I recognize, also, that Stork would’ve chosen me had I not stolen his gods-damned sword. He was sour that I’d taken something else from him, but I promised that I’d be holding on to the weapon while he’s drinking himself to oblivion.
Franny peeks over her shoulder, then whispers softly to me, “If Stork is loose-lipped in bed, maybe he’ll tell me about Earth.”
I chew a toothpick in half and spit the pieces out. “In bed?” I deepen my voice to keep from shouting.
Her heart-shaped face is perpetually hot these days, and not from her mighty scowl. She lifts her chin, appearing taller. “Not bedding. I’d never bed a soul just for a bit of information.” Hurt pricks her body, thinking that I’d think that of her.
Regret stings me like a winter’s curse. I scratch my neck. Not sure how to go about any of this with Franny. She’s been a mess of feelings around Stork—feelings that I shouldn’t try to make sense of or dredge up. They’re hers to feel, and most don’t concern me.
Her brows scrunch. “Mykal?”
“I’ll be telling you straight,” I whisper. “Whoever is in your bed tonight better be treating you like a damned princess.”
A faint smile toys at her lips and then vanishes in a thought. “This is the longest I’ve gone without another body on mine.”
Her longing for more affection has caused frustrations. She’s missing a need. Court has tried to talk to me about it once, and I wouldn’t hear it. Stubborn, I thought bedding comes last.
She’ll be finding love first. Like Court and I.
Sensing her for so long, I’ve been feeling how wrong I was and how right Court is. We’re all different, and I worry she’s been pushing aside this urge because of us. Never thought I’d be the reason Franny would be so unsatisfied.
“Franny,” I whisper, “if you need another body—”
“I don’t,” she says adamantly. “I don’t. I’m not putting you and Court through that.” Because we’d sense the other person …
I’m not the one who’s been heating her blood. Clawing through each word, I tell her what needs to be said. “Don’t be thinkin’ about us—”
“That’s impossible. You know that’s impossible.” She groans. We both breathe heavily, more defeated, and we’ve only just begun.
My nose flares, kicking myself for doing this all backward and inside out.
Back in our barracks, Court stands pin straight, his grim concern hanging over our talk.
Franny shifts, her face twisting up. “You’d be okay with me being touched by someone else?”
A beast is gnawing on my ribs. I grimace and run my hand along my jaw. Knowing this isn’t about me. It can’t be because if they treat her right and she’s wanting, then who am I to say otherwise?
“See,” she whispers, feeling my selfish emotion that I’d rather crush and hide.
“I said nothing, little love.” I rub my hot collar. “You need to be satisfied, don’t you?”
“I’m all right.” She nods.
Is she?
“Don’t worry,” Franny says as the door behind her starts to crack. Before it opens, she whispers quickly, “There’s no one here I’d want to touch me.” Her stomach isn’t knotting in a lie, but a bout of nerves swarms her insides.
I think she’s doing a good job of fooling herself.
NINETEEN
Franny
When I enter Stork’s barracks, he makes himself a drink. Captain’s quarters are more spacious: a liquor cabinet spans a whole dark-blue wall, thin bookshelf hugging close. Seems silly. Get sloshed and then read.
But maybe those are just two of Stork’s favorite things in no real order: read and drink.
Besides the liquor and books, I instantly spot another glaring difference. Instead of four beds, there is only one.
I assess the size. Two bodies could fit without entangling. Three bodies, and limbs will definitely be wrapped around limbs.
Toasty, I waft my damp tunic and blame the heat on the room temps. Nothing about tonight is too strange from my ordinary. Sharing a bed is common for most Fast-Trackers. Though I had my own bunk at the orphanage, I remind myself to do what I’d commonly do.
Claim the bed before someone pushes you out.
I plop down on the end, and the plush but bouncy mattress lets out an uncomfortable squeak. I fiddle with my crisscrossed sandal straps, and as Zimmer sidles to me, we’re both zeroed in on Stork. Zimmer was the one out of the Saga 4 who volunteered to spend the night here. I’m glad, seeing as I’ve already shared a bed with him at StarDust.
