The Kraken King (43 page)
Dregs and hell.
He couldn’t lose control again. Not here. He hadn’t even descended from the clouds to determine whether their position was safe.
He couldn’t lose control again. Not here. He hadn’t even descended from the clouds to determine whether their position was safe.
Slowing the desperate need took all the strength he had. His cock was a solid aching stone. When he stopped rocking against her, the roll of her hips as she urged him on again was torture.
The passion in her kiss became frustration. Her fingers twisted in his hair.
“I know,” he said roughly against her lips, then gentled and deepened his kiss.
It wasn’t just desire between them. Not just lust. Did she know he would have done anything to find her? That he would never let her go?
Ariq told her now with this kiss. When he lifted his head, her breath shuddered and her jade eyes were bright with unshed tears. Her hand cupped his jaw.
Her voice was thick. “Good morning.”
He grinned and kissed her again. But the need was still too sharp, the arousal too hot. It slammed through him and he felt her instant response in the clenching of her thighs around his waist, in her soft pleading moan.
Tearing his mouth from hers, he buried his face in the crook of her neck and shoulder. “When we’re back to the Red City, I’m going to slide into you as deep as I can, then have you so hard and so long that we’ll need three days in bed just to recover.”
She gave a breathless laugh that suddenly quieted. He lifted his head. Her lower lip was pinched between her teeth, her expression uncertain.
About returning to the Red City? Or spending the time in his bed? “What worries you?”
The uncertainty cleared and she shook her head. But it must have been something. Probably the return. Not the time in his bed. She’d been married—
No, she hadn’t.
His thoughts ground to a halt. He hadn’t given much thought to her confession, but now he remembered: She’d only pretended to be a widow to stop Helene from asking why she was still unmarried.
But that didn’t mean Ariq was her first. Her age wasn’t much younger than his. “Have you bedded other men?”
She scowled at him. “That’s hardly an appropriate question.”
Usually he’d agree. But he didn’t want to hurt her. Every touch tested his control. By the time they reached the Red City, he’d be a rutting beast.
As he watched her, pink flooded her skin. Perhaps that was answer enough.
“I’ll be gentle,” he told her.
She balled her fist and thumped his shoulder. “Blast you.”
He laughed. Despite her words and that soft punch, she didn’t seem angry. Just irritated. And she was still beneath him, her thighs still cradling his hips, and didn’t seem in a rush to push him off.
“Why?” It wasn’t Ariq’s place to ask that either, but if Zenobia didn’t want to tell him, she wouldn’t. “If everyone thought you were a widow, why didn’t you?”
“With whom?” Her scowl deepened. “How could I know he wouldn’t be an assassin waiting for my brother to visit? Or that he wasn’t after me for the same reasons the pirates are, and just preferred seduction to abduction? After everyone learned of my brother’s fortune, and that his sister was writing the adventures, do you know how many men I’ve received letters from? How many showed up at my doorstep? Who could I trust enough to take to my bed?”
Ariq couldn’t stop his grin. She was trusting
him
enough to.
him
enough to.
Her cheeks scarlet, she thumped his shoulder again. “This is different.”
“How?”
“I want you,” she said baldly. “And I would have even without trust. I intended to visit your bed in Krakentown.”
Before she’d heard his brother’s damnable insult. “Why then?”
“Because you didn’t know who I was. So you couldn’t have wanted me for money.” She turned her face to the side, as if suddenly embarrassed. As if suddenly uncertain again. “So you would have been . . . an adventure.”
Then she would have been gone—leaving his town for the Red City.
Except maybe her plans would have changed. Ariq had intended to court her before the marauders’ threat forced him to leave his town, too. Perhaps if he’d been able to, she might have stayed.
And yet here she was, his wife anyway.
He brushed his thumb across her trembling lips. “This hasn’t been the adventure you expected.”
“No.” When she met his gaze, her emerald eyes had filled again. Her voice was strained. “A part of me just wants to go home.”
