Post by Eurydice on Nov 30, 2008 21:16:02 GMT -5
((The Siarc/Olivia "unship" ^^ Set the night after the great escape.))
The girl gave a quiet little yelp, flinching in surprise; Siarc grimaced in sympathy but did not withdraw his fingers from her back. “Miss Olivia?”
They were seated in a dingy little inn room, perched on the bed: she, naked from the waist up, clutching the rags of her shirt to her front, and he, seated behind her, scrutinizing the angry bruises and welts cutting across her back. The cuts that the slavers’ whips had drawn into her skin were deep and messy enough to be extremely painful, if not so much as to cause serious damage, and with the amount of dirt and grime that had been pushed into them, it was only prudent to see that the injuries were clean and bandaged, able to heal without infection.
She nodded stiffly, not looking back at him. “I’m fine. Your hands are just colder than I expected.”
Resisting the urge to roll his eyes, Siarc went to work, carefully dabbing at the long red marks, keeping his mind on the work at hand as best he could so as to keep himself distracted from half-dressed girl sitting before him in this dim little room in the middle of nowhere. It was the stuff of adolescent fantasy. Siarc was twenty-seven and above such things. Still, he half looked away each time she gasped and stiffened, whenever he touched a sensitive spot where the slaver’s whip had cut more deeply than elsewhere.
Even the half-dressed girl, though, was distraction in herself, distraction from the emptiness that Siarc felt roiling in the pit of his stomach. His forced ejection from a promising military career, everything he’d ever expected for his life, all that’d happened in the last twenty-four hours and where it left him… he couldn’t afford to think about it. Survival first, sorting out his moral conundrum later.
“So,” Olivia said finally, breaking the dull silence between them. “Where would you recommend I go after we get out of Serina?” She pronounced the name with the careful attention of a child learning a new word.
“To be honest, I’m not really sure,” he replied thoughtfully, reaching over to the water basin and wringing out the lightly bloodied cloth that he’d been using to clean her back. “Hallrind, we’d probably be able to maintain anonymity, but corruption runs rampant. We could try up north; mostly farm land and ranchers, so it’d be safe, but we’d stick out, in all probability, be easy to spot. Anything else would mean either a long trip or a dangerous one.” He reached for a bandage to cover one of the deeper cuts, carefully pressing it to the wound. “I’m not sure who the ruling dukes are in Hallrind these days; once we find out, we’ll be able to make a better decision.”
She cocked her head slightly. “You’re awfully generous, taking it on yourself to look after me.”
Siarc gave her an odd look. “Well… you asked for help getting out.”
“Out of Serina, sure, but I asked where I should go after this; you answered with where we would go. I mean, I don’t mind the help, but I don’t fancy being in anyone’s debt.”
With a sigh, Siarc looked away slightly. “You saved my life,” he said, with an air of finality. “The debt’s mine, not yours, and it’s not repaying it if I only get you halfway to safety.” Besides, he thought wearily, it’s not like I can just leave you on your own.
He had not even been aware that he had voiced this last thought, but he must have done, because she was suddenly staring at him, eyes sharp and narrow, her back stiff and not from pain. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Every woman in the world must have, at some point, learned how to perfect that mutedly angry, reproachful tone of voice, Siarc decided. “I didn’t mean anything—just—just what I said, that I’m not going to leave the debt to you half-paid.”
She frowned, craning her neck to glare at him more effectively. “ You meant something else.”
Exasperated, Siarc set down the cloth and bandages, sitting back. “Just… that you’re not really in a position to look after yourself. That’s all.”
Cool gray eyes bore into him. “You’re presumptuous, Captain.”
“I’m not a Captain anymore, and I’m not presumptuous,” he snapped, annoyed. “But you’d been living in Akrontion for almost all of your life, from what you said, and you’re what, nineteen, twenty years old? With all due respect, a month or two in the company of Thrastin slavers doesn’t suddenly make you a woman of the world. I’ve been training and traveling with the military since I was old enough to swing a sword. I can look out for you.”
Olivia swung around to face him fully; Siarc averted his eyes slightly, determined to give her some measure of physical privacy beyond the rags pressed to her chest. He could feel her glaring daggers into him, though. “So what? You think I was practicing needlework and cooking every day of my life? I’m not completely helpless.”
