Indigo Moon Read Online Free Page B
Author: Gill McKnight
warmth of Ren’s body lured her back into a healing sleep. The arms around her tightened and lips brushed her matted hair where it stuck to her sweat-soaked skin. Ren was surfacing from sleep; she murmured something indistinct against Isabelle’s nape.
“Why are you doing this?” Isabelle asked quietly. “Are you my friend?”
Ren lay still for a moment, then moved her mouth away from Isabelle’s neck to whisper, “Something like that.”
The words breathed past Isabelle’s ear, making her entire body erupt in goose bumps.
“Why are we naked?” Isabelle asked. Her voice trembled with an embarrassment impossible to conceal.
“I can heat you better skin to skin.” Ren awkwardly pulled away. Isabelle felt the chill. Ren was a furnace, and she hadn’t realized it until she’d lost contact with her.
“I didn’t mean to…” Ren trailed off; her voice was brusque and unsure.
“It’s okay,” Isabelle mumbled. “I’ve got hang-ups.” This little nugget stuck in her chest. She had inadvertently unearthed a bitter truth about herself. She had hang-ups. Well, so what? For the moment, she felt safe and warm, and she hurt less than before. Every time she awoke she felt stronger, more centered, more in control, and that had to be good.
*
Ren lay awake and watched her patient for a long time. She breathed in tandem with her, monitoring Isabelle’s sleep pattern, and watched as she slipped further into a dreamless sleep. Only then did she relax against her, allowing their skin to again touch. She lay and drank in Isabelle’s raw scent, sour and unwashed, but it thrilled her. It filled her head with all manner of images. It was a complex scent. Recent fear and old pain pulsed out of Isabelle, making Ren’s chest ache with confusion. Her scent held stories and had a heart of honey underlaid with the solidity of oak moss, as ancient as the forest that surrounded them. Ren closed her eyes and held the scent, allowing it to burst upon her face like sunlight. Isabelle’s tinkling laughter floated toward her through the trees. Lazy bees droned as Ren slipped through fir and alder, compelled to chase her and seek out the laughter.
She found her by a brook that gurgled over river stones and fallen branches. The silver waters cut through the rich, black earth. Isabelle stood by the riverbank, her camera focused on a fat toad.
Ren stood motionless and watched as Isabelle took her photos. She raised her head and sucked in the sweet forest air. It was laden with honey and oak moss—Isabelle’s scent. A low growl rumbled in her chest. Ren knew these smells; they belonged to her forest, her home. And Isabelle belonged there, too.
“Take her.” The urgent whisper came from right behind. She shook her head and scowled at the intrusion.
“Take her now. She’s yours in every way. Even the forest knows it,” the whisper continued.
Isabelle looked across; she raised her camera and laughed.
“Smile, you guys.”
The camera flash in her memory made Ren blink. The moment was gone. All that was left was this injured woman in her arms, and her scent that told more than Scheherazade. For Ren, the belonging was doubtless and absolute. This woman was hers. They were life bonds. Now and for always. The taking, however, lacked honor. It made her want to snarl and bite and claw entire trees apart in anger. But right here and now, in this bed, all she needed to do was wrap herself around her mate and keep her safe.
The pull was strong. She settled in, and pushed her face into the nape of Isabelle’s neck, and closed her eyes. Her ears twitched, straining for anything untoward, but all was as it should be. The wind blew down the mountainside and rattled the shingles and shutters. The old cabin complained as it always did on windy nights. The night sky was empty of forest calls. Satisfied all was well and they were secure, Ren finally allowed herself to sleep.
*
“Listen up, mutt. This is your mission, and you’d
“Why are you doing this?” Isabelle asked quietly. “Are you my friend?”
Ren lay still for a moment, then moved her mouth away from Isabelle’s neck to whisper, “Something like that.”
The words breathed past Isabelle’s ear, making her entire body erupt in goose bumps.
“Why are we naked?” Isabelle asked. Her voice trembled with an embarrassment impossible to conceal.
“I can heat you better skin to skin.” Ren awkwardly pulled away. Isabelle felt the chill. Ren was a furnace, and she hadn’t realized it until she’d lost contact with her.
“I didn’t mean to…” Ren trailed off; her voice was brusque and unsure.
“It’s okay,” Isabelle mumbled. “I’ve got hang-ups.” This little nugget stuck in her chest. She had inadvertently unearthed a bitter truth about herself. She had hang-ups. Well, so what? For the moment, she felt safe and warm, and she hurt less than before. Every time she awoke she felt stronger, more centered, more in control, and that had to be good.
*
Ren lay awake and watched her patient for a long time. She breathed in tandem with her, monitoring Isabelle’s sleep pattern, and watched as she slipped further into a dreamless sleep. Only then did she relax against her, allowing their skin to again touch. She lay and drank in Isabelle’s raw scent, sour and unwashed, but it thrilled her. It filled her head with all manner of images. It was a complex scent. Recent fear and old pain pulsed out of Isabelle, making Ren’s chest ache with confusion. Her scent held stories and had a heart of honey underlaid with the solidity of oak moss, as ancient as the forest that surrounded them. Ren closed her eyes and held the scent, allowing it to burst upon her face like sunlight. Isabelle’s tinkling laughter floated toward her through the trees. Lazy bees droned as Ren slipped through fir and alder, compelled to chase her and seek out the laughter.
She found her by a brook that gurgled over river stones and fallen branches. The silver waters cut through the rich, black earth. Isabelle stood by the riverbank, her camera focused on a fat toad.
Ren stood motionless and watched as Isabelle took her photos. She raised her head and sucked in the sweet forest air. It was laden with honey and oak moss—Isabelle’s scent. A low growl rumbled in her chest. Ren knew these smells; they belonged to her forest, her home. And Isabelle belonged there, too.
“Take her.” The urgent whisper came from right behind. She shook her head and scowled at the intrusion.
“Take her now. She’s yours in every way. Even the forest knows it,” the whisper continued.
Isabelle looked across; she raised her camera and laughed.
“Smile, you guys.”
The camera flash in her memory made Ren blink. The moment was gone. All that was left was this injured woman in her arms, and her scent that told more than Scheherazade. For Ren, the belonging was doubtless and absolute. This woman was hers. They were life bonds. Now and for always. The taking, however, lacked honor. It made her want to snarl and bite and claw entire trees apart in anger. But right here and now, in this bed, all she needed to do was wrap herself around her mate and keep her safe.
The pull was strong. She settled in, and pushed her face into the nape of Isabelle’s neck, and closed her eyes. Her ears twitched, straining for anything untoward, but all was as it should be. The wind blew down the mountainside and rattled the shingles and shutters. The old cabin complained as it always did on windy nights. The night sky was empty of forest calls. Satisfied all was well and they were secure, Ren finally allowed herself to sleep.
*
“Listen up, mutt. This is your mission, and you’d
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