She would leave him?
Denial sliced open his chest. Ariq held it in, but his throat felt raw as he asked, “And the other part?”
“Desperately wants to know why I would need three days to recover.”
Relief and surprise shot through him. He dropped his face to her neck again, muffling his laughter. Hers joined in, and she shook beneath him.
He kissed her again before giving her the dagger she’d asked for and forcing himself to his feet. Ariq felt her curious gaze as he began to crank the electrostatic charger. When fully wound, he could set the rotation rate. The more quickly that electric pulses were sent up the wires to the dome overhead, the more frequent the contractions through the translucent bell, and the faster the speed of their flight.
But she didn’t ask about the lantern fish. “How did you know where to find us?”
Because Ariq had fought under Ghazan Bator for most of his life. “I knew the general wouldn’t stay where he was.”
“How did you know
where
he went, though? Did you persuade the admiral to tell you where the ironship was headed?”
where
he went, though? Did you persuade the admiral to tell you where the ironship was headed?”
Did she imagine Ariq torturing the older man? He might have, if it would have achieved anything. Or one of the guards. But those aviators had their own code of honor, and every man aboard that airship would have died rather than reveal anything to him.
“I knew that after they realized I was no longer on the airship, they would send a messenger to tell Ghazan Bator. So when they sent a flyer to the ironship, I followed him.”
Confusion furrowed her brow. “But no messenger arrived with a . . .
Oh.
”
Oh.
”
“Yes,” Ariq said grimly. As soon as he’d been certain of the flyer’s heading, he’d shot the man down. If the message had arrived, Ghazan Bator would have known Ariq was coming, and would have been better prepared for him.
She sat up, pencil and knife in hand, and began to sharpen the tip. “How did you escape the airship? Did they put in to port and let you out of the vault? Seems rather reckless of them.”
“It was.” Letting him out of the vault had been, anyway. He didn’t need to tell her the rest.
“Then you stole a jellyfish?”
“I borrowed it.”
She arched her brow, as if asking whether there was a difference.
Amused, he said again, “Borrowed. It belongs to a naturalist. I told him my wife had been abducted and I needed a swift balloon that could be easily concealed. So I asked him for the use of his, and promised to return it and pay him.”
“And he simply agreed.”
“Yes.”
“Did you know him?”
“No. But he knew of me.”
“Ah. You scared him.”
A little. Ariq had that effect. Yet that wasn’t why the naturalist had agreed. And with anyone else, Ariq could have just said that the man had been a resident of these islands while the Nipponese and the Golden Empire had waged their war, and that would be explanation enough.
It would mean little to Zenobia, though. She and Ariq were from different sides of the world. She wouldn’t know why the naturalist had been glad of the opportunity to thwart a Nipponese admiral any more than Ariq would know anything about the town where she’d been born. He didn’t even know the name of the province she’d lived in, or who ruled over them, or which language gave her French that guttural bite.
But he knew Zenobia—and that she would rather understand the full history than be given an incomplete explanation.
He eyed her pencil. “Do you intend to take notes? I’ll tell you why he let me borrow it, but there’s much to write.”
“That’s fine.” Pursing her soft lips, she blew a shaving from the lead tip. “I like stories about escapes. Though it seems easier to steal a balloon than borrow one.”
“It would be. And more noticeable. If I’d stolen a balloon, someone would mention the theft when Tatsukawa came to the island to search for me. I didn’t want him to know where to look next.”
He’d learned that while fighting with the rebellion. It was always better to ask, and to let people help. They were far more likely to keep their silence afterward.
Especially since Tatsukawa hadn’t borrowed the flyer his messenger had used. The admiral hadn’t had one on his airship, so his aviators had commandeered one at the port. The people on the island would always remember that.
“I’ve never considered borrowing. I always make my heroes steal.” Dismay chased over her expression, followed by wry amusement. “But they’re never caught, because they’re
very
clever.”
very
clever.”
