Pearl moved. She shifted her body, sliding down the bed. Her hair trailed across his stomach like a curtain of silk.
She lowered her head. Her warm breath grazed him first, a teaser. Then, she took him into her mouth.
The sensation was blinding.
Her mouth was hot, wet, and incredibly skilled. Her tongue swirled with a rhythmic, hypnotic precision, teasing the sensitive ridge, circling, pulling. She hummed against him, the vibration traveling straight down his spine.
Marcus groaned, a sound muffled by his pillow. His hips bucked upward instinctively, seeking more.
Pearl pulled back, leaving him glistening and aching. She wasn't done.
She straddled his thigh, using it as a leverage point. She was small, but she was built for this. She positioned herself over him, her golden eyes glowing in the dark.
She lowered herself.
She was tight. incredibly tight, hot, and slick. She took him in slowly, inch by inch, stretching to accommodate him. She let out a soft, breathy moan that sounded like wind in the trees.
When she was fully seated, she paused, letting him feel the weight of her, the reality of her connection. She leaned forward, placing her hands on his chest, her nails digging lightly into his pectorals.
Then, she began to move.
It was a slow, steady rocking motion. She ground her hips against his, creating a friction that was maddeningly good. She wasn't riding him like a human woman would; her movements were more fluid, more circular, a biological rhythm that synced perfectly with his own pulse.
Marcus's hands came up, gripping the sheets. In his mind, he was with the most beautiful woman he had ever seen, a golden goddess who knew exactly what he needed.
"That's it," Pearl whispered, watching his face contort with pleasure. "Give it to me. Give me the heat."
She picked up the pace. The sound of wet skin slapping against skin filled the small air pocket under the blanket. She worked him, milking the sensation, drawing out every groan, every shiver.
She was weaving the bond. With every thrust, she was tying a knot in his psyche. Pleasure. Safety. Pearl.
Marcus tensed, his back arching off the mattress. His breath hitched in a series of sharp gasps.
"Yes," Pearl hissed, her eyes rolling back, her own pleasure spiking as she felt him swell.
She didn't let up. She rode him through the crest, grinding down hard as he shattered. He groaned, a long, guttural sound of release that seemed to go on forever.
She held him there, shuddering with him, absorbing the energy, the life force, the sheer intensity of the moment.
As he drifted back down, limp and spent, floating in the endorphin haze, Pearl collapsed onto his chest. She curled up like a cat, nuzzling into the crook of his neck.
She stayed there as his breathing slowed, listening to his heart return to a normal rhythm. She licked a drop of sweat from his collarbone.
He would remember this. Not clearly—it would be a blur of gold and heat and impossible pleasure—but he would remember the feeling. He would remember that she was the source of it.
And when the sun came up, and the dangers of the day returned, he wouldn't see a pest. He would see a lover. He would see something worth protecting.
Pearl closed her golden eyes, satisfied. The hunt was over. She had secured the territory.
Eira's Discovery and the Aftermath
Eira cracked one eye open. The staff room was dim, illuminated only by a thin, razor-sharp line of hallway light seeping under the door. The air smelled of sleep and the faint, sweet scent of Liri's shampoo. Beside her, Liri snored very softly, curled into a tight, defensive ball, the pointed tip of one ear sticking out from the blanket like a marker flag.
Eira listened. She didn't move a muscle, her breathing shallow and controlled.
There it was again.
A low sound. A breath that caught in the throat. It wasn't a sound of pain, and it wasn't the sharp intake of fear. It was something else—something guttural and involuntarily soft.
Her brow furrowed. She knew that sound.
She slid out of bed without a word, her feet silent on the cold linoleum floor. She moved like smoke, easing the door open with two fingers to prevent the latch from clicking.
The hallway was empty. The restaurant beyond it sat in its pool of soft gold light from the neon sign, still and peaceful. The only sound was the hum of the refrigerator.
Then the sound came again.
A quiet, broken moan. A man trying desperately not to be loud.
Marcus.
All the small, fine hairs along her arms lifted. Her skin prickled with a warning that had nothing to do with the temperature.
She remembered the Pig Men. The broken door splintering inward. The feeling of being watched by eyes she could not see in the dark. She remembered, too, the way the Glimmucks smelled—like old copper coins, warm dust, and ozone—and how they had simply vanished into the walls after the attack.
They would come back. Creatures like that always did. They were drawn to three things: gold, heat, and trouble. And right now, this building was full of all three.
Eira crept down the hallway to the office, her hand resting instinctively on the hilt of the knife she kept in a sheath tied with borrowed cloth at her hip. She moved on the balls of her feet, her weight distribution perfect.
The office door was cracked open a few inches. Light from the neon bar strip outside filtered in, cutting a thin, bloody rectangle on the worn carpet.
She eased the door wider, inch by inch, and peered in.
Marcus lay on the couch, sprawled on his back. One heavy arm was thrown over his head, shielding his eyes. His mouth was parted, his breath coming in short, uneven hitches. His gray t-shirt was pushed up, bunching around his chest, revealing the bare skin of his ribs and stomach, defined by muscle and a fine sheen of sweat.
The blanket over his lower body was moving.
It wasn't a restless kick. It was a slow, steady, rhythmic undulation, like something alive and substantial under the fabric was crawling closer and closer to him.
