Page 81 of The Temptation of Roan Island

“You can.” He crosses to me and tugs on the belt. “Are you at least naked underneath, Mrs. Roan?”

“You gave me an order.”

“And you listened?” He unknots the robe, and it falls open, revealing my naked body. “Ah, such a good wife.” He licks his lips, laughs, and pulls me toward the breakfast tray. “Be good again for me and eat something. We need to keep up our strength.”

I sit down, eyeing the tray filled with food. He smirks as he kneels in front of me, spreading the robe and pushing open my legs.

“W-what are you doing?” I ask. “I thought we were going to eat.”

“Oh, I’m going to do more than eat.” His tongue scrapes against one fang. “I’m going to feast.”

Before I can protest more, he’s kissing between my legs, dragging his lips over my clit, tracing his tongue over my lips, nicking my thigh with his fangs. My breath comes in heavy pants as I squeeze the armrests.

He stops and looks up at me. “Be a good girl and eat, or I’ll stop.”

“I can’t eat while you’re…”

He scoops some porridge onto his fingers and shoves them into my mouth. “Suck.”

I whimper as he puts pressure on my tongue, swallowing the sweet taste down. He does it again before returning his attention to the area between my legs. I suck off every drop as he laps at my center, flat tongue scraping over my clit again and again. His fingers drag down my chest to tease my nipple, and I cry out. “Y-yes! O-oh!”

Pleasure crests into something euphoric, and just as the wave is receding, he pierces my skin, taking one long draw of blood that sends me right over the edge again. “Maiah!”

I’m still shaking as he kisses his way up my body to seize my mouth. “You taste so good, wife.”

He picks me up and repositions me on his lap. He holds a spoonful of porridge to my lips, and I’m too content and exhausted to protest as he feeds me. I match him bite for bite, a spoon to his mouth and a berry to his lips for every one to mine. Another intimate experience that feels like so much more than friendship or sexual desire.

Hope swells inside me. I try to temper the buoyancy of my floating heart, but selfish and needy, I don’t have the will to return to more solid ground. Not while I’m in Shemaiah’s arms.

33

PIPPA

We’ve spent the last three days much like that first full day on the airship. Always together, touching, fucking, laughing, whispering stories of our pasts. The only thing we’ve avoided talking about is the future. I’ve felt healthier than I have in years. More energy, less achy. It seems Noah’s theory about Mavarri venom thinning my blood might be working. And that beast called Hope rests in my heart like a butterfly, fragile, but alive.

This morning, the Starburst landed at New Caldon Port. I’m standing on the observation deck, trying to see down to the platform below us where a group of children wait to board. The captain has secured us turnaround passage, so we don’t need to disembark.

“I can’t see them.” My dainty handkerchief bunches between my fingers. I’ve wanted to be reunited with my son for so long, yet this waiting feels worse than every day before. He feels so close, but he’s not yet in my arms.

“They’ll board soon. Come.” Shemaiah leads us to a bench where I can see the doorway. But sitting still is difficult.

“A little longer.” Shemaiah squeezes my hand.

I find his gaze, then grasp his face between my palms. “Thank you, Maiah.” I kiss him, unconcerned that anyone might see.

No one from that first dinner has bothered us again or dared to speak ill of either of us. At least not to our faces. They can say whatever they want behind my back. I couldn’t care less. Not when I know how much Shemaiah feels for me. It might not be love—not yet—and it might never be, but what we’ve carved out together these past few days is special and real.

A ruckus from the doorway draws my attention away from Shemaiah. Children stream into the room, their eyes wide with shock as they take in the luxury of the space. They look like vagabonds, in mismatched clothing, some with patched knees and elbows, but all of them are neat and clean, taken care of as much as funds allow, it would seem. My gaze bounces from one child to the next.

While I was at The Sanatorium, they would bring Toby to visit me every week, but it’s been so long since I’ve seen him I’m unsure if I’ll even recognize him. Will he recognize me? I can picture his curly blond locks, his bluer than blue eyes, his small face sprinkled with freckles and bright pink cheeks.

I catch sight of a child with light blonde hair, and my heart beats a little louder, but when I rise on my tiptoes, I see it’s a girl. The boy next to her pulls her braid and is promptly scolded by the woman accompanying them.

“Pippa?” Shemaiah asks. “Do you see him?”

I shake my head, my hope landing on a cold branch inside me, wings dipping with dread.

My hand still in his, Shemaiah leads me toward an official-looking man in a drab suit and bowler hat.