Stork pours amber liquid in a cylindrical glass. A little more than half full, he finishes and corks the crystal bottle. I watch him down the drink in one gulp.
Zimmer leans into me and whispers, “He’s sloshed.”
Still, Stork is far from stumbling or slurring. He carries the same cocky poise that hoists his lip and tips his head, but his gaze is unreadable. All the liquor seems to do is mask a pained sorrow that swims in his blue eyes.
My brows knit and I whisper back, “I think he’s in mourning.” And he’s coping poorly, numbing his grief with booze.
“Whatever mourning is, he’s doing a bang-up job of it.” Zimmer grips the back of his black shirt and yanks the fabric off his head.
I hone in on his casual movements and half-naked body.
My knees knock together, breath shallow. After dodging my deathday, I had no time to think of doing anything at night other than sleep. Now should be no different.
But I can’t halt my wandering gaze from traveling down his tall, lanky build. Shaggy brown hair shrouds his eyes while he undoes a button of his slacks, carefree and unrestrained. He pushes hair out of his face, and I catch him skimming my cheeks and bare legs.
Bad heat brews, and I chew on the corner of my lip to cool off and I continue unbuckling my footwear. Quickly diverting my gaze to Stork.
He’s looking right at me.
And he untwists the leather binding along his biceps and forearms. Confidence and curiosity teeming off his being. Muscle ripples down his bare chest, and his thighs, strong like the rest of him, peek from leather strips of his skirt.
I retrace my path back to his sharpened jaw and mouth—and his lip hikes up at me. “Need anything, dove?”
“Sleep.” I shoot him a scowl, but nerves flap in my belly.
He waves mockingly to the bed.
I kick off a sandal, hoping it’ll come close to his face. It thuds miserably at his feet.
Zimmer laughs.
Agitation, I name my emotion. Feisty irritations and frustrations that have nothing to do with wanting Stork’s hands on me.
I can imagine what his lips would feel like against mine. I can think he’s handsome. But I cannot feel those things. Court and Mykal will sense hands and legs like they’re in bed with us too. Mykal said, Don’t be thinkin’ about us. But his unsettled emotion unsettled me.
Sickness churns at the thought of putting them through that, just for a little bit of pleasure.
Adding distance between me and Stork, I scuttle back to the wooden headboard and wrestle with the bra contraption under my tunic. Why humans also wear pointless bras is beyond me, and these ones crisscross and bind like their purpose is to suffocate and torture.
Zimmer steps out of his slacks. “It fykking feels like three hells in here.”
Stork unties a pouch attached to his skirt’s waistband. “You’re a Fast-Tracker,” he says to Zimmer, less of a question, more of a casual observation. One that I’m sure he made earlier tonight.
I slow my lousy attempts to remove my bra, more engrossed in Stork. He cradles the leather pouch with such care, and he nestles the little bag between two books on his shelf.
Since he has all the answers, what’s important to him is important to me.
The mattress suddenly undulates beneath me, Zimmer jumping onto the bed and lying flat on the other side. “I’d like to think my charm gave me away”—he places his hands behind his head�
��“but it was the fykking word fyke, wasn’t it?”
I smash a pillow and barely hear Stork’s easygoing response. My attention veers to his movements. How he snatches a taupe linen cloth off a silver hook. Coolly, he turns his back to us, and with the snap of a bronze clip, he removes his military skirt. Buck-naked before tying the linen around his waist.
Stork spins around, facing us again, and my face sears, too distracted from why I volunteered to sleep here in the first place. Interrogation. Maybe he won’t divulge anything about Earth just yet, but if I press about his life, he could accidentally spill some secrets.
He’s about to keep talking, but I interject, “Are you coupling with anyone?”
What.
Did.
I.
Just.
Ask?
Of all the questions in the universe that I could blurt out, I choose one that glimmers his eyes with smugness and brings amusement to his lips.
I blister. “So are you or aren’t you?” I’m not retreating.