“Or your villains are fools.”
She responded to his teasing with a narrowed glare. With a disdainful sniff, she put her pencil to the paper. “Then enlighten me, O Mighty Rebel.”
Ariq grinned. One day, he would make her call him that in bed. But for now, both her bludgeon and her pencil were too close to her hands—and although her villains might be fools, Ariq was not. So he kept that thought to himself and enlightened her, instead.
XXZenobia liked stories about escapes. She didn’t like plot holes, and the description of Ariq’s escape contained one the size of a kraken. Why had Admiral Tatsukawa needed to
arrive
at an island before searching for him? The only explanation was that Ariq had escaped from the airship when it was somewhere else—namely, still over the ocean. She doubted that a boat had anchored beneath the airship and Tatsukawa’s men simply failed to notice Ariq climbing down a ladder.
arrive
at an island before searching for him? The only explanation was that Ariq had escaped from the airship when it was somewhere else—namely, still over the ocean. She doubted that a boat had anchored beneath the airship and Tatsukawa’s men simply failed to notice Ariq climbing down a ladder.
Which left only a few options. And in each one, Ariq ended up in the sea, swimming.
So he could rescue her.
It was the only plot hole that had ever filled her with giddy delight. Oh, she was
such
a fool. Stories ended, and so did adventures—but life continued on. Theirs would, too. Ariq might stay in the Red City long enough to clear up the mess that their abduction had caused, but surely he would soon have to return to Krakentown. Zenobia was obligated to stay until she saw Helene settled and safe. Then she would go home to Fladstrand.
such
a fool. Stories ended, and so did adventures—but life continued on. Theirs would, too. Ariq might stay in the Red City long enough to clear up the mess that their abduction had caused, but surely he would soon have to return to Krakentown. Zenobia was obligated to stay until she saw Helene settled and safe. Then she would go home to Fladstrand.
But this adventure wasn’t over yet. She was still hundreds of miles out to sea, flying above the waves in a jellyfish balloon.
After days of gray, the ocean was a deep blue again. Sunlight danced over the swells, stinging tears from her eyes that the wind whipped back to soak the hair at her temples. The blanket around her shoulders flapped wildly behind her. She’d known few airships that could travel so swiftly—and those were powered by engines. But this . . . she couldn’t look up without being amazed all over again.
From the top of the dome to the rim, the gelatinous mass overhead rhythmically thickened and thinned, as if swimming through the air. Short, gleaming tentacles hung from the translucent body like tassels on a lamp shade. Ariq had told her that war lanterns possessed longer tentacles with venomous stings, which often killed more soldiers within the balloons than the venom killed enemies. But this lantern had been designed for travel, not battle.
Three paces long on each side, the basket was just large enough that two people could ride comfortably, whether sitting or standing.
Or while lying on top of each other.
Her cheeks heated. Her windblown hair swept forward, tangled curls waving like two flags along either side of her face as she looked away from the jellyfish’s pulsating body. Ariq stood at the center of the basket winding the electrostatic charger again. The faster they went, the more often he had to crank it. The rush of the wind almost drowned out the clacking gears and plastered his tunic against the sculpture of his broad chest. Feet braced apart, he rotated the crankshaft overhead, all wide shoulders and flexing muscle.
A sigh of pleasure moved through her. She probably shouldn’t have fallen in love with him. Of all the idiotic, reckless things she might have done, surely that was at the top of the list. But here she was.
And it was rather marvelous. Her heart was an overfilled inkwell. She couldn’t keep up with the spill. There were words she could write with that ink, phrases that might describe the sensation of his touch or the sound of his voice, but as soon as she captured the right ones they were obliterated by the overflow. No description could capture the joy and pleasure of simply watching him. Or the anguish, too, in the icy lump at the corner of her heart that knew the end of this adventure would come too soon.
But she could push that aside for now. She could drown every doubt. There would be time enough for those later.
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