Page 169 of Seven Oars
“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.
