With a soft groan, she straightens. Head shaking and jaw tight. “That’s what I’m afraid of. You getting hurt because of me. You, or anyone else here.”
A soft smile tugs the corner of my mouth. I can’t help the way my body responds to her gentle confession. I pull myself up into a sitting position, leaning my back against the headboard. Then I shift her so she’s straddled across my lap, my hands resting gently on her thighs. “That’s not your fear to carry, little doe.”
Her shoulders lift and fall with ease. “It’s not something I can put down easily.”
I brush my thumb over her skin. “I’ll take the weight.”
For a brief moment she just stares at me, like she can't trust my truth. Like it’s too hard to swallow when all she’s known is carrying every burden alone. I pull her closer, wanting her to feel my steady embrace. “I have an apology to make,” I murmur.
Her brow raises, a faint smirk dancing on her lips. “Finally admitting that I can wield a blade better than you?”
I huff a soft laugh. “No. That’s never been a question.”
“What then?” She grins, leaning down to brush my lips with hers.
The act is so pure that my body melts under her touch. She pulls back, but I reach up to catch the back of her head, holding her in place so I can feel her warm breath on my face. “I wanted to say sorry for assuming you would be likehim—your father. But you’re not him, Odi. You fight . . . but not the way he does. There’s a difference.”
She shakes her head as she looks at the palms of her hands. A single tear spills from the outer corner of her eye, tracing down her cheek to die upon my chest. “There’s enough blood on my hands to drown in . . . and his still runs in my veins—”
Her voice trembles. Her hands tremble. My body responds. Hatred for her father and what she’s had to do to survive rears its ugly head, but she needs grounding. She needs to feel safe.
I clasp her hands in mine, bringing them to my lips. “I love your hands. How they tend the wounded. How they offer food to the hungry. I especially love them when they trace the patterns on my skin. These hands are brave, and strong, but they are also soft and gentle.”
A fresh wave of tears pour down her cheek. I reach up to brush the moist trail away. “Ivor’s blood might be part of you, but so is your mother’s. Don’t forget that.”
Odi’s brow pinches, like she’s trying to fight the truth of my words as another tear falls to its death. “I’ve spent my whole life trying not to end up like him. What if I’ve already failed?”
I move my hand to cup her face, and she leans into the touch. “You wouldn’t be here with me if you had,” I whisper.
Her gaze locks onto me, then she crumbles. Crushing her lips to mine in a fiery kiss. One that I feel in the very depths of my soul. I pull her closer as my tongue dances with hers. Gentle hands find their way around my neck, sending heat spearing through my body. At this moment I realise I’m not just lost in everything that is her . . . I’m fucking drowning.
She slowly pulls back, resting her forehead on mine. We sit in silence together, the early morning sun stretchingfurther into the room. Boots on the deck announce that the crew is up, tending to the ship's needs. I’d told Elio and Tavi not to let anyone bother us until I was ready.
Looking at Odi now, her naked body soft from orgasms and sleep, I’m definitely not ready to go back to reality. And perhaps I never will be.
I trace lazy patterns over her thigh, and she moans softly, tipping her head back as the sun kisses her bare neck. Heat pools low in my stomach when I imagine raking my teeth across her pulse.
She threads a hand between us, looking for my cock.
I gasp when she finds it. “Keep doing that and I’ll have you whimpering in seconds.” I say, my voice hinting playfully.
Odi’s eyes light up. She leans forwards, a hairsbreadth from my lips, and pumps her hand again. “Maybe that’s what I want.”
I moan against her mouth. “Come here—”
A solid knock sounds at the door.
“Who is it?” I demand.
“Cap,” Elio says, sounding on edge. “There’s a message from Killian. Ivor is on the move.”
Iturn Killian’s message over in my hands, studying the words once again.
The Sea Bane is headed in the direction of the mainland.
It had been four days. The wind had stayed in our favour, and we’d nearly made it to the last island, but something about Killian’s words had kept the scrap of kelp parchment in my pocket. That Ivor is moving at all makes my stomach curdle, and I’d already responded, telling Killian he won’t be keeping tabs on the Vipers much longer. We’re headed for this last island. And then we’ll prepare ourselves to take on Ivor.
But the more I study the words, the more vague foreboding worms its way into my thoughts. Killian is rarely ever so straightforward. I tuck the message back into my trouser pocket, but the unease doesn’t leave with it.
