Women, who the Deep has only given us once. Apart from Callie, the Deep has never told us anything about women.
The urge is not to take. It is to see all of her, and to give her pleasure. The thought rattles me with its clarity.
I curl my hands into fists to keep them from moving on their own.
“You’re thinking very hard,” she says.
I want to turn so that the bulge in my loincloth wouldn’t be so obvious. “A man should think at all times. Especially at night.”
“About me?”
I should deny it, but the evidence is too clear. “It’s difficult not to. You’re right here.”
“Why am I here?” she asks again. There’s no challenge in her voice, just seeking.
The old answers rise and fall away before I can speak them.The Deep sent you. You are a test. You are given to me.They ring hollow now, thin as shells tapped together.
“Because I wanted you,” I say truthfully. “I paddled my boat along the shore for two days. The Deep let me do it, showing me a part of the shore that no tribesman had ever seen before. Finally, I had to rest, and I went ashore. I made a fire and enjoyed the freedom. The silence. Being in a new place. I grilled a smoked splix and walked along the beach.”
I think back. I was about to get back in the boat and sleep when I decided to see if I could find some fruit. Or maybe some kind of evidence to show the tribe how far away I’d been.
“And then I saw you, and I wanted you. So I took you away from the Plood. If there are any in that ship.”
Her lips part. “There are not. Only Theodora and Riley and Morgan and I. The Plood were not in the ship.”
“But it was a Plood ship,” I protest.
“The ship came here with women from Earth. And a…droun. Called Dex. It was Dex who brought the ship here. It crashed. No Plood.”
So now Iknowshe was not sent by them. My mind goes a little brighter.
I clear my voice. “I didn’t know that then. I was sure there were Plood. And, of course, you would want to get away from them. You were all wrong in the jungle—too soft and delicate. I wanted you safe.”
She stands up, close enough that I can smell the faint salt on her skin, the smoke in her hair. Her hand lifts. For a moment, I think she will touch my face. Instead, her fingers settle on my forearm, just below the elbow. The contact is light, and yet it burns.
“Crat'ax,” she says, and my name has never sounded like this before.
Every instinct in me leans toward her, toward the press of her body, the warmth, the place where my mouth could go if I allowed it. The place my mind has traced in the dark. Worship is not about taking. It is about giving until there is nothing left to give. The other tribes may be fools, or they may be wiser than we are.
I bend down so that our lips can meet.
I do it slowly, giving her time to pull away, to change her mind. She doesn’t. Her mouth is warm, softer than anything I have known, and when she exhales against me I feel it all the way down my spine. It is not a hungry kiss, not yet. It is careful, deliberate—a question and an answer at once. I keep my hands where they are, on her arms, grounding myself in the strength it takes to stop. When we part, her eyes are bright.
She lifts a hand to her mouth and hides a yawn, small and unguarded. The moment breaks gently, like a wave losing itself on the sand.
“Sleep,” I murmur, and there is no argument in her. She turns and lies down on the platform, curling onto her side as if she has done it here a hundred times before. I pull the leather sheet over her, tucking it around her shoulders the way I have seen mothers do with children, careful not to wake what is already fading.
My hand settles on her hip, protective rather than claiming, and she smiles with her eyes closed, leaning into the touch. I lie down on the floor beside her, close enough to feel her warmth through the boards.
My body is heavy with exhaustion after days without real rest, but my mind will not quiet. I stare into the dark, listening to her slow, even breathing, and let my thoughts run where I didn’t allow my body to go.
11
- Callie-
Something is wrong.
I come awake all at once, heart already racing, breath snagged halfway in my chest. The dark feels thicker than it should, pressed close to my face. For a disoriented second, I think I’m still dreaming.
