Nuë and the Djinn

Hey, everyone–

Long note, so feel free to skip it. When I pulled the Vanata novels from this site, someone gently blasted me with: “This is where we on literotica never hear from you again.” (Hello, pretty).

I didn’t think that. It actually didn’t occur to me, and I began to feel badly when people emailed me noting the books were gone. So, I whined about that and the same person said, basically: “Then write something else that’s fun for literotica readers and stop being an asshole,” but in the nicest way (Hello again, pretty). So, I posted a note on my profile saying “Sorry! Hold that thought. I’ll get right back to you.” To make a long story even longer, this is it.

Nuë and the Djinn is a full-length erotic novel just for literotica. As usual, it’s already complete. I don’t want to post the whole thing at once, because what’s the fun in that, but I will post a chapter daily, lit editors willing. If there’s a delay, it’s not me. This novel is similar to my other full-length erotic novels, like Siblin & the Siren, that are odd reinterpretation of existing folklore. I just find doing that really fun.

I personally cherish The Thousand and One Nights, which is this mind-blowing collection of Middle-Eastern folktales. For this book, I kept pretty close to the cannon for djinns. Because of that, it’s not so much the blue genie and rubbing lamps and granting wishes, which is a Western interpretation of one tale from that book. And, besides the subject, I wanted to try an erotic novel concentrating primarily on non-con for readers here and try my best to sustain it.

I had a great deal of fun with music in this novel. Some of the traditional Russian songs I researched were remarkable. I play the bodhran, so I am especially partial to drums. I do find it a challenge to try to describe music in prose. I want to pipe it in during those scenes so you can hear it, but there you go.

My email address is on my profile and I regularly update the information there. I’ll get back to you if you contact me.

My beta readers are frigging awesome. Hey to Bellie44, who keeps me in line and makes me laugh and always champions this site, and hadaly, whose spirit would be, I believe, clear as glass. Thank you for being honest. I don’t know their lit callsigns, but they will know whom I mean: Hey to Psk., whom I’ve just met and like already, and also to T.H., with whom I have had some fabulous back-and-forths about the ethics of non-con and also about gender and art and cool stuff. Also, graysam, who spontaneously offers interesting critiques that have made for cool conversations. Thanks for everything.

I hope you enjoy it–

Harp (semiosis50)

NUË AND THE DJINN

Chapter 1

There was an old, poor fisherman who cast his net four times a day and only four times. One day he went to the shore and cast his net. When he tried to pull it up, he found it to be heavy.

-“The Fisherman and the Jinee,” from The Thousand and One Nights.

Nuë was humming. It was morning, already warm. She had bathed. A bottle of scented oil was in her hand, which would feel good on her skin. The water came to her thighs. She stood on the submerged rocks and took her time, her hands moving slowly. She dribbled oil and set the open jar on a wide rock jutting out of the water, cupping her own breasts, running over her nipples repeatedly. Her hands traveled down to her belly, one hand going between her legs, briefly enjoying the sensations. The fingers of her other hand idly squeezed her nipple.

The oil was slippery. She began to rinse it off, bending over, her hair already clean and still wet, spreading and regaining color and motion where it touched the water. She thought there was something there, looking up, still bent over. It was nothing. She looked down again and then straightened quickly.

Her nipple. She looked around. Touching her own nipple where she’d felt it, she frowned lightly and dribbled more oil, reaching around to apply it to her back, turning her head a little, and felt a tugging on her other nipple. It felt so good that she froze, letting it happen.

She backed away, the sensation stopping. Her eyes darted around herself. She touched her other nipple and felt something brush the first, a small, sharp bite of pleasure. She looked down, not understanding, her other hand rising. Now she was cupping both her breasts. Feeling a brush on her inner thigh, she dropped her hands and whirled around, and then turned again to where she’d been. She looked over her shoulder and then down into the water.

Facing forward, Nuë began to move faster, dribbling the oil out, looking around herself. There was nobody here. She finally stood, setting the oil down, going still, seeing what would happen.

She wasn’t sure. She thought she felt something, but it was so light. She concentrated on the feeling, and then she was sure as her nipple twinged with pleasure. Her breath caught and she closed her eyes, her head falling back a little. She was alone here. She would allow it to happen for just a small time.

