Calya tensed, her hands shaking even as her pussy went impossibly tight. She whimpered into his mouth as she came, her contractions tipping his aching cock over the edge. At his first pulse, her pussy squeezed him, grabbing on and doing its damnedest to suck him in. The suction drew from him an extra spurt of come as he splashed across her walls.
With another small whimper, she sagged against him, sporadic quivers making her limbs twitch. Nocren dragged his hand across her sweat-soaked hair, pressing a kiss to her temple. And smiled to himself when she grumbled.
Once he’d caught his breath, Nocren gently laid her on the bed. Calya mumbled something as he cleaned her up, but her eyes never opened. Within moments, her breathing had deepened with sleep.
Nocren considered waking her to insist she hydrate. “Calya.”
No response. He set a waterskin on the floor next to her and carefully slid onto his side of the bed. Fighting the ridiculous urge to pull her snug against his side, he instead rolled onto his back.
He must’ve been affected by the Kiss, too. No other explanation for it. An alluring woman who he was, regrettably, attracted to had showed up and demanded sex with him. So what if he’d acquiesced? It meant nothing. He hadn’t forgotten the wind’s warning, for all that it was silent now.
They’d arrive in the Landing tomorrow and go their separate ways. Simple as that.
Calya woke with a dry mouth and a steady thrum of need pulsing at her core. Gingerly, she pressed her inner thighs together. A hint of soreness filtered through the haze of lust that remained, the Scarlett Kiss still alive in her blood.
But its presence had abated—somewhat. Its roar dulled, and though a part of her brain was wholly dissatisfied when she clenched and came up empty, it was not so loud that she couldn’t set her mind to other tasks. Ulterior motives, one might say.
Nothing nefarious; she had no intention of screwing over her current allies. Calya had loyalty, but it followed a hierarchy. Seeing what the Sentinels were up to in the Landing, if such information was to be had, wasn’t meant to make things difficult for them. But she had to be certain their business didn’t interfere with Helm Naval.
Careful not to jostle Lowe, who lay beside her, Calya sat up. The tiny porthole in his cabin was covered in salt spray, but what little she could see through the smudged glass told her it was still night. Late, given the darkness and the quiet.
Noticing the waterskin next to the bed, Calya grabbed it. A content sigh hummed at the back of her throat with her first swallow. Water had never tasted so good.
Belatedly realizing the noise she made, Calya glanced at Lowe. He didn’t react, his chest rising and falling with a steadiness that seemed too natural to be faked.
“Ranger,” she whispered. No response. “Lowe.”
He slept on.
Carefully, Calya slipped away from the bed. She peered down at him, trying to spot any change, to see if he became too still. Nothing. Good enough for her, so she hastened on. The ship felt more stable now, but she knew anything could come along at an instant to rouse him and ruin her plans.
She took another sip from the skin before replacing it on the ground. And dismissing the thought of what the gesture said of him, and what it evoked in her. Shied away from introspection, because as long as those feelings remained unexamined, she could pretend their existence was nothing more than flights of fancy. Once they were admitted, they were real, and real things generally had to be dealt with, which was… unwanted, at this time.
Lowe’s pile of clothes was nearest to the bed. Calya dug through it, unsurprised when she found nothing of note. They’d been stuck on the ship for four days, so why bother toting anything interesting about? She pulled his cloak around her shoulders to ward off the chill air, ignoring how the Kiss tried to nudge her mind back toward the six feet of ranger who could keep her warm.
She prowled through the cabin. Given it could be covered in just a handful of strides, it didn’t take long. Lowe’s cabin was smaller and less furnished than her own. No drawers or cabinets to rifle through. Scant shelving was tucked into the odd angles created by the door leading to a shared washroom.
Lowe hadn’t unpacked at all, and Calya found his sole bag wedged next to the frame at the foot of the bed, half buried by a cast-off blanket. Inside, she found a few spare clothes, an extra knife, and some kind of tool wrap made of oiled leather. After a quick debate, she left it and its potentially noisy buckles alone. Whatever his mission in the Landing was, perhaps the details were carried in his head rather than a bag.
As Calya replaced the blanket, something small slipped from where it had been caught in a fold. She grabbed it before it could fall to the floor, and the object bent under the force of her touch.
It was a steno pad similar to the one she carried, only this was even smaller, no larger than her palm.
After another quick glance Lowe’s way, Calya flipped the pad open and began skimming the pages. Deciphering them was a chore. The lamp had burned down to embers, and Lowe seemed to think handwriting consisted of short, cramped lines, and the less shape to a letter the better. Calya had started to think the notes were written in code until she spied familiar wording.
* * *
AG + SU res – site share?
AG sus invlvmt. HNE prob cover.
* * *
CH- Ambitious, reckless. Do not trust?—
* * *
Calya knew the Sentinels were looking into suspicious messages from a Sylveren research group stationed at the Landing. It was a small comfort to know that Helm Naval wasn’t suspected of nefarious dealings, presuming she’d interpreted his scrawl correctly. Less a comfort to know that they might be being used by Brint.
