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He raises his brows and nods his head. Then he moves back to his table and shuffles some things around, tossing a few broken pieces of metal to the floor. I watch in curiosity, leaning to the side to watch as he rifles through his workspace.
Finally, he pulls out something sparkling and blue, set into what looks like a bronze cuff and chain. It resembles human body adornment, though it doesn’t look quite as sharp. He turns, his tail sweeping in a wide arc and almost catching me by the ankles, then moves aggressively toward me as he holds up his strange device.
I take a step back.
He pauses mid-stride and raises his hands, holding the device delicately in his black claws. His eyes have darkened to a deep green, a hint of magenta in their depths. His tail twitches with the same color, the sharp tip ominous.
I know nothing about these people. I should have stayed in my room.
I turn to go, but Taraven raises his voice.
“Wait!” he says in Lyran. “Help talk. Gift.”
I pause, glancing again at the device. Yes—it does look like what humans wear on their ears. Could it be…?
Everyone else has been wearing one, and I’m a stubborn fool.
Taraven even wears one himself.
It’s atranslator.
“Ah,” I say, reaching for it. “My apologies. How do I…?”
He reaches out and drops it into my open hand, where I do a cursory examination of the device. I’ve never worn an adornment like this—or any, for that matter—before. It consists of three cuffs and a jewel, and looks more like something pretty than technological.
I press the cuff to my ear, but I can’t figure out how it works. Taraven watches me for a few awkward seconds, cringing as I butcher the application of the device, before he finally steps forward.
“Please,” he says. “Let me.”
My heart thunders, my scales grow hot. I feel sick—feverish. But I swallow my pride and allow him to take the device from my hands, getting closer.
His fingers skate over the shell of my ear, his claws retracting. This is a sensitive area for my people—where our fringe ends in tips at the crest of our ears. Mine flares despite myself, and I hope he doesn’t know enough about Lyran biology to understand how aroused I am at his touch.
I don’t let people touch me as a rule. It’s always torn my focus away from what matters.
The mission.
And now, revenge.
But Taraven’s hand feels divine anyway, and I squeeze my eyes shut so I can’t look at him. It doesn’t help. His touch is soft against my fringe, the slight pain of the cuff sliding over it making me gasp. I hear his tail sweep against the floor, and I feel the puff of his breath against my neck, where my fringe flares over my pulse. It’s just a bit uncomfortable when he pushes the gemstone gently into my ear canal, but his movements are so soft…
Then his touch is gone, and he’s speaking in his beautiful, deep, lilting language.
“Dih lexike xi nihkilaxi kadek Lyra, ko dih…”
The device stutters and buzzes in my ear. I grunt and reach for it, but he grasps my wrist.
“Külnak,” he murmurs.
Stop, the translator says in Lyran.
I blink, looking up at him. His eyes dance with golden light, his lips curving in a smile—and still stained with that pink drink, they’re a lovely color.
“Is it working?” he asks.
The words are Skoropi, but they translate abruptly into Lyran directly into my ear. I find myself smiling too, in awe at this fascinating technology.
“I think so,” I say. “I’m…I didn’t know we could do this.”
