Page 24 of Seven Oars (Rix Universe #3)

Theirs was as far from a normal relationship as Rosamma could have possibly imagined, let alone wanted.

Yet living without Fincros had become unthinkable.

Right or wrong, he made her world full. And she was greedy, selfish. She was reaching with both hands for the happiness and grasping it with her pale fingers.

She went to the Dome frequently, where he would find her and make her dizzy with feeling.

She gave up fighting herself. Life had denied her so many things, forcing her to accept her fate long ago. She’d cried a lot when she was younger, desperate to love and be loved, but that acute need had blunted with the passage of time.

Or so she’d thought. Until she met him.

Rosamma’s absences from the Cargo Hold didn’t go unnoticed.

“I was about to go check the Meat Locker for you,”

Gro said, her eyes probing.

“Where have you been?”

“At the Dome.”

She’d never hidden from Eze and Gro her trips to the Dome, but she’d never invited them along either, even before Fincros.

A solitary creature, she treasured her moments alone. Only being with one person could trump those, the one currently crashing her solo parties with the stars.

“You’re courting trouble, going around the station,” Gro said.

“It’s okay, Gro. Massar’s dead.”

Gro was hardly reassured. Eze said nothing, and her silence rang with speculation.

With no warning, Fawn barged in and barfed her guts out.

“Curse it, it’s something I ate,”

she complained, choking.

“Mayhap it’s something you smoked?”

Gro ventured, screwing up her face in distaste.

“I feel so sick. I’m dying!”

She barfed some more.

Rosamma couldn’t look at Fawn now without picturing her in the Habitat with Thilza and Xorris. Her cheeks warmed when she wondered if she looked as wanton when she was with Fincros.

Fawn didn’t die, but they all had to pitch in to clean up after her.

Gro was especially irritated.

“Every time you show up, it’s more work for us.”

“Help, not work,”

Fawn said from her pad in a thin voice.

“I’m your fellow countrywoman, hello!”

“You missed the bucket,”

Gro informed her.

“My head hurts. And you should be glad to have something to do. Y’all just sit here like lumps of lard all day. Crazy.”

Gro gave her a pointed look.

“Uh-huh. Unlike you, who’s constantly occupied.”

“Having fun is a lot of work.”

“Maybe sitting here with us would do you some good,”

Gro told her snidely.

“That cooch of yours will get blisters from overuse.”

Fawn chuckled.

“Nah, it’s all good. They love me. I get my toes sucked, how ‘bout that?”

“That sounds pretty gross,”

Gro replied.

Fawn pushed up on an elbow.

“Now that Phex got a sleeping node, I wonder if I can get him to invite me over.”

“Good luck with that.”

Gro sounded done with Fawn.

Eze pitched in and bickered with Fawn, but Rosamma tuned them out.

Phex had gotten a sleeping node.

She hadn’t known that.

First, the shift duties. Now, the sleeping node.

Because of Fincros, Rosamma had stopped pestering Phex about the distress signal, and now she had no idea what he was doing. Thoughts of escaping never left her mind, but the anguish Fincros stirred made her shy away from dwelling on their plans.

Her eyes shifted to the provisions shelf. It wasn’t self-replenishing. And the shrinking amount of potable water was becoming a concern.

Eze had assured them that they could drink what was in the filtration system if they ran out, but Rosamma had her doubts. Despite their cultural likeness, Eze had a Sakka body. She might be able to drink that slush and survive, whereas a human body’s response to this much contamination wouldn’t be pretty.

They’d need more than one bucket.

*****

No matter how hard Rosamma pretended to be all right, she was weakening. Weariness ate at her, blunting her wits and dulling awareness. She’d drift off against her will, sucked into a long, sticky slumber, only to wake up suddenly, with hours lost to her.

The last time it happened, she missed going to the Dome.

When she stirred awake, groggy and blinking at the lights in the Cargo Hold, a large figure loomed over her mat. His arms were crossed, and his scarred face unreadable.

The moment she met his gaze, he turned on his heels and left without a word.

“What was that?”

Gro asked, staring at the door through which Fincros had just passed.

“The Striker.”

Rosamma’s voice sounded drugged, like she was waking from anesthesia.

“I know who he is. What I don’t know is why he was here.”

“He was checking on us.”

He was checking on her.

“He stared at you while you slept. It was creepy. I hope he isn’t turning into another deviant like Massar, with a mutilation fetish.”

Rosamma’s face must’ve registered distress, because Gro quickly amended, “No, I don’t think he’s like Massar. He just made me uncomfortable.”

“Did he say anything?”

“Nothing. That’s what’s scary. What can he want?”

Eze studied Rosamma but said nothing.