“No, you’re not,” he conceded. “You’ve a fine array of little arcane tricks, and you play them well—I’ve got my life thanks to them. But there are plenty of casters out there with more tricks who play them better. You need more.”
“More,” she snorted. “You don’t know a thing about me!”
“I know that your city’s militia was, while valiant and strong, completely unable to withstand a real siege, and survived only due to the poorly planned-out attack. If they were the best that your town has to offer, I can’t tell you I’m especially impressed.” Siarc risked a glance; the girl was flushed with anger. “Look, whatever you might think, I do respect you,” he went on, determined to make his point, “but you’ve got to face the facts: you’ve led a fairly sheltered life, and you should be grateful for the opportunity to have someone keeping you safe. You will not make it on your own.”
Her voice was glacial. “You don’t know what I can do…”
“Then tell me,” said Siarc. “Or show me. Show me one good trick you’ve got up your sleeve, something that’ll allow you to get by, something that I can’t top. Go ahead.”
There was an uncomfortable silence swinging between them, pendulous and heavy, as the girl’s eyes shot cold fire in his direction. Finally, mutely, she turned away, her body a knot of frustration, hugging her knees to her chest. Siarc nodded, satisfied, and went to retrieve the roll of bandages so that he could finish seeing to her back. His mind was too much abuzz for him to be tired, but no doubt Olivia would need to sleep, so he’d want to finish up quickly. “Hold still, please,” he said, going to dab at the red welts on her lower back.
She shook slightly under his touch. “Miss,” he said, quietly but firmly. “Please.”
She did not stop shaking, and perturbed, Siarc withdrew the cloth, waiting patiently. It was cold in the little room; in truth, the inn where they were staying was so cheap that normally, he wouldn’t have been caught dead there. Still, it was far enough off the main roads that any pursuit of him would probably miss it for at least a day or two.
With a start, he realized that Olivia, huddled at the foot of the bed, was shaking not with cold, but with weeping. Slightly abashed, Siarc inched forward. “Miss?”
She looked away, shrinking at the sound of his voice. Siarc sighed, running a hand through his dark, unruly hair. “I’m truly sorry, Miss Olivia; I didn’t mean to upset you.”
“No,” she muttered, her voice flat and muffled slightly. “You were perfectly right to do so. I can’t take care of myself. I… I’m…” She broke off, shivering and crying, face buried in her arms.
Inching closer again, Siarc set down the bandages and sat beside her, awkwardly, feeling like he had somehow defeated his own purpose in saying what he had said. It wasn’t her fault she was from the middle of nowhere; it wasn’t her fault she was helpless. “I’m sorry,” he said again, uncomfortably, listening to her muffled weeping in between the words he spoke. “I’m not really one to mince words or speak well. You shouldn’t take it to heart.”
“Yes, I should,” she sobbed, hugging herself as tears ran down her face. “I’m in a strange place, and everyone I ever knew will be enslaved for the rest of their lives, and I’ve nowhere to go…”
Discomfort and pity warred in him briefly, and Siarc hesitantly put an arm around her shoulders. He’d never needed to comfort anyone like this before, and quite frankly, he had no idea how to go about it. “You’ll be fine,” he said, in what he hoped was a reassuring tone of voice. “I’ll see to it that you’re alright; I told you I’d look after you, and I will.”
Olivia pressed her head against his hand on her shoulder, anchoring on him with desperate abandon. “Nowhere to go,” she repeated, a dazed, miserable mantra. “Nowhere to go, nowhere to go, and nothing to do…”
Siarc squeezed her shoulder lightly. “I don’t let my debts go half-paid. I will see to it that you’re safe. I promise you; you’ve nothing to fear.”
With a little sound, somewhere between a hiccup and a whimper, the girl suddenly turned in and clung to him, like a drowning child; after a moment of surprise, Siarc’s other arm instinctively went to circle her in a tentative embrace. Her face was buried in the crook of his neck, her tears slowly trickling down his shoulder. Siarc found himself quite unable to speak, the shock of the girl pressed against him taking his breath away. “You’re all I’ve got,” she whispered unhappily, her breath tickling his skin.