The tugging became more insistent. Her breathing hitched. She didn’t open her eyes. She was sure it would stop if she did. It was all going straight between her legs. When she felt a touch on her inner thigh, she opened them a little. She waited, the sucking on her nipples so good.

She felt an aching burn go through her sex as there was the lightest touch, pressing, finding her. Rubbing. She went still, not wanting it to end. She opened her eyes cautiously, looking down. Nothing. She closed them again. There was a finger going into her body, a gentle motion, pressing and withdrawing, doing it again. She felt herself swell open and she moved to make it easier, voicing a soft cry. Wet. She was very wet, the feelings building fast.

It was going to happen and it all stopped. She gave another kind of cry, panting, her cheeks hot, twinges of denied need going all through her sex. She felt several tiny pulses, sharp sensations. Then she heard footsteps through the brush. She grabbed her tunic, pulling it in front of her and turning to face the sound.

Matine came through the bushes. Matine stopped. “I’m sorry, Nuë. I thought I heard someone.”

“Yes,” Nuë said. She knew her cheeks were flushed, breathing a little fast. “I slipped.”

“You have to be careful on these rocks,” Matine agreed. “Do you want me to come back? I could get my washing.”

“I have to finish and go, but thanks.”

“All right. I’m going to go do my work inside, then.”

Nuë watched Matine turn and leave, and then she turned to look at the pool. She should go. Hesitating for a long moment, she finally moved. She walked out of the water to the higher rock and sat on its edge. She set the tunic aside, her eyes darting again. Nothing. She lay down on her back, looking up at the trees overhanging the pool, the sky. She slowly spread her legs.

The sensations came immediately, something soft and wet on her sex, moving. She forgot everything, pulsing, the sensations only getting better. She was trying not to make any noise as it kept happening, finally putting her own hand over her mouth.

It all crested and she arched, her knees coming up, the pleasure taking her. She cried out, muffled, unable to stop herself, and it became a light keening she couldn’t control, locked in it. She felt a sucking sensation and then she crashed over, pulsing wildly, her sex pressing against something that was real. That was a mouth.

Her eyes flew open and she looked down between her spread legs, her heels coming down. She was panting. Nothing.

But then she felt something that was definitely not nothing. It was most certainly something, like someone’s hips. Nuë cried out, pushing back at a solidity and warmth that settled on her, something grasping her hair and jerking her head back. Another hand came across her mouth. Her legs were pushed open much wider. She couldn’t close them. Something large nudged against her channel, which was slippery, and it was gone.

She heard the bushes rustle and her legs closed. She grabbed her tunic, sitting up and putting it on quickly, never mind her shirt, going for her pants, wading out. It was difficult to dress, her skin wet and the cloth dragging.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t know you were here, Nuë,” Tari said, a basket of laundry on her hip, Nuë still pulling up her pants. “Did I interrupt you?”

“No, I was just leaving,” Nuë said, breathing fast, reaching for her belt, her knife.

“Are you well?”

“I am. I thought there was something in the water.”

Nuë walked quickly. She realized she’d forgotten her pot of oil on the rock. She wouldn’t go back for it. She glanced at the pool, Tari kneeling by it to begin washing. Nuë slowed, waiting to see if Tari would do anything strange.

Something touched Nuë’s hair.

Nuë faced forward, walking quickly, almost running now. She was relieved when she saw Feline on the path ahead. Feline nodded. They weren’t friends, but they’d walk together.

#

Later that day, Nuë and her aunt Levsa were gathering wild pears. Nuë reached out, standing on the small wooden ladder they’d brought, letting the fruit fall to the ground, the pears hard. It was best to ripen them off the tree. They would be fermented into a liquor. Nuë was singing, her aunt Levsa singing with her, their voices harmonizing:

“Summer pastures at the hem of mountains; I am a child of the malkoha bird, How can I endure under this sky; My heart without love?”

On the last line, Nuë’s voice sounded out lonely. Her aunt had stopped singing. Nuë looked, but she couldn’t see past the foliage. She climbed down from the ladder, watching her feet, and jumped off. She saw her aunt standing very still.

Nuë walked to her, slowing as she saw what her aunt faced. Nuë sucked in her breath. A figure stood there, a long ash-gray robe, a deep hood. Tall, looming over Levsa, his hands covered in dark blue swirls and patterns, but those lines weren’t put there. They were a part of him.

