Page 21 of Kit
Kit hesitated, eyes sliding to Desre’s door. To the ground. To Nick. He stood, taking shaky steps towards him. Outside, Captain Hin and the men who had rushed into the hall were crowded around the base of one of the masts. The canvas sail flapped in the wind, a loose line whipping dangerously across the deck with each crack of the sail.
Nick skirted around the edge of the chaos, as far from that rope as they could get, and guided Kit through a crowd of men cowering in the doorway that led below deck. It wasn’t until Nick got Kit to his room that he released a held breath.
Kit sagged against the door, a light tremble shaking every limb, and a flinty look in his eyes that Nick thought he was trying to hide. Kit struggled with the gloves, and Nick watched, feeling helpless, as they fell to the ground. A wounded sound from Kit’s throat cut Nick to the quick.
Nick retrieved the gloves and shook them out. And he then, very carefully and while avoiding skin contact, guided them onto Kit’s hands.
Kit, barring the door with his body and with his head down-turned, let him.
The second the gloves were in place, with the long sleeves of his shirt carefully overlapping the leather, the trembling eased. Kit’s shallow breaths deepened. Nick eyed his tail and saw with considerable relief that it was hanging in the air, neither slack on the ground nor strangling his own leg.
“I’ll make tea,” Nick murmured, at a loss. His dad would know what to say. His dad would know what to do. Nick didn’t. He wasn’t good at talking to people—wasn’t good at being anything but combative. Everyone he’d ever been close to described him as gruff; it was just how he was. But Nick couldn’t bear to be gruff with Kit right now. He didn’t know if Kit could take it after that, and he certainly didn’t deserve it.
Kit leaned against the door as if it was the only thing keeping him upright, but his face turned to follow Nick as he moved around the room. He stoked the stove fire and brought water to a boil. He took the tea leaves from a crudely carved wooden box—one of the children must have gifted it to Kit—and copied the way Kit always carefully poured the hot water through the leaves into cups.
Nick placed the teas down on the table and sat. He didn’t pressure Kit, and after several minutes, he straightened away from the door and approached. He sank into the nearest chair, deathly silent.
“I think it tastes the same as when you make it,” Nick said.
He had a million questions, but none were appropriate to ask. He’d snag Mini and demand an explanation. He couldn’t ask it of Kit.
“How did you resist her?” Kit’s voice cracked.
Nick’s breath caught when Kit raised his eyes, filled with torment. Pain.
“That first night when I brought you here, she tried to use her influence on you, but it didn’t work. Can you tell me how? Please? I can’t help you get away, we need you, but I’ll do anything else.”
Nick thought back to that night on deck. To Desre holding his hand, skin-to-skin contact, and grabbing between his legs. She’d been trying to do to him what she did to Kit, but there had been no effect. Nick rubbed his elbow, where his skin had burned that night. Like his translation symbol did for hard words, only ten times worse.Thathad blocked her.
Nick pushed up his sleeves and looked at the crowded symbols. His artistic brother had taken liberties; one design blended into another, making it difficult to tell where one symbol ended and another began. Nick had been so preoccupied with everything else going on; there was no way he could pinpoint exactly which symbol had reacted. He had the general area, though.
When Nick raised his head again, Kit was watching him with desperate eyes. And kidnapper or not, Nick decided that he was going to help Kit. Regardless of the fact that he wouldn’thelp Nick escape, he wouldn’t be able to stomach himself if he listened to this plea—a plea tonot get raped—and ignored it.
“I’ll help,” Nick promised. “Whether that involves figuring out which of these symbols blocked her power or personally chucking her overboard.”
There was noyou can’t say that about Lady Desrethis time. Kit breathed out hard. He rose and cupped Nick’s cheeks, a sudden firm grip that held his head still as Kit rubbed his jaw into Nick’s crown. Sweat and fear lingered on Kit’s skin, and then a sudden burst of musk hit Nick’s nose, so potent he tasted it on the back of his tongue. “Thank you.” Kit curled forwards, and Nick’s nose scrunched as Kit’s tongue swiped across his cheekbone.
Nick squeezed his eyes shut as several more tongue licks descended on his face. He vaguely recalled Jasper doing the same to Laurence but couldn’t remember the circumstances. He recalled thinking that he’d have shoved Jasper away if he’d tried to do the same to him, but Nick simply held still for Kit. “Is this a ‘kit’ thing?”
Kit faltered, hot breath tickling Nick’s temple. Nick’s eyes were shut to protect his eyes from that tongue, but he could feel the weight of Kit’s gaze. “Yes. It—I am just scent-marking you.”
“I… Okay? Right. Fine.”
A wet tongue slipped up his cheek, dangerously close to the corner of his mouth, and Nick became very aware that Kit was leaning heavily against him, making his way onto Nick’s lap inch by inch.
“Why?” Nick asked, getting hot.
Kit hesitated again. Nick began to open his eyes, but Kit made a displeased noise, and his tongue swiped at an eyelid. Nick growled an objection and squeezed his eyes shut again. “Seriously? Come on. I’m trying not to get grossed out here, so just answer me.” Nick was, in fact, having to work muchharder not to get turned-on. That musky smell was going to his head, and it just felt all kinds of wrong to be feeling attracted to someone who had almost got raped. It just—no. Nick wasn’t doing it. He wasn’t being that guy.
“It’s a kit thing.” Kit’s tone was all lie.
“Oh, don’t you—mm!” Nick shut his mouth as that tongue swiped his upper lip. Kit’s gloved hands held Nick’s face still as he explored every inch of skin with that damned tongue. And between his chin and jaw, Kit sank into his lap, tail curling around Nick’s arm. Nick attempted to open his eyes twice—and Kit tried to lick them—and every time he tried to talk, Kit’s tongue was there to stop him.
Eventually, he loosened his hold on Nick’s face, one arm curving around his neck as he nuzzled his cheek. Kit released a satisfied hum, spreading that heavy musk. Nick felt it seeping into his pores, drying into his skin with the saliva.
There was a rumble in Kit’s chest, a purr.
Kit finally pulled back, getting off his lap. With a little amused noise, he nudged Nick’s chin. “You can open your eyes.”
