have ever been before,” he said.

  “How did your Kahinya know to take you there if you had never been there before?”

  His smile, so tender as to make her chest ache, the caress of his fingers on her cheek, suggested, however improbable it seemed, his feelings went as deep as her own. “That’s not what I meant, letise. The physical place is one I have visited many times. It is an island in the Sea of Lancore on Aazonia. But where you and I went...that was unique. To both of us.” He rolled to one side and drew her with him, her head on his shoulder. He brushed her hair from her face.

  “Did we...Uh, did we do what I thought we did, or was that an illusion you created?”

  His smile curved his beautiful lips. “Letise, we did everything you remember. The only illusion was the physical surroundings.”

  “The mazayin...?”

  “Yes, they were an illusion. I have swum with them many times. That, I shared with you.” He paused long enough to kiss her again, long enough to make her quiver with need. “But not as we shared our bodies with each other. That was very real.”

  “I’m glad,” she said. “Because it’s a kind of sharing I have never known before.”

  “Nor I. Even without baloka, you and I, together, reached heights I had only thought I might be capable of.” He shivered and she reached down to pull a light cover over them both. “To go so far without baloka is not something I ever expected.”

  “Baloka?”

  “The kind of sharing true lovers experience when joined physically. Emotionally and mentally. It is what bond-mated pairs strive for and, often after much time, achieve. Some are more fortunate and find baloka from the beginning of their mating and know without waiting for it to develop, that they are to be bond-mates.”

  She bit her lip. “Have you ever been...bond-mated?”

  “No. Nor have I known baloka.” He became very serious, his eyes deepening to a shade verging on teal. “With you, letise, I would find it. This, I know.”

  “Jon...we are...you and I, are not—cannot be—mated. Not in any meaningful way.” She drew a line from his broad brow down over the ridge of his nose, pausing at his lips until he parted them and took her finger inside. Slowly, she pulled it free. “You’ll leave when your Octad is complete and you’ve found your sister. I know this. You know it. We have no future.”

  He closed his eyes for a moment. “I know that,” he whispered. “Do you think I want to leave you now that I have found you?”

  “I don’t know.”

  Capturing her in his arms, he rolled her over top of him. “I will not want to leave you. I will never want to leave you. If the only way for you to know that, to understand it fully, is for you to come into my mind, then do it, letise. Let me give you all that I can.”

  “Then it wasn’t the red sea-bird that said those words to me. It was you. Why would I hear it, but not sense your request?”

  “You would,” he said, “if you would come into my mind. It’s open to you, letise. You need only enter.”

  She drew in a tremulous breath. “I...don’t know how.”

  His fingers encircled her wrists as he rolled her back over until he was on top of her. Drawing her hands up, he placed them on his temples. His hair tumbled over her fingers and wrists. “Close your eyes,” he said. “And feel. See. Know. Everything.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  LENORE ALLOWED HIM TO give part of his mind into her keeping. She felt herself becoming...different...changing, becoming...him, while never for one moment losing her own sense of self. She felt, as a woman, his kisses, the hard thrust of his tongue, but also felt the softness a man feels when his lips take a woman’s, the gentler, more tentative response of her tongue to his invasion. She felt the pulsating heat of her own need, and savored his delight when his fingers again found a welcome in the slickness of that desire, desire for him, need that matched what he felt.

  Through him, she felt the tightness, the hot, smooth wetness of her as she enclosed him. Bright blues and pale lavenders, and greens of a hundred shades, along with reds and pinks and golds swirled in an incredible blend of shades as she felt what he felt, her muscles contracting around him, holding him when he pulled back, releasing him with reluctance, then welcoming him back when he plunged into her. Orchestrations of music pulsed and sobbed, whispered in barely audible notes like a softly played Pan Pipe, rose as sweet and pure as early-morning birdsong, then ascended in crashing crescendos, each one achieving greater and greater might than those preceding it.

  Then, she knew the time was near for him, possibly even ne
arer than it was for her. With one last, lingering stroke of his fingers, he slid them out of her, glided their moistness—her moistness—over her most needful part, held them there, scarcely moving them as he bracketed that center. She experienced his pleasure in feeling her tension build as her body quivered while the tip of his penis hovered at her entrance. She knew his intense desire to see into her mind, felt, as he felt, the agony of having to deny himself the fullness of the baloka he was certain he would discover with her.