An ifrit. Nuë recognizing him from the stories Sidean told of them. A mountain elemental. According to the stories, he was a powerful demon.

Nuë walked toward them. She drew the ifrit’s attention. It turned its head and watched her, although she couldn’t see its features. She swallowed. This wasn’t good. Maybe someone in Fada tribe had offended it. Her aunt was the mechi, the leader of the village. Other than tracking her progress, the ifrit didn’t move or make any sign.

When Nuë arrived, Levsa took a deep breath and bowed her head slightly. “Ifrit of the mountains. I am Levsa, mechi of Fada tribe. This is my niece, Nuë. Do you require something from us?”

The ifrit reached for its hood with both hands and pushed it back, letting it fall in a single graceful motion. Nuë caught her breath. It was a man. Ifrit were demons from the realm of the dead, but it was said that they could take the form of men.

He was a large presence, tall with broad shoulders and big arms. His skin was darker than hers, deep brown hair caught in a long tail that fell behind him. His eyes were a piercing blue as deep and brilliant as the patterns on his hands, but they shone. His face was shaped differently than her people, less flat, his face more angular, high cheekbones, clean and foreign, impossibly beautiful.

Her skin broke out in goosebumps. She was looking at his features, losing all sense of herself, chasing it. He looked like something she had once dreamed. Nuë realized she was staring.

He disappeared. He reappeared in front of Nuë, close, startling her out of it. He was looking into her eyes, her belly falling out from under her. She shifted her eyes away, breathing faster. She looked back at him when his hand raised and the sleeve of his robe fell back, his wrist emerging, his hand covered in the blue lines. His fingers caressed her cheek.

Nuë’s heart was pounding, not daring to move. She would have imagined his hand would be cold, a mountain elemental formed from the stones there, but it was warm and dry. Her cheek tingled where he touched her.

“Yes,” the ifrit answered.

Nuë didn’t move, her eyes shifting to her aunt. Levsa was looking at him blankly. He waited. Her aunt’s eyes went to his fingers, still on her cheek, and then to Nuë’s face, and then to the ifrit.

“Nuë?” Levsa said, alarmed.

The ifrit dropped his fingers, still staring at Nuë. “Yes.”

Nuë stared back at him. Her people told stories of the mountain demons coming and choosing a woman from the tribes, but she had thought it was just a myth. According to the legends, the ifrit used the women’s bodies and then killed them, or took them to rape in their mountains, to give to others like themselves to do the same.

Nuë began to breathe faster, a wave of fear going through her belly. She shook her head. “I’m not old enough,” she said, the only thing she could think of.

He cocked his head a little, his eyes running slowly over her. “You’re not a child,” he said. His voice was deep, so resonant there was almost an echo.

“She’s not nineteen yet,” Levsa said, latching on to the excuse. “For Sidean, she can’t marry until she’s nineteen.”

“I’m not here to marry her.”

“Still,” Levsa insisted, stubborn. “These are our traditions. Will you not honor them, ifrit?”

His eyes were holding Nuë’s. “How long?” the figure said.

“Eight months,” Levsa said immediately.

“I can hear your lie, Mechi,” the ifrit said.

Nuë couldn’t break his gaze, couldn’t imagine doing so.

“I intend no offense,” Levsa said carefully.

The ifrit looked away, Nuë able to breath again. He turned and studied Levsa. “How long?” he repeated.

“Twenty-three days,” Levsa said reluctantly.

The ifrit turned back to Nuë, capturing her eyes again, his so intense that she felt like he would see into her mind to the fear there. “I have waited for you,” he said. “I felt your light high in my mountains. I can smell you across the plains with no wind. This close, I can taste your spirit on my tongue. I will return for you in twenty-three days.”

And then he wasn’t there anymore. Nuë stared into the space left behind from where the demon had been, huge and terrifying. She turned to her aunt. “What am I going to do?” she said, breathing fast. “I can’t run. He’ll find me.”

Levsa was staring after the ifrit, her face impassive, her eyes narrowing. “We have twenty-three days to figure that out.”

#

The ifrit squatted at the edge of the Sidean village. Twenty-three days had passed. He could feel her light like a beacon, drawing him. Every time he thought of her, he felt a surge, aroused. He wanted her and she was so close.

The first time he had felt her, he had been deep in his mountain, something waking him. He had slept for a long time. He had concentrated, sorting, his heart beginning to pound, realizing what it might be. After so long. He had waited for so long, almost losing hope.

