Movement No. 11
Tempest
Stepping up to the platform, Yasmeena follows me onto the tram that’s taking us east towards the residential district. The other members of her team should’ve already set up the food distribution pop-up, so now it’s our job to actually connect with and help others in the community.
The magicite that fuels this monorail system glows a neon green, but even with my eyes closed, I can feel the magic flowing beneath us. It’s strong, stronger than the ink tattooed on me, and I ache to touch it. To feel the powerful crystal at my fingertips.
An elderly half-demon gives us a nasty glare, but I try not to give it any mind.
“He’s probably staring because of me. A lot of half-demons are upset with felion right now because we’re generally supportive of the current administration on Haeresis,” Yasmeena whispers. “When you come from somewhere that abused and mistreated you like we did, it’s easier to see the good in the place you seek refuge.”
“I never even thought about it like that,” I confess. This place is her sanctuary. It must feel like a utopia compared to what she was forced to endure.
“If I’m being honest though, I’d support The Legion too, if Ididn’t know what was happening behind the scenes. Or what’s to come if they succeed,” she says as the tram starts to slow.
I’ve been so busy with pack politics, I haven’t given as much thought to our greater government. I like Raph from what I’ve seen from him, and I can’t stand Luc, but I don’t know much about anyone else. The other governors are a mystery to me.
The tram comes to a halt, and we get out, making our way down a stairwell until we step out onto the busy streets of Haeresis. We’re going to be around a lot of lupion today, and if this engagement is to be believed, I’ve got to stake my claim on her.
“Just in case we bump into someone, I need you to smell more like me,” I say, and Yasmeena furrows her brows in disbelief.
“Smell like you?”
“I need you to smell like you’re mine if anyone is going to believe we’re together,” I say, and brush a strand of hair behind her ear, running my hand down the length of her neck.
She nods in acceptance.
I bite Yasmeena. Hard.
Not enough to really hurt, but hard enough to draw a few drops of blood, and I feel her body melt into my touch like liquid gold.
Her skin beneath my teeth, her blood on my lips, the sensation has ignited me, and I can’t seem to catch my breath. Yasmeena doesn’t move—doesn’t even speak. She seems to be holding back a moan, and I just grasp her in my jaw until I finally decide to let go.
“Good,” I say, licking my lips. “Lupion can smell things like arousal. My pack and others would be able to tell if we’ve never so much as touched. The bite just adds to the ruse.”
She’s panting heavily, staring in perplexed silence.
That bite was one of the hottest things I’ve ever experienced, and a small part of me hopes she feels the same way.
We continue down the street in silence until we come up to a duplex with lupion symbols outside the door. “I think the pop-up should be close by,” I say.
Turning a corner to walk down a neighboring street, I spot a tent with a familiar looking human standing outside of it. The signage on the front saysFREE MEAT.We cross towards Gemma, who excitedly waves once she spots us.
“Good. I was afraid you two might’ve killed each other on the way over,” she says, hopefully as a joke.
“What’re we doing exactly?” I ask for what feels like the hundredth time, but my brain can’t seem to recall the plan. I’m still fixated on the way Yasmeena felt in my arms as I nipped her neck.
“In here are packages of meat to give away, one per person,” Gemma answers, pointing to the four coolers behind us. “When someone comes up, you’ll hand them a package. Do not question whether or not they really need it. We’ll give them away until we run out.”
“What will you and the others be doing?” Yasmeena asks.
“Telling people in the community about the event. Absinthe printed flyers, and we’ll be handing them out.” Gemma smiles and waves. “Good luck.”
Well. Here we are.
A few lupion walk up, and a line begins to form, stretching past a mural-covered wall a block or two down. Yasmeena rubs her hands together, the coolers stinging her fingertips, but I’m used to the frost, given my magic.
“I’ll open the coolers,” I say, and she nods, falling into her role as the one to talk to.
