Her voice was a thousand cascades of silken ripples against oiled stone, Her body a sinuous winding of velveteen and ivory. And Her touch — a cold glissade of sensation along the sensitive reaches of his spine, pooling with burning warmth in the cup of hips and curve of belly, until Her luxurious presence had taken on a vaguely erotic feel.
"Yes," Lecter murmured in answer. The moon was high, its peaked belly creamy with the promise of dark visions and black gifts; it shone down upon the wolf sitting alone in the midst of the glen, with the remnants of dried poppies drifting as red snow below his paws. The icewater eyes were dark with swollen pupils, dilated with the touch of his Totem and the coursing wave of the drug within him.
You have not yet built an altar to Lynx, She chided gently, reaching out with an ethereal paw to rake the fur of his shoulder gently with extended claws. Lecter scarcely turned toward Her, fixed as he was by the shaft of moonglow in which he sat, but he was attuned to Her as he had been before; when Lynx shifted to prowl in a tight circlet, the shaman listened. "There will be one, soon enough."
And the girl? These words; they caused a flutter of emotion to pass across his bloodstained face, and his jaw clenched as teeth ground against one another almost painfully. "When the time is right, Lynx, she will be Yours."Very well, the great Cat breathed, warm breath ruffling the long fur of his nape as She delivered a kiss betwixt crimson-hued shoulderblades. I will be waiting — but not forever.
And then She was gone, and Lecter felt himself grow dizzy with the absence of Her scent and the ever-brightening grasp of white light that seemed to transfix him through, a quarry shot through with a hunter's quarrel. In silence, he beheld the great curved womb of the moon, and let his thoughts drift into knowledge of what he must do.