He had recognized her and felt a flush of the deepest relief, joy and then desire, the urge to rush and retrieve her. He didn’t know what she looked like. He didn’t know what name she went by. But her spirit was as familiar to him as his own, and he would find her.

Walking with his long strides down the forest paths, he had come down from the high places. He didn’t bother with a horse. He followed her light. He had moved onto the steppes, long swaths of grass plains, wearing his ash robe, the hood deep. He ate what he found, what he hunted when he thought about it. Her people were nomads, ahead of him during the summer months. They went in their caravan on horses. He followed in their tracks, catching up with them in their lands in the north. They would spend the last of summer here and then fall before migrating to the winter grounds south.

She hadn’t been in her village when he had arrived, but he hadn’t needed to search. This close, he could taste her spirit, savoring it. He had heard her voice humming, the sound stirring, a deep surge that shook him.

Approaching the pool, the ifrit had shifted. He didn’t go anywhere. He simply stepped a little over into the other world that accompanied this one, where spirits were visible as light. When he did this, he couldn’t be seen by humans. It would have been confusing for him if the two worlds seemed all that different. But they didn’t. Not to his eyes.

While he knew her spirit, he hadn’t seen her body yet. He stood on the shore, watching her bathe. The water only came to mid-thigh where she was standing. Seeing her had sent a hot wave through him, almost painful, his eyes latching on to her.

He would have known her anywhere.

She was golden all over, golden skin, reddened lips. Her hair was dark with water, but he thought it would be a dark gold, too, and it was long, touching the water. Large round breasts deepening to red at their tips. She was tall, a tucked waist and round hips. Her butt was round, the pink jewel of her pussy in a setting of golden hair. Around her neck was a gold necklace, a stiff arc with a clasp. He couldn’t stop looking at her, hungry for her, so hungry.

When he had entered the water, coming to her, leaning in to smell the sun on her skin, she had looked up. Her eyes were a brown that almost gold, of course. She didn’t see him. There she was, in her eyes, his heart pounding. She had looked ahead of herself briefly, her face tilted up, a perfect angle. Images had flickered through his mind of taking her mouth. As she came up, he had reached and touched her nipple, his cock jumping.

She’d straightened quickly, looking all around. He was careful not to scare her.

By the time he was sucking her hard, tender nipples, jutting and dark red, she had to know he was there, and she wasn’t objecting. She was offering her nipples to his mouth. When he touched her thigh, she had opened to him, offering her pussy. He wanted to feel her come on his cock, swimming in lust.

Her name was Nuë. The ifrit enjoyed the melody of it, so much light coming from her. When they were interrupted, she had cried out, his cock pulsing to hear the need in her voice

It went through him to recall what had happened next. When the other woman was gone, Nuë had hesitated for a long moment. Then she had returned and lay down on the rocks on her back and offered herself fully, opening her legs to him. His tongue touched his upper lip briefly, remembering her taste, remembering her pulses of pleasure against his mouth, her cunt slippery. So close.

He rose, walking into the village. He saw the Sideans, but they didn’t see him. He saw the women, felt their light, each one beautiful in her own way, but no woman was as beautiful to him as Nuë. Ifrit often took lovers among the villages in the low foothills at the base of their mountains, or from the nomadic people on the steppes beyond.

He didn’t know where Nuë was yet in the village, but she was here. His tongue touched his upper lip again.

As he passed, he looked at their dwellings dotting the plain, colorful round tents. The felt that covered the fanning wood frames, which could be broken down and moved quickly, was white that had been dyed with repeating patterns, crimson and rich orange, an cobalt blue like the markings on ifrit hands, carved and painted wood doors.

He passed one with a silhouette of blue horses charging across its surface. The horses appeared in the other world as well, the intent of the creator lingering. Art was a window into the other world to which humans were usually blind.

The Sideans were gathered together in the center of the village. Torches were set up at multiple points around a square area of packed earth, the fires for cooking behind them. Many adults of Fada tribe were spread out in a semi-circle. Levsa, the mechi, was in the center on a high pad.

Nuë was somewhere here. The ifrit felt the thrill of deep anticipation. She would be under him by nightfall. It was necessary. She wouldn’t understand, not yet. She would probably fight him. But she would understand soon.