“I…” Siarc set his jaw in determination, still entirely unsure as to what he ought to be doing, but he’d be damned if he let her see that. “You’ll be fine. You’re safe. I promise you, you’re safe.” It was true, he thought; he was all she had right now, and that carried a special obligation with it, even without the debt to her that already existed. Honor. Duty. Those were words that he kept close to his heart always. He would not let them fail him. Or her.
There was a soft rustle of cloth, and Siarc inhaled sharply, color rising in his cheeks. The meager, ragged shirt that she’d been using to cover herself had slipped out of her grasp; next to nothing rested between their bodies now, and as the girl clung to him, her bare flesh sat warm against his chest, heat he could feel plainly through his shirt and jacket. If he thought he’d been at a loss for words before, when she first turned to him for comfort, that bewilderment was dwarfed by the surprise and uncertainty he felt now. He felt his jaw work up and down a few times and then gave up. Anything he could possibly say now would be useless at best, foolish at worst, and so he said nothing.
Slowly, Olivia’s tears began to dry, her body no longer wracked with frightened sobbing. She still hung on him, though, her fair face smooth against the rough stubble on his neck and chin—Siarc couldn’t remember the last time he’d bothered to shave or trim his beard. A strange calm had come over him, in the last few minutes, spiting the underlying discomfort of the situation; Siarc wondered if he ought to let go of her now, as she was no longer in hysterics, but the alluring warmth of her left him unwilling, if not unable, to do so. With a slow, deliberate hand, he stroked her bare shoulders, skin hot under his cold fingers.
At his shoulder, he felt the girl stir, and as he turned to look down, see whether she was alright now—well, there was no knowing how, but her face was closer than he’d thought—and, suddenly and gently, their mouths collided. Siarc inhaled her breath, felt her cheek, smooth as silk, against his.
Some sense of propriety asserted itself in the pit of his stomach and Siarc pulled back—it was almost painful to do so. “I—I’m sorry, Miss, that was… I…”
She was staring up at him with those same sweet, scared, alluring eyes, and for reasons that eluded him later, Siarc bent forward and kissed her again, intent and fervor in it this time.
He could feel her practically melting against him. Her long, graceful body had been all taut lines and harsh angles, sitting there, and now, the tension was flooding out of her. He could feel her relaxing against him, her desperate arms around his shoulders softening, her touch feather light on his arms. Her naked chest was resting easily against him, and Siarc could hear his heart hammering painfully loud, reverberating through his entire body, and he could only pray that the insistent rhythm was less obvious to her ears.
Fifteen seconds into the kiss, he felt her arms hesitantly snake into movement, one creeping around his shoulder and neck, her fingers running through his hair, the other sliding down to the front of his jacket; first, she clung there, steadying herself, and then, her actions slow, she began to undo the buttons. Her fingers quickly found their way inside his shirt, and Siarc gasped again at how warm she felt, warmth that fled into him. He pulled the girl closer, feeling her flinch as his hands accidentally grazed the welts across her back; he was drunk on the taste of her, the feel of her lips on his tongue, the spread of her hands on his chest, the length of her legs pushing against his as if trying to occupy the same space. His hands found purchase at her slender waist; hot, dizzying desire pulsing through him, he lifted Olivia until she sat straddling him, her tattered skirt pressed high, exposing long white legs, naked and inviting, folded against his thighs.
Somewhere in the back of his mind, it occurred to Siarc Tuplo that this was not at all what he’d meant to do in coming over to comfort the girl, crying for the loss of her home and herself. But as quickly as the thought came to him, it was chased away by the touch of her fingers at his waist, slowly, carefully unfastening the belt, and by the feel of her legs under his palms, sliding up under her skirt to the sweet curve of her hips.
***
Sometime later, they fell still, the lamp light burning low on the table beside the bed. Siarc’s heartbeat was ringing in his ears as he stared at the ceiling, Olivia pillowed on his chest. He watched her silhouette rise and fall as he breathed. The lamplight flickered, sending shadows dancing on the ceiling. Siarc watched them twist and glow.
Somewhere, outside the thick-curtained window, crickets hummed.
A small voice sounded at his chest, nudging him out of the comfortably drowsy haze wherein he’d been drifting for the last few minutes. “Siarc?”
