Devon Monk - Tin Swift

He took another step. And then he spread one palm against the wall behind her, needing the cold, rough rock to remind him this wasn’t a dream. Wasn’t a promise for anything more than this.

And this was simply now.

“Mae,” he said again. He stood so tight to her, she had to tip her face up to meet his eyes. If either of them moved just an inch, they would be touching. He held himself steady, straining to give her even that much space. “If you say no…”

She shook her head. Then, quietly. “I’m not saying no.”

Cedar leaned down and slipped his hand around her waist so that he could draw her the last fraction of distance toward him.

Even through the layers of her day dress and wrapped in a blanket, she was soft, warm, supple in his arms. He pulled her up closer against his chest, hips, thighs. She melted there, as if savoring, hungering for the sudden, needful contact.

Cedar did not remove his palm from the wall. He didn’t dare chance it. For if he did, he would gather her up, and take her away. To a land of his choice, a place where he could guard her, keep her, love her.

The beast in his mind keened for that freedom.

But Cedar was not about to let the beast, his curse, have any sway over his thoughts, his body, his desires. Mae, for this single moment, was his. He wouldn’t let anything take this moment away from him.

He lowered his head, heard her breath hitch in her chest, then tasted the sweet tea and honey of her exhale on his lips.

With more gentleness than he thought he could contain, he brushed his lips across hers, wanting more, so much more, and telling himself that this brief touch, this trembling knowledge between them, might be all they would ever share. All she was willing to give him.

The tiniest sound escaped her throat, and her lips softened, opened, welcoming him into her warmth.

Cedar shifted his attention to her mouth and slid his tongue to stroke slowly along hers. Fire licked his belly, tightening him with need.

It had been years since he had kissed a woman. Years since he had touched a woman. Years since he had cared. So long, he had been sure he would never love again.

Mae’s hands dragged without hesitation along his ribs, then up his back, where she clutched the fabric of his shirt in her fists.

She gave herself to the kiss, to him. Her lips, her tongue, urged him to explore. And offered him pleasure in return.

Cedar gave to her willingly.

He would give her so much more. Anything she asked for.

But soon, far too soon, Mae placed one hand on his chest and pressed there. He knew he had to let her go. Had to break this kiss.

Their only kiss.

With one last lingering touch, Cedar reluctantly drew his mouth away from hers.

She was on tiptoe, one hand still tucked up behind his back, the blanket around her held in place only by his arm across her back. There was no light in the hall. But Cedar didn’t need light. He would know her, see her even if he were a blind man.

“I think,” she breathed, her hand on his back still holding strong as if she wished she would never have to let go, even as her palm on his chest pushed him away. “We need time. Some. Time. When my mind is clear. When I’m myself again. After the sisters’ call is gone. Then.”

She was searching for understanding in his eyes. Her cheeks were flushed, her lips wet and swollen. He knew he needed to put her on her feet. Needed to let her free.

It was the last thing he wanted to do.

Mate , the beast within him whispered.

The truth of it resonated through him.

Cedar closed his eyes, inhaling the scent of her one last time. And then he carefully set her back on her feet. Once he knew she was stable, he pulled his arm away. Lastly, he drew his palm away from the stone wall, and stood there, too empty for the world full of wants that warred inside him.

Mae straightened her dress, straightened the blanket around her, not looking at him.

He could not look away from her.

He thought she’d walk back to her bunk. That this was done.

But instead, she reached out and touched his hand that was loosely fisted at his side.

“It’s been a long road,” she said, “and it will be longer still ahead of us. I don’t want to walk it without you. Don’t want to arrive at the end and find you gone.”

“You won’t,” he said simply.

Mate.

Mae nodded, then headed back to the sleeping area, leaving Cedar in the cool echo of the hallway, alone.

Rose loved the feel of the wind on her face, loved even more the heat and strength of Captain Hink’s arms around her.

He had paused just outside the blind of rocks that hid the doorways to the caverns from the open landing area.

It was dark out, but not raining. In the shift of clouds over the deep ink sky, she could make out two ships crouched on the landing flats. The larger ship was a hulking silhouette that looked like a wooden frigate, the inflatable envelope above it lashed by lines to the ship’s hull below. There were no long, spindly trawling arms sticking off it. Instead, alongside the bottom of the hull were long, wide sleds that looked a little like extra large canoes attached to the vessel.

In comparison to that ship, the Swift looked tiny.

It was the first time Rose had really seen her from the outside. Built lean and narrow like a bullet, she was a smooth gray ghost with her pointed nose tipped ever so slightly up, as if she were yearning for the sky. The horizontal sails on her side, which were tucked in tight now, made her look even more like the bird she was named after. The only thing to spoil that look was the glim trawling arms extending straight up along her sides, the netting clicking and clacking as it rattled against the metal arms.

“There she is,” Captain Hink said. “My everything.”

“She’s beautiful,” Rose whispered with a sigh.

“She is. And fast. And strong.”

“Can we go to her? Go aboard?” Rose asked.

“You sure I haven’t worn you out yet?” he asked.

“No. Not at all. I’d love to see her. While I’m awake.”

“Well, then, welcome aboard, m’lady.” Captain Hink strode toward the Swift , every step jostling Rose and making her shoulder ache. But even though she hurt, the closer they came to that ship, the more her spirit lifted, the more she felt alive and happy.

“How long have you had her?” Rose asked.

“Oh, near three years now. Bought her from a pilot named Charity Senders. Her husband and she had built the Swift themselves. He had the deviser knack. The boilers, for one thing, are brilliance. Small, powerful. And making her out of tin skin keeps her light and tough. Not a single other ship out there like her. No place in this world.”

Rose smiled. She watched his face as he talked about his ship, and there was a light there, a joy that couldn’t be hidden by the night. Lee Hink loved this ship.

There was something about that kind of dedication in a man that made her like him all the more.

“Did Mrs. Senders retire?” Rose asked.

“Near as I know. Her husband was ill. Black lung. She decided to stay the ground to be with him for however long he still breathed.” He paused. They were so close to the ship now, the inflated envelope blocked out most of the sky above them.

He shook his head as he looked up at the Swift . “Takes a certain kind of love to give up a ship like this for someone,” he said. “I’m not sure that I’d have the will to do the same.”

“Maybe you just haven’t loved deeply enough, Captain,” Rose said.

He put one foot on the threshold and slipped a hand free to turn the door’s latch. “Likely you are correct, Miss Small. Not a lot of time for love when you’re riding the skies.”