A man stood and walked to the edge of the cleared space in front of them, one hand on a beater, the other cradling a wide round drum stretched with animal skin. He sat. Another stood and joined him, carrying a droning instrument, a hair bow that he began to draw across its strings for the shifting tones. A woman stood up and walked to the musicians and sat. A singer, the ifrit knew.

When it began, the drum didn’t pound, but rather offered soft clacks against the edge of the instrument, a complicated rhythm, low sounds, the drone continuing under it. Everyone quieted. A young Sidean woman came, holding a long sheer veil, someone walking behind it. She stopped in the center of the area, the figure still behind her. The ifrit couldn’t make out the hidden figure, but he could feel her. Nuë.

The young woman dropped the veil, stepping away and leaving Nuë standing with her back to them, her arms extended at her sides, her hands with the pointer finger leading, absolutely still. Her thick hair was golden, yes, its length gathered into a single long tail, several bands. Her back was entirely exposed, a brass medallion fixed to the gold collar around her neck and falling behind her, resting between her shoulder blades.

The ifrit’s eyes followed down that fragile expanse, the line, the deep curve of her waist, flaring out to her hips. He couldn’t see her feet. He thought she was barefoot. She had pants on under the skirt, but the garments came well below her waist, drawn straight across her hips under her belly. The clothing was silky, flowing, Sidean tribal patterns, gold and brown and cream.

The drummer began to beat the drum, leaving behind the soft rhythmic clacks, booming through the space, slow beats, one solid and hard followed by two faster. It didn’t vary as the drone of the instrument found a melody. The ifrit walked to stand in front of everyone, watching Nuë. None of the Sideans could see him. He walked in that other world.

She still had her back to him. Every part of her body remained still except for her hands, which started to move, alternating, then a kind of tension running from her fingers to her hand, across her shoulders and to her other arm, fluid.

Her hips began to slowly rise and fall, first one side and then the other, smooth motions, his eyes there. She wasn’t shaking anything. Her hips were weaving back and forth, controlled, hypnotic, dropping with the beat, the other side rising, her arms and hands still in motion. Her head didn’t move. There were bracelets around her arms under her shoulders, thin gold bands at the base of her fingers and thumbs.

The woman sitting with the musicians suddenly called out, a string of words, notes held long. Singing. Although she didn’t move any faster, all of Nuë’s body began to move to that music, her ribs in one direction, her hips in another, effortless. Her arms were snaking, her whole body serpentine. The ifrit felt a deep sinking in his belly, his breathing heavier.

Without stopping the motion, she swept around, her face serene. The silky cloth wrapped around her neck and then crossed over her full breasts. It left her belly exposed, his eyes going there, her navel deep. She was looking down. Those eyes flashed up on the drumbeat, hitting him somewhere in his gut, all of her movement precise.

His crotch was tight. The way she moved was entirely an offer of her body and her spirit. One leg rose, her arms still in motion. Her foot came down and she stepped. He ached, she was so beautiful.

The music was like all music, another thin place between the two worlds, the music emerging like light through paper. It was dreamlike, driving, a summoning of feeling, openly sensual. Openly erotic, his belly tight, her light calling to him.

Looking at her face, he saw she was looking out at her audience, but she wasn’t seeing them. There wasn’t anyone here she was dancing to. She was involved in the dance, in her body, lost in the music. The drum came in with a fast patter, filling in the timing. When that happened, her eyes flashed up again and her breasts rose quickly, three stuttering beats up, her belly long and extended.

Briefly, as she turned, her foot kicked up her skirt. She was barefoot, yes, gold around her ankles. She began to bend backward, and more, the singer giving a brief yelp. A few people in the audience snapped their fingers in approval, appreciating her skill. Each beat of the drum was a new pattern for her hands, the silhouettes shaping themselves, sometimes facing one another, sometimes turned away, close and far, always in relationship.

Coming up, the tension traveled across her arms and she released it again, flicking her fingers, a free, careless and wild motion in all that precision, an almost painful surge of lust going through him.

He wasn’t ever going to get this song out of his mind. The ifrit closed his eyes. The voice faded, desire crawling all through him. The song ended and Nuë was back in her original position. The audience slapped their knees and snapped their fingers, indicating their approval.

The young woman came again, bringing the veil, obscuring Nuë, escorting her out. The ifrit turned and watched as a man rose and walked to Levsa, everyone else watching now, the mechi looking up. The man said something to the Mechi.

