I dunk myself under the water, scrubbing away the sweat and sand, wishing it could rid me of the tension still coiled in my muscles. But when I emerge, he’s still there, standing in the shallows with that infuriating smirk plastered across his face.
“So,” he says, once I’ve waded back to shore, water dripping off both our bodies, “when can I see you again?”
I take my time brushing the water off, waiting for my skin to dry enough to pull my shirt back on. He’s still naked, standing there like some sea god risen from the depths, moonlight catching on the droplets of water clinging to his skin like jewels. I lick the salt from my lips, savoring the taste.
“I don’t know,” I say truthfully, pulling my shirt over my head. “Between raids and this new compass I’ve got, who knows when we’ll dock on the same shore again?”
A Serpent and a Marauder meeting by chance on the same island? It’s a rare stroke of luck, not something we can plan. Both of our crews stay at sea for months at a time, and it’s been a damn miracle that we’ve managed to dock in the same place three times in the last few months.
He ought to understand that.
But Zayan doesn’t seem to. He stands next to me, frowning, arms crossed over his chest, muscles taut beneath his skin as if he’s trying to work something out.
“Wait... a compass?” His voice sharpens, curiosity laced with something more. “You bought Old Betty’s compass?”
I nod, watching as realization dawns on his face. He knows the stories as well as I do. Old Betty’s compass is infamous. It doesn’t take him long to connect the dots.
“You’re telling me you bought it?” His eyebrows shoot up in disbelief. “You bought that thing?”
“Yeah,” I say, more confidently this time. “And it wasn’t cheap. But it’s worth every coin and then some.” For a moment, I wonder why I’m even telling him this. It’s not like Zayan Cagney and I share secrets. But there’s something about tonight—the moon, the sea, the heat still lingering between us—that makes it easy to let my guard down.
Still, who is he going to tell? My father? Pfft. Sooner he’ll get a bullet right between his eyes than he manages to get an audience.
“Are you insane?” Zayan’s voice cuts through the night, disbelief lacing every word. His question stings, not because I didn’t expect it, but because of how it makes my skin prickle. The sea god I was just looking at, bathed in moonlight, fades away, leaving only the man standing before me—tense, vulnerable, and far too close for comfort.
Everything about me changes, too. The playful heat from before is gone, replaced by something far darker.
“Careful,” I mutter, meeting his gaze head-on, my voice low, a warning. “Choose your next words wisely, Red One.”
He freezes, his lips parting as if he’s on the verge of saying something else, but the flicker of light in his eyes dims as he hears the Marauders’ nickname. His hands lift in a gesture of peace, but we both know the tension between us is still there, thick like the humid night air, swirling with the danger we’ve created.
“All I’m saying is...” His voice softens, but there’s no missing the edge beneath it. “Everyone knows that thing’s cursed.”
I narrow my eyes, refusing to give ground. “And?”
“And… Gypsy.” There’s a hesitation in his voice, something almost pleading. “Why would you do it?”
“Why would I do what?” I ask, stepping closer, my fingers itching to wrap around the hilt of my daggers.
His gaze flicks toward the daggers lying near my clothes, and for a moment, I see the concern in his eyes. He doesn’t move, doesn’t back away, even though he’s standing there—naked, exposed, and far too concerned for my liking.
“That thing is doom in your pocket,” he murmurs, his voice hoarse. “The last person who touched it vanished without a trace.”
I let out a harsh laugh. “The last person who touched it was Old Betty, and she’s still sitting at her stall, puffing away like nothing ever happened.”
“You know what I mean,” he snaps, his frustration finally bubbling to the surface. “That thing brings death, Gypsy. You can’t seriously believe it’s just a coincidence.”
My jaw clenches as I turn away, my back to the sea. “People say a lot of things,” I mutter, yanking my shirt off the ground and buckling my daggers back into place. “And I don’t care about any of them.”
“You should care!” His voice rises, sharp and cutting. “There’s a reason no one’s touched that thing in years. Gold like that? It shouldn’t have been left lying around.”
I pull my shirt over my head, tugging it into place with more force than necessary. “Fear does that. And fear is how legends are born.”
He scoffs, stepping closer again, his body a looming presence behind me. “So what do you plan on doing? Just sail with it, like you’re invincible?”
“Yeah. That’s about the size of it.”
“Fuck,” he curses. “And what ship do you plan on using? Your father’s?” His voice is hard now, colder, more dangerous. “You think Silverbeard’s going to let that cursed thing anywhere near his crew? Near you?”