Zimmer listens in, propping himself on his elbows.
“Why don’t you tell me what Saltarian coupling involves, and I’ll see if I’m doing it,” Stork says with a rising smirk. He kicks back on the wall, nonchalant and haughty all at once.
I’ve never coupled, but I’ve driven too many around the snowy city. And I’ve seen and felt what Court and Mykal share. “Coupling is about loyalty and love,” I start.
Stork nods, mockingly so.
I hesitate but continue on, “Depending on the couple, sometimes kissing.”
“What’s kissing?” he teases, his smile overtaking his face.
I catch on and glower. “You already know what coupling is, don’t you?”
He scrunches his brows as mine knot. “I never said I didn’t.”
I groan and chuck a pillow at him, landing a ways off. “You implied it!”
“You assumed it.” He laughs once and sweeps my reddened face. “And I haven’t ‘coupled’ before.” He wags two fingers on each hand. Seems oddly suggestive.
I swallow hard, pulse thumping low. Gods, no.
Not now.
Not him.
I try to extinguish a building swelter. I’m hot from hate. Hate is hot. I repeat the thought over and over again.
My jaw clenches—not me. Court. He’s sitting up in bed, a book half-opened on his thigh. If I could mutter without appearing strange, I’d mouth words like—I feel nothing but anger and I’m all right—just so he could read my lips through our link.
I’m not feeding any selfish desires tonight or any night with Stork. Court shouldn’t worry. I do my best to send this promise through my emotions.
He’s still gritting down.
Nostrils even flare—Mykal.
I tuck my legs to my chest. The link is a burden some days.
“Earth to Franny,” Stork says loudly.
I flinch. “What?”
He’s smiling. “You spaced out.”
Zimmer yawns into his bicep. “She does that a fykking ton.”
I swear to the gods, Stork is staring right through me. Clasping my gaze with too much knowingness, he says, “I bet she does.”
“Why?” I ask.
He lifts his brows, opens his mouth, and then shuts his lips with a bitter smile. Gods, some sort of answer is on his tongue. He mutters a halfhearted, “Because why not?”
“What were you like as a child?” I ask.
He loosely crosses his arms, features indecipherable. I blame the booze he chugged. “What was I ‘like’ as a kid?” He does the two-finger wag again.
Zimmer notices. “Where I come from, you must be asking for someone’s knees to drop and hands to—”
“They’re air quotes.” Stork almost laughs. “Lord, don’t overthink it.”
Zimmer slouches against the headboard. “No problem for me, Storky. Overthinking is for Influentials.”
“Did you always want to be a C-Jay?” I question while constructing a pillow mound between me and Zimmer.
Stork straightens off the door and measures out another drink. “What was your job on Saltare-3?”
I want to answer, but my tongue is tied. Wordless noise in my throat. Maybe his evasiveness pressures me to do the same and safeguard my heart. And all that I love about myself.
Zimmer gives me a strange look. “Why wouldn’t you tell him about your job?” His voice and eyes soften, and I doubt Stork heard him.
“Leverage,” I whisper, even though this is only a fragment of what I feel. “He’s not telling me anything about him, so he won’t learn anything about me.” Earlier in the night, I explained to Zimmer how Stork knows about me. My birth and all else, but Stork is being tight-lipped so we’ll help with this mission.
Nodding, Zimmer bows forward. “Heya, Stork. Who raised you?”
“Why are you asking?” Stork swigs his drink and licks liquor off his lips.
“I like to know the bare minimum about my bedmates. Occupation, deathday—because no fykking way is someone dying in my bed—and parents who raised you, are they dead or alive.”
“Dead.” Stork raises his glass and finishes off the last sip.
“Question answered,” Zimmer tells me with a wiseass smile, and then he topples my pillow barricade. Chucking them behind our heads.
“Heya, I put those there for a reason.” I retrieve one and pound the pillow back between us, intensifying Zimmer’s confusion.
“All that does is shrink the bed,” Zimmer says, “and there are three of us—”
“Two,” Stork corrects. “I’m not your bedmate, mate. I’m taking the floor.” He sets his empty glass in his liquor cabinet.