The mechi nodded. People quieted. She held up six fingers. “Neco offers six horses,” Levsa announced.

For Nuë, she meant. The ifrit was surprised. She was being sold? Given the dance, maybe they were selling her for sex. If so, he would simply buy her.

Behind him, two women spoke. “They should worry about children,” one said. “She’s only half-Sidean.”

“They should worry she’ll be like her mother,” the other said.

But the men in the room didn’t seem worried. Another man rose, coming to Levsa. He spoke to her, the mechi nodding. Levsa flashed eight of her fingers. Eight horses, the ifrit assumed. Another man rose. He offered five horses, which didn’t make any sense, bidding usually going up in price instead of down.

The ifrit was immediately aware when Nuë came back into the tent. Her skin was that warm gold, arching eyebrows over intense eyes out of which her spirit shone, almond-shaped, upturned at the outer corners, long lashes. Her hair shone gold like metal in the firelight, warming to red in her cheeks and lips. Her hair was in two thick braids now that hung down in front over each shoulder, like the other women, interwoven with red leather, some silky strands trying to escape, the long tails brushing her thighs.

Her features were elegant, a long nose and full lips, high cheekbones, and very beautiful. The Sidean clothing she wore were the same intense deep and dark dusky colors in intricate tribal patterns as all the cloth around them. She wore loose linen pants over which she had a linen shirt and then a long linen tunic, practically a dress, with two long slits up the sides. Over that, she had a belt, a knife at her waist. Her soft boots were cross-wrapped in leather, her sleeves.

Men looked at her as she passed, their eyes speculative. She sat in an empty place to the left of the mechi.

A man arrived at the edge of the gathering, followed by two others who watched him carefully, escorting him. All eyes went to the stranger, tension in the air. The new man went and spoke to the mechi, who held up ten fingers, people beginning to talk, interested. Ten horses. “Duvin from Pashi tribe offers ten horses,” Levsa said, her voice neutral.

The man from the Pashi tribe turned and looked at Nuë as he walked out, smiling at her, an inviting smile. Nuë looked surprised, her eyes dropping.

A man got up and moved to Levsa. He spoke to her. She nodded. The mechi held up a hand. She flashed it once, and then again, and then two fingers. Twelve horses. Another man rose, older, the woman with him not pleased and not saying anything. The man went to Levsa. Levsa held up one hand three times. Fifteen horses. Another man rose. He offered eight horses.

The ifrit got up and walked, going to sit beside the mechi, Nuë on the other side of her. He reached out and touched Levsa’s wrist.

Levsa turned to him and they were alone. She startled, looking around, lights and diffuse forms all around them. She looked back at him. “Where am I?”

“Another place, Mechi,” the ifrit answered. “And the same place, too.”

“Do they know where I am?”

“You haven’t gone anywhere. They’re looking for you,” he said, touching her, keeping his hand on her, both of them briefly in a tumult of voices raised, calling for her.

“I see her!” someone cried, and the ifrit brought her back. It was quieter here.

“Why am I here?” Levsa said.

“I don’t understand the ritual.”

“The dance?” Levsa said, seeming surprised.

When he saw Levsa hesitate, the ifrit leaned forward, holding her eyes, the woman wary. “It would be best if you spoke the truth in this place, Mechi.”

“It’s a celebration that she’s old enough to marry. She dances so the men of the tribe can know her, to learn if they want her for a wife. They make the offer of horses for her collar.”

“What collar?” he said.

“An unmarried Sidean maiden wears a collar of gold around her neck. She gives it to her husband during the ceremony. It will go to their daughter by blood or marriage.”

The necklace Nuë wore. “You think you’re going to sell Nuë to the man who offers the most horses?” the ifrit said.

Levsa eyed him. “No, ifrit. The horses would become hers when she marries. They’re her security if her husband dies or she wants to leave him for a good reason, like if he beats her or is a coward. She’ll want more horses, because she’ll be wealthier. But she may choose a man who could only offer a few horses, if she wants him above the others.”

“They can offer her a thousand and one horses, Mechi, and Nuë would still be mine. She has always been mine.”

Levsa seemed to decide not to say anything to that. She changed the topic. “How do you know our language?”

“I don’t.”

“How do you speak it?”

