Chapter 31: The Other Brother

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Chapter 31: The Other Brother

Hot chocolate offered both inner warmth and enough spirit to support her sleep-deprived body until near dawn. With an audience of four, Hermione certainly needed all faculties available. Initial adrenaline wearing off left little reserve with which to tell the tale. But speak she did, and to utter amazement of the men before her.

"My godson – James' son – is voluntarily housing with Snivellus?" Sirius' growl was tight and angry, incredulous and uncertain. "You're saying Harry trusts that bastard?"

"Sirius," Remus placated, quiet voice a soothing balm to prickly temperament. Weary look of creased brows and tired eyes shot toward his best friend, a beseech of control and open mind. "You heard Hermione; Harry believes Severus, and for myself, that is all the answer I need. Harry's turned an excellent judge of character these years past. I myself taught him Legilimency; Severus could hide the truth, but not create what didn't exist." Turn to Hermione, deep breath. Change of focus. "So he looked good? Well cared for? Both he and Ron?"

Hermione nodded, cutting glances toward a now standing, restlessly pacing Sirius. Additional lamps lit the cozy sitting room, reflecting agitated twitches of hands, hardened face. He worried her. She had known his reaction would hold not only disbelief but instant distaste, yet no remedy came to mind for its reversal.

"Yes," she finally answered her former professor. "Yes, they were both quite well. Just as I've told you, we sat quite a while discussing what they knew and what we knew. Other than their usual nastiness, Professor Snape and Malfoy were all right enough. Actually a bit helpful." Derisive snort from Sirius ignored, she continued, eyes contacting those of Raj and Regulus in turn as well.

"It was Malfoy who'd shown up that night at the Burrow, scaring Ginny. He might have intended a bit of that rubbish, but mostly he was there to deliver the ring with Harry's message without being found out himself. He's helping Snape spy on Voldemort, so he couldn't really chance being discovered helping Harry's wife, now could he?

"Anyway, when he found out the message was only half there, Harry was greatly distressed – he'd meant it to calm Ginny, not scare her half to death. He'd had some trouble with the spell, and that's why the message had ended so abruptly."

"So it was young Malfoy who'd graced us with his darling presence in Egypt, was it?" Regulus peered intently at her, his usual replies succinct and pointed. Over the time she'd known him, she'd learned this trait of the younger Black. For all his arrogance and assumption, he was keenly bright and deductive. By no mere curiosity was his question; stronger reason lay beneath.

"Meaning, it seems," Regulus continued dryly, "that his little stunt was to trigger the hidden lever to the secret chamber we stole away in, rather than cease our active existence. We'd have not located it in time, otherwise," he added thoughtfully, ignoring his brother's under-breath epitaphs. "The question remains, however: if both wizards are on our side, why the deception? Why the coded messages and request for your assistance?" Arched brow lifted toward Hermione's position.

"Because they couldn't afford to be noticed showing any sympathy toward me, and any attention – had they even known about you or Raj, or even Sirius – would have alerted your existence or my importance to the Death Eaters. And Harry'd asked Malfoy to check up on me, ensure I was safe." Sweeping look held images of weary, serious men in need of respite. She sighed. "Besides; Voldemort doesn't trust Snape quite so fully anymore, so he doesn't know all that's going on. Harry and Ron have been researching about the Grail, but they didn't know where it was, how to put it out of Voldemort's reach, or who it was that was working for him inside the Ministry. That's why he sent the coded message. And he had tried to tell me in it where they were, though that's the part I didn't understand. It was addressed 'Miss IKIA' ... Insufferable Know-It-All. Snape's reference to me all throughout school." Involuntary grimace capped her recollection.

This time it was Hermione who ignored Sirius' snide, biting remarks, slight blush creeping up her fair face in response to more colorful words. But too exhausted was she to pay much heed to vented anger. In his stead, her attention turned back to Regulus, somber.

"I wasn't going to tell them about you, but Professor Snape was explaining that Voldemort was suspicious about someone breaking into protected locations, and that he was setting traps. After all the investigating you've done, Regulus, I know it was you they are trying to catch. They just don't know it was you."

Regulus' mouth opened in response, but was cut straight off.

"Then your visits to your old haunts will cease immediately," Sirius directed, pausing in his prowl. "It's too dangerous."