  And then he entered her, feeling hard and large and rigid, with heat she knew for the first time in her life as a man could know it, building at the base of his spine, heat he struggled to control while she moved erratically beneath him, around him. She knew it was she who tossed and bucked, trying to find a rhythm her frenzied body could not create without guidance, and knew it was his hands that clamped onto her hips, holding her still. She perceived his appreciation of the silk of her own inner thighs as he shifted his grip toward her knees, penetrating deeply. She knew when he sensed he was not making the exact physical connection she required, and knew at the moment he knew that they must turn, roll together, letting her find the best position for her deepest satisfaction.

  His rapture in their union felt as if it were happening within her as the pool of heat that generated in the small of his back expanded, gathered force, threatened to burst free while he strived to control it. She knew the effort with which he contained that force, reveled with him in his strength and determination. She sensed the depth of the emotional connection he wanted to share with her, recognized his need to complete it and almost...almost allowed him into her deepest places but then her own physical response took over.

  Her heart raced as she shared his exultation in the ever-increasing spasms of her muscles as they clenched around him, released to allow him to pull back, gripped him again before he could retreat too far, and she reveled in the uncontrollable surges of almost-pain as they drove their bodies together again and again, the rhythm steady now, growing more and more rapid as they climbed together up a slope toward a golden promise of reward. Her body stiffened and held him in its grip. Her head tilted back until her throat was so taut only a high, thin cry of release could force its way out. As her limbs shuddered into limp repose, her heart still raced, her lungs still strained, she felt the hard dam of his hold break. She knew the joyful, triumphant moment when his release came, and experienced with him the hot, blessed liberation of all he had held back. The hot tide of it flowed from him and into her and then there was nothing but an incomparable inner peace...and her own mind to celebrate it.

  A long time later, she looked up at him.

  “I didn’t know it could be like that...for a man. So...intense.”

  “It may not feel like that to every man,” he said. “Nor may it feel like that to me every time. If we were in true sharing, it would be different, I’m sure.”

  “You mean, if I had let you into my mind.”

  “Yes.”

  “I almost did.”

  “I know. You do not yet have the required degree of confidence in me to give so much of yourself.”

  Suddenly, a wave of ineffable sadness washed over her and she knew it emanated from him, knew he had made no attempt to disguise it from her. “That lack of confidence hurts you,” she said, her throat tight with the desire to cry. Was it her desire, or his?

  “It does not so much hurt me as it saddens me. On your behalf. There is a wonderful world of knowledge awaiting you, if only you had the desire to tap into it. If you could but know the truth of what you want, you could have it.”

  “Such as a child. I do know that much.” She wondered, with an excitement that verged almost on awe, if her union with Jon could possibly have resulted in pregnancy. What would his child—his child and hers—be like? If only it were as physically beautiful, perfect, as he...

  He broke into her whirling thoughts. “More than that, Lenore. Much, much more than your desire for a child.”

  “Then...what?”

  “I cannot tell you. You must learn it for yourself.”

  She gazed into his eyes for a long moment, trying to read his thoughts. She even went so far as to thread her fingers into his hair and cup his head in her hands, hoping for entry, but his smile told her it wasn’t going to happen. He had shared with her once. He would do it no more until—unless—she shared with him.

  She wanted, again, to weep for the loss of whatever might have been had she the courage to accept the full sharing he wanted with her. Instead, she drew his face to hers, and shared a deep kiss with him.

  Making love, even without the mental union he had offered her before, was stupendous. But she knew, when it was done, it could have been so much more of an intense experience. If only...

  But no. She was not ready for that. She would never survive it if it happened.

  She shivered as the memory of that very intensity washed over her, but knew it would all too soon escape, leaving her with only a hint of it to comfort her in the days when he was gone.

  “Though I know I must, I do not want to leave the place of wonder we have created in this room,” he said. “I want it to be part of me, as you will be, always.” He held out his hand and bade her to watch. She blinked as a small pool of light began to grow in the hollow of his palm, pulsating, gleaming, shimmering. The light it cast reflected in his eyes, turning them as soft and luminescent as would candlelight.