The ifrit shrugged. “I hear what you mean. I make sure you hear what I mean. My name is Olo.”

Levsa stared at him, her eyes wide. “You just lied. Your name isn’t Olo.”

“In this place, you can hear lies like I can. I’m not speaking your language, Mechi. I never have. I don’t know it.”

She seemed to struggle with that and then let it go. “What is your name?”

He grinned. She looked taken aback. “You know better than that, Mechi,” he said softly.

“Are you going to kill her?” Levsa demanded.

The ifrit was surprised in turn. “No,” he said.

“Why her?”

“She’s mine,” he repeated, telling her the truth in this place. “She has always been mine.”

Again, Levsa seemed to let that go. “Can you not stay a small time and let her come to know you?”

“She can know me elsewhere,” he said.

“She’s scared. You’re a frightening story to her. She’s afraid you’ll hurt her.”

The woman wasn’t lying. And Nuë was a woman, but she was still young. Her spirit was close to the mechi’s, their lights entwined. The ifrit thought about it. “Give her a tent of her own. She comes with me to my home in the mountains in three nights, Mechi,” he said, touching her wrist.

#

Nuë sat on the pad at the fire. She wasn’t going to be killed by the ifrit, Levsa had said, although he was taking her away with him in three nights. As for using her body, he was going to do that, yes. Why else would he want her to have her own tent? Nuë couldn’t stop her heart from its racing beat, thundering like a horse across the plains in her chest.

“He agreed to stay for three nights because he believed me when I told him you were scared,” Levsa had said, sitting across from Nuë. Levsa would tell Fada tribe in the morning what had happened. Levsa reached and put Nuë’s hair behind her ear. “You danced well, sutka. So many offered for you I thought I was going to start making marks to remember.”

Nuë tried to smile. “You think it was because I danced well?”

“Yes. I think that some of the men worried that because your hair is lighter maybe you aren’t as passionate. The dance reassured them. Who is this young man from Pashi tribe?”

“Duvin? I met him at festival. We spoke for a short time. We don’t even know each other.”

“He’d like to know you better,” Levsa said, smirking.

“It doesn’t matter now, does it?” Nuë said.

“Were you going to accept any of their offers, Nuë?” Levsa said. “Is there one who secretly held your heart?”

Nuë looked down, shaking her head. “No, none that were special to me.”

“Not even Ceden?” Levsa said with a straight face, Nuë looking up and breaking into laughter, her aunt joining her.

“A second wife. That old pervert,” Nuë muttered, Levsa snorting laughter again.

Levsa shushed them both like she hadn’t also been laughing, looking around.

“Neco used to call me strawhead and threaten to cut my braids,” Nuë said, “and now he’s offering horses for me.”

“The boys who used to be unkind to you are regretting it now,” Levsa said, another smirk. “I told them at the time that they would. Tahon offered twelve horses.”

“I know,” Nuë said. “I don’t know why he would do that. He was the worst of all of them. It used to be he wouldn’t stop until he’d made me cry.”

“Blind hope,” Levsa said.

A silence fell between them.

Nuë looked away. “Is he going to hurt me, auntie?” she asked.

“I don’t know,” Levsa said, also looking away, her mouth tight. “It’s often painful for a woman the first time. But even if he does, it’s nothing you can’t endure. I’m sorry I couldn’t protect you from this, sutka.”

“It’s not your fault,” Nuë said.

“You’re still honorable to me,” Levsa said, standing up and leaving.

#

The ifrit shifted, sidestepping, sitting across from Nuë. He was wearing white linen pants, leaving his shirt off. He was barefoot. Nuë startled like her people did, blind to the other world, her hand on her chest. She looked like she might say something to him for scaring her and then she swallowed it. She took a breath in, releasing it slowly.

“How long have you been here?” she said, her voice shaking.

“I have been with you since I brought the mechi back,” he answered, staring at her, fascinated by her. It was really her. After so long.

Nuë nodded, taking another deep breath. “Do you eat and drink, ifrit?”

“Yes.”

“Would you like spiced milk?”

He nodded, although what he would like would be to push her on her back and mount her now. “What is the dishonor you feel in lying with me?”

“We’re not married,” she said.

He thought about it. She had mentioned this before. The human ceremony. She had been born to these people. “Could you marry me?” he said, the idea occurring to him.

Her hand stopped in the middle of ladling the milk. She resumed. “Yes, ifrit.”