"I can tend myself, Sirius," the younger Black argued indignantly. "I've survived over twenty years without being found out; I believe I can continue to elude the Dark Lord and his minions. I can keep our secrets safe."

"It's not the bloody information I'm concerned about, Regulus!" Dark was Sirius' face as leaned down toward his brother's, mirroring scowls reflecting checked passion. "Fuck Voldemort; I'm not losing you to a two-pence toady with a bit of beginner's luck! Over twenty years I've lost to that mad bastard, friends and family, as well. No more will I allow to be taken from me," he added, voice suddenly quiet and thick.

For long moments the pair did not move; nervous shifting broke the flame-ridden silence as Raj fidgeted with his tea and Hermione drew her woolen rug more firmly about her. Only Remus dared interfere, his watch intent and careful.

"A word, Sirius," he softly commanded, rising.

Appearing not to hear, it was several seconds before Sirius regained posture, glanced from his brother, and strode out the room. Apologetically Remus murmured a few words and followed his brother-in-essence out.

Collective breaths released from the witnesses, yet Hermione noticed Regulus was not as unaffected as he attempted appearances. Staring into space, face unreadable, body taut with unspoken emotion. Reflections of fire danced upon his cheek, a cheek refined in bloodline, rough in masculinity, marred in trials. Once more she had to admit he was, indeed, a handsome man. So alike Sirius in many ways, but in such important ones, not.

Rashness held no place in Regulus Black's movements; calculated, considered, weighed were his decisions. Hermione could respect that. Appreciate it, even. He used intelligence and cunning, solid information before striking out in noble cause. He listened first. And if he honestly had drifted away from pureblood fanaticism, an argument could be made for him. For inside Hermione recalled the greatest difference betwixt the brothers: Regulus Black had shown a personal interest in her.

-o-

Always it seemed to return to this kitchen, Remus mused. Growing up, many a placid day and raucous evening had been spent away from Hogwarts in the confines of the Potter household, an occasional dinner with the elder Mrs. Pettigrew, and even the odd duck-in to the Lupin residence. But never had it been so within the house of Black. Yet since the day the most evil of wizards had returned to human form, Remus Lupin had found himself time and again attending the scrubbed wood table of his mate's childhood home.

"He's ruined so much of my life, Moony!" Sirius slammed his calloused palms to the worktop, back to Remus. Arms stiff, head hung, Remus could still see the tension in his friend.

Cautiously, he queried. "And yet, now...?"

But Sirius was intent on his previous statement, ignoring the peacmaker's therapeutic nudge. "He cost me twelve years – twelve years of my life, Remus!" Sirius turned, paced again. "He robbed me of my youth, my friends, family... Stole James and Lily from you, me... Harry." Anguish nicked at angry words, and still he trod restlessly.

So; they were speaking of Lord Voldemort and not Regulus. Relief swept through Remus, thankful the slight encouragement of brotherly affection he'd seen between the Black boys was not yet again banished to the netherworld. It had been too long, too much water had passed beneath this bridge of limbo. Life and death lay on either side, each man supposedly transverse to the final destination. Second chances need not be wasted. But Remus didn't wish to speak of James and Lily, to recall even more vividly the loss so long ago.

"Padfoot... you're doing more than was thought possible to defeat him. We're making progress. I know it may not seem like much, but really, I believe we're closer than ever in defeating him."

"I know that, Remus." Exasperation tinged the reply, a cessation of movement congealing into a statue of readiness for fight or flight. Gray eyes shadowed met his tired blues. "But I'll be damned if I have this chance to regain the brother I so carelessly lost in boyhood and lose him again due to that coward. Not again, Remus. Not bloody well again.

"I should have listened to Reggie back then, realized he was simply too afraid to lose the seeming affections of our parents. I should have seen it, Moony, but I didn't." Head dropped in weariness, heels of palms to forehead, memories plaguing. "But I was young and on fire, desperate to part company with most my relations. All but Reggie. Looking back, I see he looked to me to lead him, yet instead I abandoned him. Threw him as the sacrificial lamb to the wolves.... No offense," he added cheekily, quick glance to Remus.

The latter smiled, mock sternness falling apart even as his words formed. "None taken, lapdog." It had grown too personal, too serious by far for Sirius, and obvious was his attempt at longed for levity. Remus was more than happy to oblige. "Of course, any wolf worth his flea-free fur wouldn't feast upon your brother; bitter as he was in those days, it'd take a stout lager to wash him down."

