The Rebels of Gold (Loom Saga #3)(97)

Florence


There were a total of four engines left in the Ravens’ Guild hall, but only three slowly lurched to a halt at Ter.3.2. The compartments had been cramped, but in the end, there was only enough fuel left at Ter.4 to run three engines. It was a severe oversight on Vicar Dove’s part, one that made Florence agitated for nearly the entire trip.

“I’m so ready to be off this train,” Shannra muttered. The woman had been dozing off for hours but had perked up slightly when the train began to cut fuel in an effort to conserve their remaining supplies and coast into the station on momentum.

“The ride isn’t so bad.” Florence stretched her legs forward in the narrow compartment. Her status as vicar—vicar! The title still had yet to fully sink in, had earned her a bit of privacy that she shared with Shannra gladly.

“Five days!” Shannra groaned, sinking back into the narrow bed. The cabin was only wide enough for one chair and the bed that was tucked oddly into an alcove that jutted into the hall outside their door. “I forgot what fresh air feels like.”

“Then open the window.” Florence counted her canisters on a table that was little more than a window ledge and held back a small grin.

“You think you’re awfully funny, don’t you?” They had discovered the window was broken a day in.

“More than one way to open a window.” Florence drew her revolver and brought her arm across her body, the grip exposed on the end as though she was about to smash the window with it.

“Florence, stop!” Shannra lunged, gripping her hands.

Florence grinned, wide and silly. No doubt stir-crazy. “Ask me nicely.”

“Oh, I see how it is.” Shannra gave a low chuckle that curved her cheek in just the way Florence liked. “You do think you’re funny.”

“What of it?”

“I’ll wipe the smile off that mouth of yours.”

“With what?”

Shannra leaned forward, half-laughing into the kiss that set free Florence’s own laughter. Florence placed her palms over the other woman’s hips, smoothing them against the bone that protruded from her narrow waist. Shannra had never boasted a sturdy frame, but she had begun to shrink before Florence’s eyes and hands.

They all had. Being at war, living in hiding—it took a hefty toll on Loom, and rations were scarce as it was. All the more reason to keep moving, follow the remaining resources.

Yes, war was brutal, and it demanded a high price of them all. But Florence wouldn’t let that price be Shannra. She indulged herself in what distractions the woman could provide and savored the moments they got to spend together not as Revolvers, but as women.

Instead of tracing the all-too-clear outline of Shannra’s lower ribs, Florence kissed them. Instead of focusing on the bony jut of her hips, Florence gave careful mind to the woman’s knee resting on the chair right at the apex of her thighs. She reveled in feeling the other woman’s hands in her hair and nails on her scalp, and offered the same distraction.

Shannra’s hands moved to Florence’s back, gripping and smoothing the fabric forward before sliding forward to grace her chest. Florence conceded to the clear desire and rose without forfeiting her lover’s mouth. Shannra was taller than Florence, as most were, and she had to crane her neck when standing if Shannra didn’t slouch.

Florence carefully worked on the latches of her holster and Shannra was eager to assist. When it came loose, her lover handled the weapons with care, breaking the kiss to set them aside. Despite the fact that it resulted in Shannra’s mouth off hers, Florence had never seen anything sexier than this mindfulness of weaponry.

With a soft hum rising in the back of her throat, Florence pulled Shannra back to her, using the height difference to sink her teeth into the woman’s skin, scarred and rough with battle. Her white hair tickled Florence’s nose and Florence closed her eyes. In the back of her mind, despite all will or conscious effort, another white-haired woman appeared like a dangling loose end, never quite tied off.

Florence pressed her teeth down harder. The flavor of someone else on her tongue was enough to clear her head again, and Florence pursued the distraction. Without much thought, Shannra was on the bed, Florence above her.

Sex had its own power and its own weakness, Florence had learned. It was gaining true vulnerability from another while giving it from yourself at the same time. But there was a guarded look to Shannra’s eyes and an echo in all the woman’s moans that came from the distance that still lingered between them. Neither was ready to give or take that power.

So they took only pleasure instead.

When the brakes of the train engaged some time later, Florence finally peeled her sweat-slicked body from the sheets. Her clothes hadn’t gone far in the small cabin, but she was still stalled by the task of sorting them from Shannra’s.

“What’s the hurry?” Shannra yawned.

“How can you be sleepy? You’ve been dozing all day.” Florence started with her underthings, dressing up to her skirt, shirt, and vest.

“You wore me out.” The woman grinned, forgetting her earlier question entirely. Florence silently applauded herself for the effective distraction.

“Ah, well, that’s not very hard.” Her statement sent Shannra into a pout that transformed into a retaliation against putting on clothes.