“We’ll marry tomorrow,” he said, shrugging. He was looking at her breasts. It was time now. He felt another wave of excitement. He had waited, and waited, and waited some more, and he was done waiting.

She was quiet. “I can’t marry if I no longer have my collar,” she said, handing him the milk.

The collar, symbolizing the barrier between her legs, probably. He took the milk. “Give the collar to me now.”

“I can only give it to you during the ceremony.”

“Keep it and give it to me in the ceremony tomorrow.”

“I can’t,” she said, her voice tight. “It would be a lie.”

His incora was stubborn. Then it occurred to him, a happy compromise. He rose, finding the thing he’d put in the tent. He had planned to give it back to her, smelling it on her skin. She watched him.

He returned, setting it down by himself, sitting again. His anticipation was thick. “Take off your clothes,” he said. When he saw her hesitate, he threw up his hand. “Does taking off your clothes mean you can’t wear that necklace anymore?”

“No.”

“Take off your clothes.”

#

Nuë reached to unlace her boots, unwinding the leather. She drew them off. She stood up. She had known this was what he was going to do. She didn’t know why she’d gotten hopeful that he wouldn’t shame her. He was an elemental, a demon. She saw his eyes go to her hands. They were shaking. Untying her tunic, she drew it off, and then her shirt and her pants.

She took deep, even breaths. It was just her body. He couldn’t really touch her inside, not that way. Only her surface. She would still be herself. She felt silly in the braids, so she tugged the strings and they loosened. She ran her hands through her hair and then knelt again, aware of her breasts. She didn’t look at him. It was just easier.

“Come here,” he said, his voice full of something that sent a crawling surge through her belly.

She rose and came to him, kneeling by him. He was huge and beautiful and foreign, so much of him. She couldn’t imagine fitting any part of him into her. Every time his strange blue eyes landed on her, she wanted to be somewhere else. She didn’t know where he was going to take her in three days or what he would do with her there.

But the way he was looking at her body, she didn’t doubt what he was going to do to her here and now.

She stayed still when he reached, running her hair through his fingers. He caressed her shoulder, following her arm down with the tips of his fingers. His touch was surprisingly gentle, her skin tingling. He began to touch her all over in the same way, seeming content, moving her when he wanted to reach somewhere else. Sometimes he would brush his fingers on the undersides of her breasts, and a few times he touched her nipples, sending shocks of sensation through her.

Nuë had thought she could separate herself from her body, but she found herself drawn in, unable to stay away from it with the sensations he was giving her. It was pleasure and anxiety, alternating. She didn’t know why she would respond to him so strongly, unless ifrit had the ability to arouse those they touched.

He pulled her down with him, her heart pounding, putting her onto her side facing him. His hands were tracing her body, over her hip, and then he was touching her thighs, looking at her face. It was too intimate. She didn’t know him. She closed her eyes. He parted her legs gently, his touch sharp pleasure. For the first time, she wondered if maybe this part wouldn’t be so bad. She pulsed against his fingers. A calm came to her, feeling herself relaxing. She was wet, slippery now.

#

The ifrit’s breathing was rough with control. His incora was frightened, as he had known she would be. He gave her as much time as he could, his arousal painful now. He had to do this to encourage the joining, but he went slow, touching her, staying very gentle. Warming her body, trying to soothe her fears.

He pulled her down facing him, looking at her. She closed her eyes. He opened her legs, touching her there, his fingers slippery, her flesh so soft. Ready. Stopping for a moment, he did what he needed, wiping his hands, and returned to her. He reached for her spirit, aching for her. She didn’t reach out to him, but she didn’t retreat either. He caressed her light with his, just a little, feeling her become more calm.

The ifrit moved, coming over her silently, bringing himself behind her. He reached and gently parted her cheeks, his cock oily already and so hard. He began to press, the head of his cock slipping past the ring of her ass, Nuë relaxed.

She felt it, a sharp breath. She cried out. He had known the first time might be difficult for her, his incora not knowing him yet. His hand went over her mouth, rolling her onto her stomach as he mounted her. She would feel pleasure. The fingers of his other hand were on her pussy, wet, wanting, slick and swollen. He pressed, opening her under him, going slowly. Her hands grasped the coverlet, her fists white with strain, her ass rising under him. The pleasure was so good, so much of it. Lust tinged his vision.