Chuckles followed.

Chat fell to happier memories, doing both men a spell of good and regeneration. Ten minutes of past revived enough humor for the pair to return face to reality of hidden grails and troublesome dark lords. Nicking a few gingersnaps from the glass jar, Remus followed Sirius out of the kitchen, climbing to the hall with banter livening the portraits who feigned sleep... and a few who legitimately were.

Easy feelings departed, however, upon stepping foot into the sitting room. Only Raj remained, head bent in study over dusty text and aged parchment. Their entrance drew his attention.

"Where's everyone?" Sirius inquired, searching the darkened room with concern.

"Milady fell asleep; exhausted, she was," Raj supplied, his focus once more upon research. "Master Regulus carried her above stairs to bed. Speaking of which," he added suddenly with a sigh and curt closer to the text, eyes rubbed with resignation. He rose, casting a friendly if weary smile to each. "I've a need for rest, myself. I shall contact Hermione tomorrow, making excuses her tardiness. However, please ensure she arrives to work before ten, as I wish no further attention be brought to her. Mister Bailey has not returned, but Chamberlain has shown a great deal of interest in his office. I worry our masques may be lowered before we are ready."

"I'll see what I can do from the Order's end, Raj," Remus assured, and after brief words, the young Grail-keeper departed.

Door closed and warded with finality, Remus turned to his friend, realizing belatedly Sirius had said nothing during the exchange, limiting himself to mere nods and half-hummed agreements. He'd followed into the foyer, but his face followed the empty staircase, and Remus felt a twinge of enlightenment as to the Gryffindor's musings. Small smile tugged at the werewolf's mouth at Sirius' agitated features. They'd grown such at the pronouncement not that Hermione had gone to bed, but that Regulus had attended her.

So much for bonds of brotherly affection.

-o-0-o-

Days melded together, each one bringing a clue or direction, but twice as many questions. Hermione had been directed by all at Spinner's End to reserve contact to only when a significant discovery had been made. She was to signal Draco by way of requesting precisely seven and three-quarters ounces of Dragon's Bane from the apothecary in Diagon Alley. Severus Snape was the Black Market supplier of said controlled substance, so word would reach the pair rather quickly. She would be contacted within twenty-four hours.

Time spent at number twelve, Grimmauld had dwindled to two evening visits in a week. Sirius had performances and practice; Raj returned to duties at the Ministry; Remus returned to his family, the Order, and his independent tutoring. Regulus, ironically, returned to his Muggle lifestyle, serving post included. Such dispersing left Hermione alone with her return to studies at the Muggle university, a meager allowance from a newly present Bailey (for her extended stay as assistant until all duties could be caught up) her only occupations. Well, aside from nagging thoughts as to their next step.

It came to pass upon evening of the eighteenth Hermione found herself worn, weary, and distracted at her student desk. Pyjama pants and loose tank all in turquoise plaid and solid, respectively, left body and bare feet in comfort, but mind too easily drifting. University now open once more for fall term, chatter and music and trollops down the corridor again left the studious longing for later hours at the library. Staring blurrily, perforated, line-ruled composition books beckoned for her attention but received mere slights. Blame could be laid upon her dorm mates, but fairness dictated pointing fingers face more inward.

Shauna having opted for starlit rehearsals, Hermione had been left to her own devices this Monday waning. Unfortunately, all educational ventures those devices offered were impeded by her most treasured asset: her mind.

Not filled with facts or figures, or even current events and mysteries, her mind betrayed all intentions for academic progress in the relative peace. Loneliness had crept in, shadowing any analytical aspect seeking bloom or resurrection. Not since Ron and Harry's last leaving and Ginny's return to the Burrow had Hermione felt so keenly an emptiness. Yet this time greater was the hollow inside, intensified by memories of acquaintance, of laughter over old photographs, of companionable silence in literary research.

She missed Sirius. Painfully.

Perhaps no other time had brought to her such reality of how in love with him she had fallen, nor how not in love with her he was. Still the insufferable know-it-all in the form of a slightly grown woman-child in his eyes. Bright, clever, loyal to her friends and the Cause. Talented, yes, and obviously feminine with unexpected ability to remind his starving body of that very fact.

A hunger she desperately wanted to quench personally.