  Moments later, with infinite care, he lifted the bead between finger and thumb and laid it gently against the other beads of his Kahinya. “My first Aleea of you,” he said. “It is one I will treasure above all.”

  Lenore choked on a tightness in her throat and attempted to speak. She could find no words with which to explain—even to herself—what he meant to her. Instead, she leaned over and kissed him. When he would have deepened the kiss, taken her on another journey to fabulous realms, she pulled away.

  “Jon...stop now. We have work to do.”

  He blinked, as if drawing himself back from an edge. “We do?”

  “Yes. Remember? We’re supposed to be searching for your Octad.”

  “Yes. Yes, of course.” Though his tone was brisk, she knew somehow his reluctance to leave her bed was as deep-seated as her own. But she must remember, whatever happened, that Jon did not belong to Earth, nor to her, that his time here had a purpose and a duration she could not influence.

  “We will access your holographic projections of what is happening in this world?”

  “We’ll do that, sure, but there are other ways, too,” she said. “The holo doesn’t report everything. I can track ‘anomalies’ on the web.” She reached for her robe, but before she could touch it, it whipped away from her and disappeared. Once more, she felt long hair caressing the bare skin of her back. She leaned her head back, shook it, and enjoyed the sensation.

  “How long were we on your island?” she asked.

  “Not nearly long enough.” He filtered his fingers through her hair and let it fall forward over her breasts. “Please, leave it thus, Lenore. You like it. And so do I. And do not clothe yourself. We are private here, are we not?”

  “Until I start having to go to direct contact with others through my compad. Unless I leave the video feed off. Though if I do that, I may not get the truth we will be seeking. Plenty of people refuse to talk unless they are face to face.” She grimaced. “I’m one of them.”

  “When that time comes,” he said, “I will create the illusion of clothing for both of us.”

  Lenore laughed. She liked the idea of being clothed in “illusory” garments. “Will I see yours?” she asked. “Will you see mine?”

  He smiled as if he fully understood. “Not unless you and I choose it that way.”

  Daringly, she said, “I choose that we not see each other clothed.”

  It would be kinky, maybe, but certainly titillating, to know that she and Jon were bare naked while giving others the appearance of being clad. And she woul
dn’t have to give up the pleasure of looking at him. She could only hope she’d be able to resist the temptation of touching him every second of the day.

  The expression in his eyes told her he had no intention of making it easy for her. With a jolt of desire, she accepted that she did not want “easy” from him.

  “There!” Jon’s hand shot out to stay Lenore’s lest she move on from the site she had accessed in her swift browsing. They had been at it for most of the night. They’d checked everything from strange appearances and disappearances, from items inexplicably missing from securely locked premises, to police reports of public nudity in places it was not allowed. Lenore had even searched the word “vagrancy,” but found so many reports it would have taken months to sift through them.

  But now, for the first time, Jon seemed galvanized by something. “The magician. Let us study him.”

  “Jon—it’s just a small country fair. He’s probably not very good or he’d be a star, not entertaining gullible audiences from surrounding farms.”

  He peered closely at the man on the stage. He wore a long black cape, a wide-brimmed hat, and as they watched, he brought a tiger from a cage before him, paraded it in front of the crowd, who sat below a makeshift stage on the grassy slope of what appeared to be a natural amphitheater. Then, with a flick of his hand, the tiger was replaced by a small, yapping white-and-black dog that danced and bounced and turned summersaults. The magician held out a ring from which flames suddenly sprouted, lowered it toward the little dog, which leapt through it, landing safely on the other side.

  All right, so maybe he was better than Lenore had anticipated, but still...there had to be more likely candidates than this!

  The black-cloaked man whirled in a circle, his cloak spreading out, the flaming ring creating a faint mask of smoke around his head, and when he lowered the ring once more, it was not the dog, but the tiger that jumped through it, and back into its cage. The man gestured, drawing his rapt audience’s attention to a point in mid-air two meters before the stage. There, the little dog lay curled on a pink satin cushion, apparently floating in space, a matching pink ribbon in the fur between its perky ears.