“Mm.”
“You… you meant what you said, didn’t you? That you’d look after me?”
“Of course I will,” he said quietly.
“You promise? You’ll protect me, keep me safe?”
“I’ll do you one better.” Siarc stared at the flickering light on the ceiling, running idle fingers through her tangled yellow hair. “I promise that I’ll teach you how to keep yourself safe. I’ll make sure you know how to protect yourself. That way, if I kick it before you do, you won’t need to worry. How does that sound?”
“Isn’t this all a bit more than fulfilling your debt to me?”
She nuzzled against his chest; Siarc gasped silently, her faint, tantalizing touch sending a shiver through him that felt almost electric. “Well, maybe I’m doing it because I want to.”
Her smile melted against his skin. “Really?”
“Yes, of course.” Siarc closed his eyes, letting himself drift in a soporific haze. “You seem awfully full of questions. Any more?”
“Just one: why is it, again, that you don’t think I can look after myself?”
The question seemed so preposterous that Siarc didn’t quite register it at first. “I… what?” He opened one eye, staring down at her.
She looked up at him, her cool gray eyes pale in the lamp light, her smile cold, unfamiliar to him, and edged with subtle danger, like the edge of a sword. “To rephrase, Captain: tell me again that you think I don’t have the means to get what I want and what I need.”
It took a long space of time, Siarc staring down at Olivia, her chin resting on his chest, faintly devilish smile on her lips, to begin to process what she had just asked him, and even longer before he finally realized what she had just done.
She’d seduced him.
Hells, she’d made him think that he was doing her a favor.
He had asked her what she could do to get by, told her to show him how she would survive in the world, and without a second thought, she had done it.
Siarc couldn’t help it; a low chuckle broke out of him, the laughter quiet and easy but unstoppable. He watched Olivia watching him; she seemed to have taken in every step of his thought process and seemed content, now, that he knew exactly what had happened. There was an understanding between them for now, it seemed, a tenuous, curious understanding.
It was a good five minutes before Siarc spoke again, his dark eyes glinting with amused approval: “Shrewd.”
Olivia smiled that same, thin, metallic-edged smile, and turned away from him to sleep.
The girl gave a quiet little yelp, flinching in surprise; Siarc grimaced in sympathy but did not withdraw his fingers from her back. “Miss Olivia?”
They were seated in a dingy little inn room, perched on the bed: she, naked from the waist up, clutching the rags of her shirt to her front, and he, seated behind her, scrutinizing the angry bruises and welts cutting across her back. The cuts that the slavers’ whips had drawn into her skin were deep and messy enough to be extremely painful, if not so much as to cause serious damage, and with the amount of dirt and grime that had been pushed into them, it was only prudent to see that the injuries were clean and bandaged, able to heal without infection.
She nodded stiffly, not looking back at him. “I’m fine. Your hands are just colder than I expected.”
Resisting the urge to roll his eyes, Siarc went to work, carefully dabbing at the long red marks, keeping his mind on the work at hand as best he could so as to keep himself distracted from half-dressed girl sitting before him in this dim little room in the middle of nowhere. It was the stuff of adolescent fantasy. Siarc was twenty-seven and above such things. Still, he half looked away each time she gasped and stiffened, whenever he touched a sensitive spot where the slaver’s whip had cut more deeply than elsewhere.
Even the half-dressed girl, though, was distraction in herself, distraction from the emptiness that Siarc felt roiling in the pit of his stomach. His forced ejection from a promising military career, everything he’d ever expected for his life, all that’d happened in the last twenty-four hours and where it left him… he couldn’t afford to think about it. Survival first, sorting out his moral conundrum later.
“So,” Olivia said finally, breaking the dull silence between them. “Where would you recommend I go after we get out of Serina?” She pronounced the name with the careful attention of a child learning a new word.
“To be honest, I’m not really sure,” he replied thoughtfully, reaching over to the water basin and wringing out the lightly bloodied cloth that he’d been using to clean her back. “Hallrind, we’d probably be able to maintain anonymity, but corruption runs rampant. We could try up north; mostly farm land and ranchers, so it’d be safe, but we’d stick out, in all probability, be easy to spot. Anything else would mean either a long trip or a dangerous one.” He reached for a bandage to cover one of the deeper cuts, carefully pressing it to the wound. “I’m not sure who the ruling dukes are in Hallrind these days; once we find out, we’ll be able to make a better decision.”
