Stormbreak (Seafire #3) - Natalie C. Parker Page 0,26
the whole salt-sick world.”
There was nothing more Caledonia could learn from this woman.
Yet, as Caledonia left the room, she felt a pinch of remorse for Remi. And foreboding for herself, too. Though on opposite sides, whatever end was coming for them all, it would be neither pleasant nor glorious.
CHAPTER TEN
Caledonia’s chambers were one level below the observatory, a suite with one window in a curved wall overlooking the cliffs. The bedroom itself was larger than anything she’d ever had on a ship, with space for a mattress of dense foam that resisted the chill of the stone beneath.
Tossing her jacket on the foot of the bed, she lit the trio of candles on her low end table and went to scrub her face of the day’s grime in her private bathing chamber.
A knock sounded at her door. Three firm raps of a knuckle told her who was behind it.
“Come in,” she called, dragging a towel over her cheeks.
Oran stepped inside, pushing the door closed behind him. He was freshly washed, and water clung to the ends of his black hair, making them shine in the dim light. A simple long-sleeved shirt stretched comfortably across his chest and shoulders in a warm shade of brown just darker than his skin. The ends of the shirt were untucked, draping low over pants that hugged his thighs.
Without a word, Oran took three slow steps in her direction. His eyes locked on hers and didn’t let go. Caledonia felt a knot in her stomach relax just as the beat of her heart sped up.
When he was only a few inches away, he paused.
Caledonia leaned forward and pressed her lips to his. Oran’s hands slid along her waist, thumbs efficiently freeing her shirt from her pants. The chill in her skin zipped over every part of her as he pulled her body against his, flattening warm palms against her bare back.
She kissed him slowly as he walked her backward toward the bed. She pulled his bottom lip between her teeth as he lowered her to the slim mattress and gasped as his fingers slid along her ribs.
These were the only moments when Caledonia’s mind released her problems and uncertainties. Cloudbreak demanded more of her than her crew ever had, but when Oran slipped into her chambers at night, she could put it all aside for a short time. These were moments when she made demands for herself, when Oran was the only person she allowed to take up space in her mind.
Later, when they were both flushed and out of breath, Caledonia slipped out of bed to prepare the bitter tea that would prevent her from conceiving a child. The drink warmed her insides even as her skin cooled. When she’d drained her cup, she slid beneath the blanket once more and pillowed her cheek against Oran’s shoulder, enjoying the feeling of his arms wrapped around her and his fingers toying with her hair until they stilled suddenly.
“What’s wrong?” he asked.
“Nothing.” Her answer was too immediate. She knew it as soon as she’d said it, but it was too late to take it back.
“All right, nothing’s wrong.” He caught her hand in his, holding it against his scarred chest. “Then tell me what you’re thinking about.”
“Everything,” she admitted with a long sigh. “I keep coming back to the Fivesons. Lir took out his competition, but he also thinned his own ranks, risking gaps in loyalty at best and sowing dissention at worst. Why take that risk? Is the power play, the symbolism, really worth it?”
Oran was quiet while she spoke, letting his fingers drift lazily up and down her forearm. The tickling sensation made it difficult to think clearly.
“They—we—were dangerous to him,” Oran said at last. “Aric may have called us sons, and we may have called each other brother, but we were the furthest thing from it. Maybe Venn and Decker would have been loyal for a while, but Tassos? He hated Lir more than anyone.”
“More than me?” The words were out of Caledonia’s mouth before she could stop them.
Oran’s fingers stilled in their path along her skin, then he pulled her closer. “Differently.”
Caledonia hated to ask him these questions. Whenever she did, she watched him drift into the past, where he was forced to confront the terrible deeds that had made him a Fiveson. It left him dimmed for hours, sometimes days, after.
“How many different ways are there to hate Lir?” she asked with a teasing smile, but Oran’s expression only darkened.