Eira did not blush. Elves did not shock easily; life in the wild, governed by blood and bone, did not allow for prudishness. But her stomach tightened into a knot when she saw the shape under the covers.
It was too small to be a human woman. It was too smooth, too coordinated in its motions to be some random rat or stray animal.
There was a faint shimmer of gold light leaking out from the edge of the blanket where it draped over the side of the couch, as if someone had poured thin, molten coin underneath.
Of course.
"Glimmuck," she thought, her lips pressing into a thin line.
Marcus let out another soft sound, a cross between a sigh and a groan of surrender. His fingers curled in the air, gripping nothing, his knuckles white.
Eira stepped into the room. She didn't sneak. She walked in with the authority of a queen reclaiming her territory.
"All right," she said, her voice calm and sharp as a whip crack. "That is enough."
The blanket froze instantly. For a heartbeat, nothing moved in the room except the dust motes in the red light.
Then there was a little giggle under the covers. It was bold. Naughty. Pleased with itself.
"Caught," a small, melodic female voice sang.
Eira grabbed the edge of the blanket and whipped it back in one fluid motion.
The warm air rushed out, carrying the scent of vanilla and sex. Marcus shivered violently and blinked his eyes open, confused, groggy, and dilated.
At his hips, curled against him like a cat that owned the whole world and everyone in it, lay Pearl.
She was half his size, a miniature goddess of pale-gold skin and platinum hair that spilled like ink over his thigh. Her eyes were bright yellow coins, glowing in the gloom, and her mouth was curved in a wicked, satisfied smile that showed just the tips of her teeth. There were faint sparkles of light dancing around her hands, as if she had just been playing with little streams of gold dust.
She was straddling his leg, her small hands resting possessively on his stomach.
"Good morning," she chirped, not even trying to look guilty. She stretched, arching her back like a feline.
Marcus stared down at her, then at Eira standing over them like an avenging angel, then back at Pearl again. His brain was still too slow, mired in the sticky remnants of the dream Pearl had woven.
"I… what…?" he managed, his voice a croak.
Pearl patted his bare hip affectionately, like she was checking the thread count of a new pillow.
"Your dreams taste better when you are tired," she said, her voice a purr. "So you should sleep on this couch more. Very rich flavor. Almost like honey and iron."
Eira snapped her fingers at her. The sound was loud in the small room.
"Off," she ordered. "Now."
Pearl sighed loudly, an exaggerated sound of disappointment like a child told to stop playing with her favorite toy. But she slid off Marcus with a fluid grace, landing on the floor. She sat on the edge of the couch cushion, swinging her legs. Her short dress, made from some stolen red dish towel tied like a toga, hit mid-thigh and showed knees that looked ready to bolt in any direction at any time.
"Jealous," she muttered under her breath in Elvish, looking at Eira through her eyelashes. "Always jealous, the tall ones. No magic in their touch."
"I heard that," Eira replied in the same language, her tone ice-cold.
From the doorway behind Eira, something thunked against the frame.
Nix stood there, leaning casually. He was clutching a half-eaten strip of crispy bacon in one hand and a stolen dinner roll in the other. Crumbs dotted his bare chest. His gold eyes darted from Eira to Marcus to Pearl and back, filled with amusement.
He grinned, revealing sharp teeth.
"See?" he said to Pearl, taking a bite of the bacon. "I told you she would find you. Eira smells trouble from three rooms away. She has a nose for it."
He took a bite of the roll and chewed with his mouth wide open on purpose, just to be irritating.
Marcus dragged a hand over his face, sitting up slowly. The blanket pooled at his waist. He looked wrecked—hair standing up, eyes red-rimmed, confusion radiating off him in waves.
"Can someone," he said slowly, his voice still rough with sleep and whatever magic Pearl had used, "please explain why I woke up with a fantasy cat on my lap and why it is flirting with my subconscious?"
Pearl preened, smoothing her hair. "I am not cat," she corrected, offended. "I am Glimmuck. I am art."
"Art that steals gold," Eira clarified.
"And breakfast," Nix added happily. He held up the bacon like a trophy.
Eira's eyes narrowed, shifting her glare to the male. "You two vanished when the Pig Men came," she accused. "You hid in the walls while we fought for our lives."
"Of course we hid," Nix replied, unbothered. He shrugged, crumbs falling. "We are small and smart. You are tall and stubborn. It worked. You did not die. We did not die. Everyone wins. That is strategy."
He walked into the office like he owned it, hopping up onto the arm of the couch near Marcus's feet. He pointed the greasy bacon at the human.
"And now the danger is smaller," he said. "So we come back. For shine. For warm. For fun."
Pearl leaned back against Marcus's hip again, shameless, resting her head on his thigh.
"Mostly for him," she said, her golden eyes half-lidded. "He dreams loud. It calls to us."
Marcus's ears went hot. He tried to shift away, but there was nowhere to go on the narrow couch.
"I do not dream loud," he muttered, defensive.
"You do," Eira said, crossing her arms. "Liri heard you and rolled over. I heard you and came here with a knife, thinking you were hurt. She heard you," she pointed a sharp finger at Pearl, "and decided to drink your dreams like soup."
Pearl clapped her hands once, delighted by the description. "Yes. Soup," she agreed. "Gold soup of feelings. Delicious."