She cocked her head slightly. “You’re awfully generous, taking it on yourself to look after me.”
Siarc gave her an odd look. “Well… you asked for help getting out.”
“Out of Serina, sure, but I asked where I should go after this; you answered with where we would go. I mean, I don’t mind the help, but I don’t fancy being in anyone’s debt.”
With a sigh, Siarc looked away slightly. “You saved my life,” he said, with an air of finality. “The debt’s mine, not yours, and it’s not repaying it if I only get you halfway to safety.” Besides, he thought wearily, it’s not like I can just leave you on your own.
He had not even been aware that he had voiced this last thought, but he must have done, because she was suddenly staring at him, eyes sharp and narrow, her back stiff and not from pain. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Every woman in the world must have, at some point, learned how to perfect that mutedly angry, reproachful tone of voice, Siarc decided. “I didn’t mean anything—just—just what I said, that I’m not going to leave the debt to you half-paid.”
She frowned, craning her neck to glare at him more effectively. “ You meant something else.”
Exasperated, Siarc set down the cloth and bandages, sitting back. “Just… that you’re not really in a position to look after yourself. That’s all.”
Cool gray eyes bore into him. “You’re presumptuous, Captain.”
“I’m not a Captain anymore, and I’m not presumptuous,” he snapped, annoyed. “But you’d been living in Akrontion for almost all of your life, from what you said, and you’re what, nineteen, twenty years old? With all due respect, a month or two in the company of Thrastin slavers doesn’t suddenly make you a woman of the world. I’ve been training and traveling with the military since I was old enough to swing a sword. I can look out for you.”
Olivia swung around to face him fully; Siarc averted his eyes slightly, determined to give her some measure of physical privacy beyond the rags pressed to her chest. He could feel her glaring daggers into him, though. “So what? You think I was practicing needlework and cooking every day of my life? I’m not completely helpless.”
“No, you’re not,” he conceded. “You’ve a fine array of little arcane tricks, and you play them well—I’ve got my life thanks to them. But there are plenty of casters out there with more tricks who play them better. You need more.”
“More,” she snorted. “You don’t know a thing about me!”
“I know that your city’s militia was, while valiant and strong, completely unable to withstand a real siege, and survived only due to the poorly planned-out attack. If they were the best that your town has to offer, I can’t tell you I’m especially impressed.” Siarc risked a glance; the girl was flushed with anger. “Look, whatever you might think, I do respect you,” he went on, determined to make his point, “but you’ve got to face the facts: you’ve led a fairly sheltered life, and you should be grateful for the opportunity to have someone keeping you safe. You will not make it on your own.”
Her voice was glacial. “You don’t know what I can do…”
“Then tell me,” said Siarc. “Or show me. Show me one good trick you’ve got up your sleeve, something that’ll allow you to get by, something that I can’t top. Go ahead.”
There was an uncomfortable silence swinging between them, pendulous and heavy, as the girl’s eyes shot cold fire in his direction. Finally, mutely, she turned away, her body a knot of frustration, hugging her knees to her chest. Siarc nodded, satisfied, and went to retrieve the roll of bandages so that he could finish seeing to her back. His mind was too much abuzz for him to be tired, but no doubt Olivia would need to sleep, so he’d want to finish up quickly. “Hold still, please,” he said, going to dab at the red welts on her lower back.
She shook slightly under his touch. “Miss,” he said, quietly but firmly. “Please.”
She did not stop shaking, and perturbed, Siarc withdrew the cloth, waiting patiently. It was cold in the little room; in truth, the inn where they were staying was so cheap that normally, he wouldn’t have been caught dead there. Still, it was far enough off the main roads that any pursuit of him would probably miss it for at least a day or two.
With a start, he realized that Olivia, huddled at the foot of the bed, was shaking not with cold, but with weeping. Slightly abashed, Siarc inched forward. “Miss?”
She looked away, shrinking at the sound of his voice. Siarc sighed, running a hand through his dark, unruly hair. “I’m truly sorry, Miss Olivia; I didn’t mean to upset you.”