“Why?” Zimmer and I say in unison.
I trust Stork. The thought slams at me. I trust Stork enough to sleep in the same bed as him.
Despite his caginess, the parts of me that screeched, be wary of him, Franny! have gradually waned.
Maybe because at StarDust, I feared people learning that we dodged our deathdays—and I was cautious of every candidate, putting all of them at a distance. Even Gem Soarcastle, even Zimmer. No matter how much I liked them, I was afraid they would discover we lived when we should’ve died and they’d turn on us.
All of that has drastically changed.
Now we’re all on the same side with the same goal. And Stork is included in that unifying feeling. He could’ve sent the Saga 4 packing. It would’ve been safer for the fleet to oust a handful of bludraders.
Instead, he let them stay.
As much as he can, he’s been trying to work with us and not against us.
Stork is just as surprised by our response as I am. “You’d want me to sleep in the same bed as you?”
“Should I retract the offer?” I question. Sweat drips down my neck, and to ignore the roasting, I try to adjust my bra beneath my tunic.
He smiles softly. “Only if you want to.”
Zimmer clears the last of the pillow mound. “Here. The bed is big enough for five bodies.”
I gape. “Three at most.” He’s too used to sleeping on a mattress crammed with people. I try to recollect the pillows, but Zimmer starts throwing them on the floor.
On his side.
“Give that back,” I snap.
He fixes himself in place, lying back on his forearms, and his smile is as humored as the one Stork constantly wears.
“You two have slept together before,” Stork suddenly states. He’s been studying our interactions.
“Plenty of times. Every night.” Zimmer shrugs.
“Every night?” Stork whistles, looking impressed.
Why would he be impressed by sleep?
My brows furrow. “Sleeping together … what does it mean on Earth?”
Stork nears the bed. “It means sex.”
Zimmer and I exchange a confused look, and Stork sighs into a tight laugh. “Right.” He nods. “I mean bedding—”
“What?!” I shout.
Zimmer busts out in
full-bellied laughs, falling onto his back. The bed bounces.
I narrow a glare onto Stork. “Why in the hells would people call bedding sleeping together? Do humans like being downright confused all the time?”
Stork smiles. “Context is queen, dove.” He eyes us. “So you haven’t bedded each other then?”
Zimmer controls his laughter and shakes his head. “No, we’re better as non-bedding friends.”
I wholeheartedly agree, but when I look to Stork, he’s staring more intently at me. It unnerves me. Sweltering again all over, and I look away.
I ache below, imagining Stork caressing my body and stroking my skin in a deep kiss that’d push my build up against his. I picture his strong hands trying to tame my frenzied movements.
I’d devour him whole if I could. But …
I don’t want to. I don’t. I don’t.
I don’t.
I sense Mykal; he grunts gruffly, his frustrations mounting on top of mine.
“You look distressed,” Stork tells me, his knee on the edge of the bed.
“I’m not,” I snap back. Too hot, my tunic sticks to my chest, and with the layer of sweat, there’s no hope freeing my breasts from my bra tonight.
He rounds the bed. Walking away from me, he nears Zimmer’s side, and then kicks the pillows into a line. “I’m taking the floor tonight.”
I relax.
Zimmer sees and gawks at me like I’ve transformed into a skittish winter hare. “We’d keep to ourselves.”
“I didn’t think you wouldn’t.” I’m afraid I’d want more—I don’t.
I don’t.
And who even says he’d be welcoming of the more I’d want?
Rolling the heavy blue covers down, I slip under the sheet and lie with my back to Zimmer.
“Franny—”
“I’m trying to sleep,” I say, more sad than fiery. Trying to understand why this emotion has suddenly descended is too hard. All I know is that I’d rather feel nothing at all.
* * *
Late in the night, I’m wide-awake.
Court and Mykal can’t sleep. Tension pulls taut as they force space between their bodies. Hot breath and aching and yearning, and yet they say no.
The Last Hope Page 16