But viewing the bookworm as a viable romantic interest failed to gain support. In many ways she fell short of expectations his attentions required. Hurt seeped in like poison at the remembrance that Shauna – her own age and a Muggle – had had just the flavor to whet his appetite, and quite thoroughly. How could she ever hope to compete? Intelligence wasn't everything, and Hermione had recently realized just how carved in stone that truth was.

Drawing morose thoughts away were new breaks of silence from the hallway. At first she considered it yet another couple slipping their way to the girl's room, conjugation of more than the Language Arts student's verbs worth the tittering and flusters. Annoying, yes, and certainly less desired given current trail of her own thought and heart. Work was to be done, and if these subjects of amore could not have waited past the first week of term, then it was best they should steal away farther for privacy unavailable in a dormitory of conscientious learners. But a scowl and hurmph later, Hermione still could not refocus to her studies. Giggles had faded but replacement came in scratches to the walls and doors, distant and not-so-distant girlish shrieks of excitement. Uncharacteristic flash of anger, she stood abruptly, shoving all paperwork heave-ho 'cross the carrel in a great huff.

"Gods to Merlin on high, you skiving tarts," she grumbled, heading for her door. She'd properly set down the dormitory disturbance rules to whomever had deemed half-eleven as prime pranking or shag-play hour. Sulky was her mood already; no great shove was required to send her over.

"This is a place of higher learning," she continued, securing the handle to fling the barrier wide in aggravation. "Perhaps it would behoove you," came the dictate through the ever growing aperture, "to first learn the attributes of a pocket wa–"

Shock registered even as admonishing faded. Eyes grew wide and jaw slack at the vision of a strong back clad in worn leather and topped with silky black tresses. Sirius?

She'd not realized she'd spoken aloud, albeit softly, when he turned on his heel to meet her, his apparent decision to depart having been dispelled abruptly.

"Regulus," she breathed, taken aback. Quickly recovering, an offer fell from slack lips for entry to the room. He followed her lead wordlessly, softly stepping into the gently lit refuge. Hands remained seemingly casual in charcoal gray trousers, the silk forest green button down clinging lightly to his form. Mistaken for his brother, yet no reaction did he show. Hermione could feel the blush creep from collar to cheeks.

He looked about, clearly uncomfortable but not arrogantly so. Briefly she wondered if ill news was his purpose, then just as quickly banished the thought. Regulus Black would not fear to first mention upon arrival were there catastrophic events to share. No; he simply appeared less... sure.

"Won't you be seated?" Politely was the offer spoken, and at first she thought he would decline.

"After you, Miss Granger," he instead countered gently after a pause, gesturing toward her desk chair. As she sat, he found his own place upon her pristinely made bed, stature his usual proper posture. Half smile tugged at trim lips in nearly bashful manner. A moment he glanced at her, brief study of her face, a momentary softening of his own. Then, remembering himself, features schooled themselves and he stepped into the origins of this venture.

"Forgive the hour, but I felt it best to discuss this with you as soon as was possible." Visibly he relaxed, a return to familiar formality a comfort to his body and mind. "I was just finishing my shift at the café when thoughts began to tumble unheeded into my perceptions; it seems that, left alone, the subconscious will volley solutions much quicker. Amazing what nature will tend to if allowed freedom from mortal-constraints." Quirked smile revealed a glimpse of white, even teeth behind whisker-bedeviled flesh. Lips firm and taut and drawing. Late for a shave, his features distorted from blood nobility into dark, desirable... dangerous.

Really, now. She was going to have to stop such flights of fancy.

Of either brother.

Hard swallow and relocation of gaze, Hermione found her voice, refocusing her mind to important measures and her eyes to his brow.

"Umm...," she hedged, trying to recall words just spoken. "Er, yes. That's quite all right. I was just studying ahead on class work. Could use a respite, actually." She threw him an appreciative smile, conveying sincerity in what she knew sounded as polite dribble. "So what is this grand revelation you've encountered?"

"Lupin learned through fairly reliable channels that St. Cyr's covey has managed to locate the ever-missing Sir McCaine. Alive and relatively unscathed, he has returned from hiding to Northern Ireland with his escapade suitably explained through cover."

Hermione nodded, well aware of this update through a brief interlude with Raj earlier in the day. But she did not interrupt Regulus, a feeling nudging that his point was otherwise and shortly coming.