“No,” she muttered, her voice flat and muffled slightly. “You were perfectly right to do so. I can’t take care of myself. I… I’m…” She broke off, shivering and crying, face buried in her arms.
Inching closer again, Siarc set down the bandages and sat beside her, awkwardly, feeling like he had somehow defeated his own purpose in saying what he had said. It wasn’t her fault she was from the middle of nowhere; it wasn’t her fault she was helpless. “I’m sorry,” he said again, uncomfortably, listening to her muffled weeping in between the words he spoke. “I’m not really one to mince words or speak well. You shouldn’t take it to heart.”
“Yes, I should,” she sobbed, hugging herself as tears ran down her face. “I’m in a strange place, and everyone I ever knew will be enslaved for the rest of their lives, and I’ve nowhere to go…”
Discomfort and pity warred in him briefly, and Siarc hesitantly put an arm around her shoulders. He’d never needed to comfort anyone like this before, and quite frankly, he had no idea how to go about it. “You’ll be fine,” he said, in what he hoped was a reassuring tone of voice. “I’ll see to it that you’re alright; I told you I’d look after you, and I will.”
Olivia pressed her head against his hand on her shoulder, anchoring on him with desperate abandon. “Nowhere to go,” she repeated, a dazed, miserable mantra. “Nowhere to go, nowhere to go, and nothing to do…”
Siarc squeezed her shoulder lightly. “I don’t let my debts go half-paid. I will see to it that you’re safe. I promise you; you’ve nothing to fear.”
With a little sound, somewhere between a hiccup and a whimper, the girl suddenly turned in and clung to him, like a drowning child; after a moment of surprise, Siarc’s other arm instinctively went to circle her in a tentative embrace. Her face was buried in the crook of his neck, her tears slowly trickling down his shoulder. Siarc found himself quite unable to speak, the shock of the girl pressed against him taking his breath away. “You’re all I’ve got,” she whispered unhappily, her breath tickling his skin.
“I…” Siarc set his jaw in determination, still entirely unsure as to what he ought to be doing, but he’d be damned if he let her see that. “You’ll be fine. You’re safe. I promise you, you’re safe.” It was true, he thought; he was all she had right now, and that carried a special obligation with it, even without the debt to her that already existed. Honor. Duty. Those were words that he kept close to his heart always. He would not let them fail him. Or her.
There was a soft rustle of cloth, and Siarc inhaled sharply, color rising in his cheeks. The meager, ragged shirt that she’d been using to cover herself had slipped out of her grasp; next to nothing rested between their bodies now, and as the girl clung to him, her bare flesh sat warm against his chest, heat he could feel plainly through his shirt and jacket. If he thought he’d been at a loss for words before, when she first turned to him for comfort, that bewilderment was dwarfed by the surprise and uncertainty he felt now. He felt his jaw work up and down a few times and then gave up. Anything he could possibly say now would be useless at best, foolish at worst, and so he said nothing.
Slowly, Olivia’s tears began to dry, her body no longer wracked with frightened sobbing. She still hung on him, though, her fair face smooth against the rough stubble on his neck and chin—Siarc couldn’t remember the last time he’d bothered to shave or trim his beard. A strange calm had come over him, in the last few minutes, spiting the underlying discomfort of the situation; Siarc wondered if he ought to let go of her now, as she was no longer in hysterics, but the alluring warmth of her left him unwilling, if not unable, to do so. With a slow, deliberate hand, he stroked her bare shoulders, skin hot under his cold fingers.
At his shoulder, he felt the girl stir, and as he turned to look down, see whether she was alright now—well, there was no knowing how, but her face was closer than he’d thought—and, suddenly and gently, their mouths collided. Siarc inhaled her breath, felt her cheek, smooth as silk, against his.
Some sense of propriety asserted itself in the pit of his stomach and Siarc pulled back—it was almost painful to do so. “I—I’m sorry, Miss, that was… I…”
She was staring up at him with those same sweet, scared, alluring eyes, and for reasons that eluded him later, Siarc bent forward and kissed her again, intent and fervor in it this time.