Rosamma let her head fall back down.

“I have to go to the Meat Locker.”

“Oh, poor thing. Do you have to?”

Gro rubbed her forearm in short, comforting strokes.

“I’m afraid so. I feel so weak, Gro.”

“Would you like to eat something?”

Rosamma ate a little before forcing herself to leave the Cargo Hold.

The cold made her shiver, and vertigo returned with a vengeance. She needed energy badly, yet the prospect of “recharging”

against Father Zha-Ikkel made her want to retch.

No matter how urgent her need, the horror of being linked up with a headless, skinless corpse never faded. Maybe it was a good thing. Who wanted to develop that kind of immunity?

Eze followed her.

“The Striker knows you’re weakening, doesn’t he?”

she asked when they were in the passageway.

Rosamma nodded without looking at her.

“Do the other pirates know?”

“The other pirates? I don’t know. Why would they care?”

“Why would the Striker?”

Eze parried.

Rosamma stopped, her hand touching the lever on the Meat Locker’s door.

“I trust Striker Fincros not to hurt me,” she said.

Eze’s eyes were sharp on her face.

“Is that all?”

“What else is left to do?”

Eze looked away and shuffled her feet.

“Rosamma,”

she began, “if he forces himself on you, there’s nothing we can do, and I get that. But you don’t have to bear it alone. What little support we can give you, it’s yours. Please, know that.”

Rosamma sniffed.

“He isn’t forcing me, Eze.”

She pushed the lever and walked in, shutting herself inside.

She didn’t want to cry as she clipped the collar around her neck, but her tears refused to obey. She cried from revulsion and helplessness that forced her to sit here, feeding off of a dead man like some necrophiliac vampire, knowing—knowing—even this drastic, awful measure would not save her in the long run.

And she cried for Gro and Eze, imagining their disgust once they realized she and the Striker carried on in secret. She figured they would see her like Alyesha, someone who would betray her kind for personal gains and creature comforts.

Except Finn hadn’t promised her anything. And she hadn’t exchanged her favors for his protection. What they shared wasn’t transactional.

She recalled Alyesha instructing Sassa on how to use her femininity strategically.

But she didn’t have it in her to be strategic.

Love was a gift.

Her tears fell harder.

The door clanged as it opened, startling her.

He came inside without hesitation, lithe despite his size.

“Your eyes are leaking again,”

he observed.

She wiped them, aware she looked worn and disheveled.

“I can’t help it.”

“You’re upset.”

“I hate being here.”

“What choice do you have?”

he asked, vexing her with his reasonable tone.

“You’re growing weaker.”

“I’m well past my expiration date,”

she snapped, irrationally angry.

He didn’t like what she said. His brow furrowed. Back in the Habitat with the pirates, that frown would’ve sparked a fight. Here, he just lowered himself to sit beside her.

Gently, he smoothed her tangled hair that she had yet to re-braid. He dried her tears with his fingertips. Then he put his arms around her and pressed his lips to her forehead.

“Stay strong, stardust.”

“Strength isn’t part of my makeup, Fincros. You know. You know…”

“That’s not what I see.”

He made sure his body was between Rosamma and Father Zha-Ikkel.

She clung to him, drawing strength from his presence. From just being together. The two of them.

“Tell me something about yourself, Finn,”

she asked.

She’d asked him before, but he always dodged her questions.

“Will it improve your mood?”

“Maybe. I want to know more about you,”

she insisted.

He drew her closer, as if they weren’t fused already.

“You already know,”

he said.

“My life was the same before as it is now.”

“At that place, the Metalworks?”

“At the Metalworks. On missions.”

That surprised her.

“You flew pirate missions?”

Finn cocked his head and frowned, the expression rippling his features, arranging them into a fierce scowl highlighted by his ruined right side.

“Of course,”

he said.

“Someone had to patch shit together when things blew apart. Besides, my handler liked it when we flew the craft we worked on the ground. It was his way of motivating us to do a good job.”

He stretched out his legs.

“His name was Aerser. He ran Metalworks, and we were his slaves.”

Rosamma toyed with the ends of her hair.

“Did he… torture you?”

Finn’s trisected eyebrow quirked.

“Define torture.”

“Oh, Finn…”

He laughed and kissed her cold nose.

“He beat me, yeah. Aerser… He’d set out to train me. I didn’t want to be trained, so it made the next few years interesting.”

“And in the end?”

He grunted.

“I was still young, and he was a patient man.”

She could see why an old, seasoned pirate would be impressed with Fincros, even if it was for all the wrong purposes.

“You are such a formidable race,”

she said quietly.

“I hope that one day, you’ll go to Enzomora. You’d make a good defender.”

It seemed to have caught him off guard.