"It turns out he was saved by a mere reversal of circumstances; long story short, he outwitted the Dark Lord's dogs by circumventing some sort of necessary path and doubling back. He then fled into hiding directly out in the open – transfigured himself into a statue of Baste." Knowing look feathered with sly excitement drew out the pause of effect. Attention fallen to pure academic curiosity, Hermione leaned slightly forward, waiting with bated outside awareness.

"This bit of knowledge rummaged about my head all evening, and when I'd gone on to other directions and considerations, it melted with our predicament...

"We need to know how to defeat the Dark Lord, and we need to know what his immediate great plans are. The latter I've not found an answer to, but the former – if we use MacGregor's chaliced tale – might be right in front of us, disguised by our own assumptions. Just like McCaine."

More appropriate to his character and family, Regulus settled back on her bed just as his brother had done weeks before, right foot propping his knee along the length. Half reclining pose lent a wary, predatory grace to him. Eyes sparkled in knowing fashion, silently encouraging her yet-unspoken questions. He need not wait long.

"So you're saying," she began, leaning forward further in heightened interest, "that we're reading something wrong into the riddle the Grail gave Raj? But how?" she inquired, returning to straighten back and affronted nature that she could have jinxed herself through her own logic.

Regulus' grin of self-pleasure grew, single dark brow rising in taunt. "The way we're reading it, Miss Granger," he replied smugly. "We read it the long way, taking the scenic route so to speak, as did the Death Eaters. And when we get to the end, we recall all the details of the long, tedious journey, and miss the statue right before us by assuming its presence as natural, even though Baste would have no place where McCaine thought to hide."

Bewilderment and confusion contorted her young face, and Hermione failed to catch the allegory within the riddle. Upon seeing her loss, the younger Black revealed the light below it.

"In MacGregor's riddle, we're told the answer to the Dark Lord's defeat is to 'learn from the greatest wizard's defeat before the balance of light and dark tips to the night.' We've all been assuming that event to be Dumbledore's death, or perhaps Merlin's if one subscribes to the theory that he is indeed defeated. But what if we've been sidetracked by the longer road of words?" Crafty his voice became, hinting his eyes. Now he leaned forward, tempting her with knowledge brewing just below the surface.

"What if... what if it is not the defeat of the greatest wizard that we're meant to learn from? Shortcutting the words..." Here a hesitation stumbled, alerting Hermione that Regulus was not so cock-sure of himself as he'd like all to believe.

"What if...?" she prompted, genuinely intrigued. Blood flow quickened and fresh energy woke her weariness and banished it.

More quietly now, less teasing or jaunty or knowing. Now a softly spoken option to consider. He leaned back once more, chin down as he studied cuticles of sudden fascination.

"What if it were a simple matter of semantics? Our assumptions led us to place the emphasis wrong, caused us to look over the very phrase before us?" Quick glance up under long, heavy black lashes, then regaining fascination of digit dermatology. "Perhaps it is not the wizard defeated who was the greatest, but the defeat itself."

Anticlimactic silence held for long moments, leaving Hermione slightly bereft and Regulus awfully still. Anticipation laced with the need to please, to have accomplished or contributed. Dared he looked to her 'neath thick lashes, more like a bashful child eager for approval. But Hermione's mental status boarded on manic, rampant links and information battling for opinion on this new scenario. Then suddenly...

"Of course! How could I have missed it?" She cried out with a violence not seen from her before, stature straighter and eyes flashing in studious fervor. Slap of palm heel to forehead, expression of self-exasperation. "If it's the defeat rather than the wizard touted as greatest," she began in earnest, rising and pacing, examining only half to Regulus, half to herself, "then it had to have been a grand incident, making it much easier to locate in the history books..."

On and on she went, raising and dismissing theories, actions, choices and options. Hands flailed in voicing gestures; speech alternated inquisitive to admonishing. Animated, invigorated. New directions bade her follow; clarity lay in this novel approach, and Hermione fed heavily off it. So engrossed was she that several minutes passed before she noticed Regulus.

Lounging more comfortably than she'd ever seen him, an odd expression lay bare upon his handsome face. Wry grin pulled at lip corners and mirth danced in eyes that occasionally dropped from her presence to somewhere of the netherworld.