He could feel her practically melting against him. Her long, graceful body had been all taut lines and harsh angles, sitting there, and now, the tension was flooding out of her. He could feel her relaxing against him, her desperate arms around his shoulders softening, her touch feather light on his arms. Her naked chest was resting easily against him, and Siarc could hear his heart hammering painfully loud, reverberating through his entire body, and he could only pray that the insistent rhythm was less obvious to her ears.
Fifteen seconds into the kiss, he felt her arms hesitantly snake into movement, one creeping around his shoulder and neck, her fingers running through his hair, the other sliding down to the front of his jacket; first, she clung there, steadying herself, and then, her actions slow, she began to undo the buttons. Her fingers quickly found their way inside his shirt, and Siarc gasped again at how warm she felt, warmth that fled into him. He pulled the girl closer, feeling her flinch as his hands accidentally grazed the welts across her back; he was drunk on the taste of her, the feel of her lips on his tongue, the spread of her hands on his chest, the length of her legs pushing against his as if trying to occupy the same space. His hands found purchase at her slender waist; hot, dizzying desire pulsing through him, he lifted Olivia until she sat straddling him, her tattered skirt pressed high, exposing long white legs, naked and inviting, folded against his thighs.
Somewhere in the back of his mind, it occurred to Siarc Tuplo that this was not at all what he’d meant to do in coming over to comfort the girl, crying for the loss of her home and herself. But as quickly as the thought came to him, it was chased away by the touch of her fingers at his waist, slowly, carefully unfastening the belt, and by the feel of her legs under his palms, sliding up under her skirt to the sweet curve of her hips.
***
Sometime later, they fell still, the lamp light burning low on the table beside the bed. Siarc’s heartbeat was ringing in his ears as he stared at the ceiling, Olivia pillowed on his chest. He watched her silhouette rise and fall as he breathed. The lamplight flickered, sending shadows dancing on the ceiling. Siarc watched them twist and glow.
Somewhere, outside the thick-curtained window, crickets hummed.
A small voice sounded at his chest, nudging him out of the comfortably drowsy haze wherein he’d been drifting for the last few minutes. “Siarc?”
“Mm.”
“You… you meant what you said, didn’t you? That you’d look after me?”
“Of course I will,” he said quietly.
“You promise? You’ll protect me, keep me safe?”
“I’ll do you one better.” Siarc stared at the flickering light on the ceiling, running idle fingers through her tangled yellow hair. “I promise that I’ll teach you how to keep yourself safe. I’ll make sure you know how to protect yourself. That way, if I kick it before you do, you won’t need to worry. How does that sound?”
“Isn’t this all a bit more than fulfilling your debt to me?”
She nuzzled against his chest; Siarc gasped silently, her faint, tantalizing touch sending a shiver through him that felt almost electric. “Well, maybe I’m doing it because I want to.”
Her smile melted against his skin. “Really?”
“Yes, of course.” Siarc closed his eyes, letting himself drift in a soporific haze. “You seem awfully full of questions. Any more?”
“Just one: why is it, again, that you don’t think I can look after myself?”
The question seemed so preposterous that Siarc didn’t quite register it at first. “I… what?” He opened one eye, staring down at her.
She looked up at him, her cool gray eyes pale in the lamp light, her smile cold, unfamiliar to him, and edged with subtle danger, like the edge of a sword. “To rephrase, Captain: tell me again that you think I don’t have the means to get what I want and what I need.”
It took a long space of time, Siarc staring down at Olivia, her chin resting on his chest, faintly devilish smile on her lips, to begin to process what she had just asked him, and even longer before he finally realized what she had just done.
She’d seduced him.
Hells, she’d made him think that he was doing her a favor.
He had asked her what she could do to get by, told her to show him how she would survive in the world, and without a second thought, she had done it.
Siarc couldn’t help it; a low chuckle broke out of him, the laughter quiet and easy but unstoppable. He watched Olivia watching him; she seemed to have taken in every step of his thought process and seemed content, now, that he knew exactly what had happened. There was an understanding between them for now, it seemed, a tenuous, curious understanding.
It was a good five minutes before Siarc spoke again, his dark eyes glinting with amused approval: “Shrewd.”
Olivia smiled that same, thin, metallic-edged smile, and turned away from him to sleep.