should all travel comfortably.”
After seeing his men settled, Raed asked to see the operation of the ship, and Sorcha tagged along just to watch his face. A small cabin boy called Hoise showed them around, even taking them down the length of the dirigible to where the propulsion system was housed.
“Weirstones.” Raed let out a little laugh. “Priceless! You lecture us on the use of them—and yet here the Imperial Fleet is powered by them!”
“There is a difference.” Sorcha patted the swirling blue sphere. The orb was smooth and cool under her hand. “These have been constructed by the Arch Abbey for this purpose. They can only be used by trained engineers, and they only provide propulsion.”
As if on cue, a gust caught the ship and bounced it around, even though they were still tethered. Raed grabbed onto her—half instinctually, but half for comic effect as well, she suspected. The touch of his hand on her body sent her blood racing, and Sorcha didn’t move it away.
Raed smelled of leather and sea salt, as if the ocean had invaded every piece of his being, and underlying it was a faint sweet smell, almost like honeysuckle. Unwittingly Sorcha drew in a breath, though her heart was definitely running faster than usual. The Bond she’d created was now a web for her, for she could feel his heart racing too, like a counterpoint to her own.
The Pretender did not move, but he smiled; his teeth flashed white against his suntanned face. On her arm, his fingers tightened slightly.
“The Captain asked me to show you to your cabin.” The young lad, Hoise, appeared around the edge of the weirstone array, and Raed let go of Sorcha and stepped back a little. “I think that would be an excellent idea.”
“It has been”—Sorcha cleared her throat, knowing that she was, of all things, blushing—“a long few days.” She couldn’t believe the warmth in her cheeks. What was she—eighteen again?
Hoise glanced between them as if suddenly catching wind of a current. “Well, we will be casting off very shortly. The cabins are back here.”
Raed gave a little bow and gestured for her to follow after the boy. Sorcha was glad to do so, sure that he could tell the effect his closeness was having on her. Stupid.
The rest of their companions were exhausted and had retreated to their own cabins to rest. Only Merrick remained, leaning against the side. Sorcha thought he looked like he’d aged several years in two weeks. That was normal for those fresh out of the novices, but Sorcha found she was sorry for the strain in her partner’s face.
Wordlessly, all three of them waited at the gunwales as the
Raed and Merrick watched the ground recede from under the hull. Not many got a chance to fly in the Emperor’s fleet, and many would not want to.
“Everything’s so small,” Merrick said as they climbed higher. The line of hills and the sea spread out before them.
“There’s Ulrich.” Raed’s discomfort appeared to have given way to awe as he pointed to the cluster of gray and brown. He whipped out his little spyglass and trained it on the town. “And I can see
Merrick yawned. “Yes, absolutely. But I feel like a horse ran over me.”
“There’s no need for you to stay up.” Sorcha could feel his exhaustion leaking through to her. She wasn’t as tired as all that, so the sooner he got rest, the better for her.
He glanced across and smiled slightly, knowing exactly what she meant. “Very well.” He turned away, stopped, and Sorcha could feel him opening his Center. It was just for a moment, like a dog raising its nose to sniff the breeze. She caught the faintest impression of a laugh as he entered his cabin and shut the door. Very strange. But then, it had been a long few days for her partner.
She shook her head, aware of her own growing heat. Raed was looking at her now, and in a totally different way. Along the Bond there was no escaping the knowledge of what he was thinking, and she was perfectly aware that he was unconsciously tasting her own thoughts. She had not mentioned the Bond, she would not mention the Bond, and yet it was wrapping them both up in desire; like a snake eating its tail.
“A handful of people against the greatest monster of legend.” Raed stroked his beard and looked at her askance. “This could end very badly.”
Her hands, where they rested on the edge of the railing, were trembling slightly. She looked down at them and wondered when that had happened last. She was the strong Deacon, the most powerful Active in the Abbey. She certainly didn’t feel strong or powerful right now.
“We should rest.” The Pretender’s voice was loaded with meaning in those few words. He held out his hand to her, and without thinking she took it.
Inside, the cabin smelled of well-oiled wood. A wide bed, perhaps the Captain’s own, dominated the center of the room. She noticed it was strung on chains, so that the swaying of the wind would rock it rather than tilt it. Raed touched the corner of her cheek, the lightest of caresses, but in her chest her heart began to race.
“Deacon Sorcha Faris,” he whispered, and her name on his lips sounded incredibly erotic. “I want you so.”
Those eyes, which she had noted could be green one minute and blue the next, held hers steady—honest in their desire. He had spread his cards on the table and his look said the decision was hers. At this point Sorcha might have expected to at least hesitate, to remember who she was, and her marriage; but it had been so long since she had felt this rush of desire and emotion. Too long.
She couldn’t pause to consider. She had to experience what she had glimpsed. He mustn’t have been expecting her to, though, because in the half darkness she saw his eyes widen a little in shock. She meant only to taste his lips, to sample a slice of forbidden fruit, but when they kissed, everything changed.
It was no simple kiss, not the soft, gentle kind Sorcha had become used to; this was teeth and tongue and gasps. This was a kiss that was felt everywhere. And soon, merely to kiss was not enough; skin needed to be against skin. Raed slid his hand under her tunic, grasping her breast and sending jolts of desire down her spine. Sorcha should have pulled away, but instead she arched her back, inviting him to take more. He bent, and his teeth tightened on her nipple. She cried out—a gasp of pleasure and pain. Then she was pulling her tunic off, while his mouth traced every curve of her body he could reach.
Sorcha helped him with his shirt, tugging it apart and then reaching for his pants. She had thought she wanted Raed, but now it was a need, a requirement. When they were finally naked she let out a long, satisfied sigh. His body felt like warm satin on hers. Consumed by pleasure, Sorcha slid herself up and down against him, relishing the sensation. Raed groaned, and then laughed a little. “I never guessed Deacons were quite like this. If I’d known, I might have risked a visit to the Abbey.”
Sorcha felt a satisfied grin on her face. Years with Kolya had almost made her forget her own power, her own sexuality. It was heady stuff to be naked with someone who appreciated it. So she took the compliment and pressed her lips back to his. Raed’s hands slid over her body gently at first, and then suddenly pulled her tight against him.
Frantic for more, they staggered back together onto the swaying bed. With surprise, Sorcha realized she was shaking. She couldn’t recall her body ever reacting like this before. It was like she didn’t even know it, as it obeyed more primal instincts. Raed curled his hands around her hair, trapping her against him. His strength was intoxicating, and for once Sorcha did not feel the need to fight another’s power. Instead she bent under it, giving way with a satisfied sigh.
Sliding her hands down Raed’s back, reveling in the texture of his skin and the faintest beginnings of sweat between them, Sorcha knew that she was being wanton. Yet even this realization was curiously satisfying. She groaned deeply as his tongue ran the length of her neck.
He didn’t deny either of their needs. They rolled slightly on the bed, as the airship thrummed around them, climbing higher. Sorcha giggled, quite undone by desire and awareness of her own mad folly. Pressing her down against the bed, his lips never leaving her, Raed thrust himself inside the gasping Deacon Sorcha Faris.
The sensation was so intense that all of her remaining control dropped away. “Raed.” Her voice came out as