"What?" she demanded, unsure if she was cause of such amusement. Hands to hips, berating scowl in place, preparations grew for rebuttal. However, she'd not planned on his reply.

"You're quite the passionate one, aren't you?" he inquired, quirk of brow and teasing eyes. A chuckle found its way heavily and lowly from deep in his throat, a sound not entirely unpleasant, even if it was at her expense. In fact, not unpleasant at all. She'd never seen or heard him laugh. But then...

Then came the genuine smile, slightly whimsical and overtly personal. "You just strongly remind me of someone, is all. Someone I knew a long time ago." His voice had softened at the last, face faltering into brief sadness. But the memories came, his sight blurring from her, lines about his shadowed gray eyes fading in the easement of muscles. Drifting back to a time, a place not of her experience. Though he spoke to her, his visions were of this unnamed pleasantry. Bittersweet read his mood, though lips and tongue created only happy pictures in tender grace.

"She was just like you... all fire and passion. Unquenchable thirst for knowledge. Dangerously honest; sometimes too much so for her own good. And like you," he added with humorous glances, "she saw no lines but what was right and wrong, and everyone deserved second, third chances." Dropped to a whisper. "Even me."

Unsure how to react – or that, really, she even wanted to do – Hermione merely stood still, watching him in compassion crossed with swelling interest. This was a side of Regulus kept hidden from the world, and it was one she found heartbreakingly endearing.

Breaking the moment of recollection, he grinned once more and looked her steadily in the eye. "You two would've been fast friends, I'd wager. Your Ravenclaw intelligence and her Gryffindor bravery. A pair that together would have proven... scary."

Abruptly he rose, clearing his throat and raising decibels to more light-hearted atmosphere. "I'd best get on; 'tis late and you've studies in the morn, and I've matters to attend, myself." Gone were the markers of random memories, but a friendliness had remained both in physical and attitude.

"No, it's all right," Hermione blurted, suddenly feeling bereft at the concept of his leaving this moment. "Really; my first class is late tomorrow, and honestly I usually stay up much later than this." Bold faced lie, to be sure, but desperation forced its utterance. "I could conjure up a proper kettle and heating plate for a cup of tea..." Childlike hope bled through her words, and inner shame flooded her cheeks with blush.

"Thank you, but no," he answered, moving to the door. She fell beside him, reminding herself as hostess. "I simply wanted to inform you of the revelation; thought perhaps you might could find a new direction for us, something we've not yet explored." Sentiments were worn and vaguely trite. Though true in essence, they were handed over now as merely fodder to separate himself from the place he'd obviously revisited minutes before.

Slipping between along the door, Hermione dutifully grasped the handle, prepared to release him this unexpected situation. However, her courteous move found her wedged between the heavy wood and the former Slytherin Black. He'd reached at the same time with his left as she her right. His steps already upon the doorway, her presence now crowded the space, and Hermione's back scraped roughly against the frame.

Looking up to apologize for the brusque move, she saw instead of annoyance a curious, wide-eyed greeting. Dry was her mouth suddenly; clenching was her stomach. Regulus stared into her eyes, awkward, fearful, yet wholly entrenched. No muscle flinch from either, short pants replacing Hermione's previous easy breathing. Regulus appeared not to breathe a'tall. And when her sight lost focus, her eyes fluttered shut, for he'd ever so hesitantly dipped his head, lowered to her, encroached upon her safe, personal boundaries.

Abrupt breath in was hers, though shallow. Unplanned, her mouth reacted with immediacy. Reverent this caress was, the soft brush of his lips tantalizingly slow but brief, firm but tender, right... but wrong.

Flush was her face, dizzy her head, nervous her body. A single breath fell from him upon her cheek, then before her own exhale, he was gone. Sounds of the door, the feel of his cuff over her hand upon the latch all brought her back to the moment.

"My apologies, Miss Granger," his rapid words fell in husky, tight tones. Eyes flying open, she caught his departure through the opening. She grabbed the door and stepped out, calling to his retreating back already halfway down the hall.

"Regulus! Regulus! " But he continued onward with long, quick strides, turning into the stairwell at the far end, disappearing from view without comment or gesture.

Hermione fell heavily against the doorframe, staring for several unending minutes at the empty place from which he'd departed. Butterflies quelled, her stomach slowly calming. Sensations evaporated where his long tendrils had tickled her cheeks. But her lips... they'd not forget anytime soon.