“The defenders will reject me for my past. Meaning, they will kill me on sight.”

His logic baffled her. He was one of the strongest, most seasoned—and most restrained—fighters. Even she could see that. Surely Rix higher-ups would see that, too?

“It’s not your fault you ended up on Sir-Sar!”

she tried to argue.

“Were you born there?”

He deflected.

“It won’t matter. I lived at a Rix pirate stronghold, and I did things that not just violate the defender code, but rub it in their noses. There’s no redemption.”

A faint sneer curled his lip.

“Neither do I want any. I’ve gone too far.”

A weight settled in Rosamma’s chest. Unlike her, Fincros truly had no place to land.

“Did you ever try to escape Sir-Sar?”

she asked quietly.

He withdrew a little, his attention shifting inward.

“At first, when I was younger. But after Aerser became my handler, I got too busy surviving. And then I grew up and became one of them,”

he said simply.

“I carry his wisdom in me, and I forever will.”

His gaze settled on her, intense.

“Despite the fact that I killed him.”

She recoiled.

“You what?”

His chuckle was low and dark.

“The explosion was epic, Rosamma. It lit up the sky. Aerser never made mistakes, except one: he forgot that we had grown up, Thilza and I.”

He fell silent.

“Thilza… he sees it differently. He’d never forgiven me for rigging Aerser’s craft. But that’s a story for another day.”

She gave him a light shove, exasperated.

“Why do you insist on being such an awful man?”

“You can never win if you just want to be left alone,”

he said slowly.

“Aerser taught me that lesson, and it was an easy one to learn. Always fight. If you don’t, someone else will end you.”

“It sounds like advice as terrible as the man who gave it,”

she said, snuggling back into his warmth. The freezer’s chill seeped through the cover she wrapped around herself. Another reason why she hated this place.

“It was great advice,”

Fincros smiled, a rare sight.

“I’ve lived by it ever since.”

Overcome by tenderness, she kissed him, but he pulled away.

“I am a wanted felon with no rights to a pardon,”

he warned her suddenly.

“You must always remember that.”

She gazed at him as if he were a distant star, full of fascinating secrets.

“I see more than a pirate in you,” she said.

“How you see me doesn’t change the things I’ve done,”

he whispered across her mouth.

“Doesn’t change what I’ll do, because, stardust, life is a battle.”

He kissed her back, a seeking, open-mouthed kiss that made her drunk.

With him, she was complete. As a woman, as a person.

Months had now passed since their capture, though she’d lost count. It felt like a lifetime.

What was it that Fincros had said to her that very first time at the Habitat?

Indefinitely.

He’d known it from the very first moment she’d laid eyes on him on the Bridge, captured like fish in the net.

She was still caught in his net. Only this time, he was caught in hers…

She dozed off against his chest.

Only when she woke up did she realize she’d done it.

“I’m sorry, I did it again,”

she said, groggy.

“I feel so sleepy all the time.”

He was pensive.

Then he picked at her bracelets.

“They don’t help?”

“They hardly did before. He,”

she motioned at the corpse, “doesn’t give off any energy. He only helps me store my own, and I don’t produce enough.”

“I see.”

Rosamma shifted, and Father Zha-Ikkel swayed in response. She glanced at him fearfully.

Then glanced again.

“Finn, I think he’s losing weight.”

She sat up, alarmed, and squinted at the carcass, searching for signs of Father Zha-Ikkel’s diminishing muscle tone.

“I’m seeing things,”

she muttered.

“Please tell me I’m seeing things.”

“You’re seeing things,”

Fincros confirmed readily.

“Now you’re humoring me.”

She cast another reluctant gaze at the body.

“But he does appear slimmer. How is it even possible?”

“Suck him dry, Rosamma,”

he said, and he sounded tired.

“I killed him for you.”

She threaded her fingers through his.

“You killed him to take over his space station,”

she reminded him, perturbed at the direction of this conversation.

“It was years before we met.”

“I kept him for you,”

he amended.

“Fincros, you couldn’t have known…”

“Couldn’t I?”

He rotated his head restlessly.

“Fine,”

he said.

“I killed him for the station and skinned him for the chair. There was no reason to keep the body in the freezer. Yet I couldn’t bring myself to send him to the chute. Such a strange compulsion.”

He closed his fingers firmly around her smaller fist.

“Now I know. For you.”

In terms of gifts, this was most unconventional, but a fitting gift, perhaps, for the kind of life Rosamma’s had become.

She would refuse it, except she’d already accepted it.

“I feel like I should be grateful,”

she murmured.

“And I would be, if it weren’t so wicked.”

He was silent for a long time.

“It’s time you went home, Rosamma.”