Thanks so much for all the responses! I really appreciate the enthusiasm. Big Fan, your comment was anonymous so I couldn't respond directly, but I am seriously considering making this into a linear story. I haven't quite figured out where to go with it - I'd be happy to entertain any thoughts or suggestions. I hope all my readers along the northeast seacoast, and especially any in NYC, are safe and dry tonight.


It was bloody cold in Kirkwall. Not for the first time, Isabela wondered why she stayed. She had her ship, her freedom, plenty of money to equip it and go, to be Siren of the Seas once again. She shivered in the chilly wind that whipped through Hightown as she made her way across the marketplace from the hat shop, where she had kept the milliners busy showing her the new stock until well after their usual closing time. She'd bought heavily, of course, having her purchases delivered to the Hanged Man, where they would join the rest of her collection.

A drizzle of rain struck her, and Isabela glared up at the sky. She turned her steps resolutely toward the shadowy alleys of the red light district. Reaching the Rose, she tugged at the familiar heavy door. Before too long she was seated with a cup of warm spiced rum in front of her. She sipped it, enjoying the rich flavor on her tongue and watching the usual bustle. The place was busy tonight; Isabela was far from the only person who had sought refuge here in the welcoming warmth. She was, however, one of the few who wasn't venturing even further into the more intimate welcoming warmth to be had in the arms of the employees. Looking around, she considered her options ... but she'd had them all. Their quirks had begun to pall, their skills to bore her. Nothing stirred in her at the thought of their hands and mouths on her body, and even the overheated room and the rum hadn't quite touched the chill at her core.

Leaving the rum half-finished, an offense she had rarely committed against such a fine beverage, Isabela left the Rose. She felt a certain relief as the door closed behind her and left her in the darkness of the alley. The back stairs that led down toward Lowtown were nearby, and she very nearly turned in that direction, heading for the raucous jollity of the Hanged Man and the unmade bed she paid for. There would be warmth there, hiding in the bottom of numerous bottles of questionable ale, glowing from the fireplaces, on offer from the various drinkers. Always sport to be had in the Hanged Man ... if she wanted it.

Another shiver wracked her, and she knew she didn't want to walk in this cold rain all the way down the slippery stairs only to find herself in a room full of greedy strangers.

And so at last she gave in to the impulse she hadn't wanted to name, turning in the opposite direction and skirting the shadows of Hightown to avoid the guard patrols. He'd made her a key, but she never used it; she was more comfortable getting in her own way. Carefully she jimmied open the casement, not wanting to leave any marks or make a sound that might waken Bodahn or Sandal, and climbed inside. Her boots were wet, and she took them off in order to keep from tracking dirt on the white carpet. Without them, she felt small and vulnerable, and for a moment she thought about putting them back on and leaving the way she had come in. But a gust of wind shook the panes of glass, the rain splattering against the window, and she shivered again. With her boots in one hand, she padded across the soft carpet, her feet sinking into it, and up the stairs.

Isabela would have known where she was blind-folded, as Hawke's deep snore rumbled from the room. She found it annoying, she told herself. Truly she did. But a smile tugged at her mouth all the same, hearing it, and she lost no time closing the door and shedding her clothes. The heat from the fire was crackling warm on her chilled skin as she crossed the room. She lifted the covers and slid into the warmth there. Hawke snorted loudly. He rolled over, reaching a heavy arm out. It closed around Isabela's body and tugged her closer against him, the heat of his body finding the chill that filled hers and chasing it far away.

"Mmm." He sighed in contentment, curling against her. His breathing slowed again as he returned to the depths of sleep.

Isabela was tempted to wiggle, to arouse him in more ways than one, to make the need that had brought her here the hedonistic drive that she was most comfortable with ... but she was drowsy, and warm, and at last, safe in the shelter of his bed, his body, and ... yes, his heart.

Warm at last, she surrendered to sleep.