“What the fuck is this?” Zayan growls from the doorway, his voice low and dangerous, a pistol clenched in his fist. His eyes flick between me and the two men in bed with me.
I blink, disoriented, scanning the room. Vinicola’s beside me, looking just as startled as I feel, his body still half-slumped in the sheets. He doesn’t get up, just flinches slightly as if hoping not to get noticed. Meanwhile, on the other side, Fabien is already on his feet, gun in hand, pointing it straight back at Zayan. His scowl is darker than a storm cloud, and for a second, I think we’re about to have more than just words flying across this room.
Huh? How in the hell—
My jaw tightens, trying to piece together the chaos of the situation, but my mind’s still foggy from sleep. One second, I was dreaming of calm seas, and now? I’m caught between a trigger-happy Marauder and two idiots who apparently think they can share my bed without consequences.
I glance between them, and a part of me wants to laugh at the absurdity of it all. But this? This is no laughing matter. Zayan’s eyes are blazing with something I don’t have time to figure out, and Fabien—well, if there’s one thing I know about him, it’s that he doesn’t back down.
“Stand down,” I hiss, more to Fabien than anyone else.
But Zayan? He doesn’t look like he’s in the mood for listening.
“I asked you a question,” he grits out, staring at Fabien.
“What does it look like?” Fabien asks, lowering his gun slowly, his tone light, almost bored. He rubs his temple with his thumb before tossing the weapon onto the small wooden chair by the bed. “You’ve never seen people sleep before?”
Zayan’s gaze snaps to me, eyes questioning, as if I’ve somehow orchestrated this ridiculous scene. His confusion is obvious, but there’s something else—a flicker of hurt that he’s too proud to show. The words die in my throat. It’s not like I had much control over this either, right? I mean, Fabien being here wasn’t exactly on my to-do list.
But it hits me—I passed out before I could explain anything to Zayan. And clearly, Fabien didn’t bother to fill him in either on our new living situation.
“Where were you?” I ask, trying to deflect, wrinkling my nose at the tension in the room. Zayan makes a face, clearly not interested in changing the subject.
His eyes dart between Fabien, then to Vinicola, and finally to me again.
“I was getting to know the crew,” he says, voice low and dangerous. “Someone has to figure out what makes them tick. Then I come back to find this—whatever the hell this is.”
I glance at Fabien, who stretches lazily, utterly unbothered by the tension crackling in the room. His calmness grates at Zayan, which, of course, only serves to fuel the fire.
“Well done, Zayan,” Fabien says with a half-yawn, barely paying attention. “How’s your leg?”
Zayan’s grip tightens on his pistol, his nostrils flaring. “How’s my leg? You want to know how’s myleg? Are you fucking kidding me?”
Fabien shrugs. “Just making conversation,” he replies, his eyes half-lidded like this is the most normal thing in the world. “But if you’d rather discuss the current... arrangement, I’m happy to oblige.”
Zayan’s nostrils flare, his fists tightening at his sides, but he holsters the pistol with a controlled movement and takes a step forward, his voice a low growl. “We need to get something straight. I don’t trust you. Not for a damn second. And finding you in bed withmy girl?“ His eyes narrow dangerously. “It doesn’t exactly help your case.”
My stomach flips at the words—my girl. Oh, no. He did not just go there.
I push myself up, rubbing the remnants of sleep from my eyes, meeting his glare with one of my own. “Zayan, I’m not your girl,” I say, my voice firm. “Nothing happened. I needed sleep. Fabien,” I nod toward him, “decided to crawl into the bed without asking. That’s all.”
I don’t know why I’m even bothering to explain. It’s not like I owe Zayan any damn apology. Hell, I don’t owe him anything. Even the fact that he saved my life once or twice? That was his choice, not mine. I never asked for it.
And yet… here I am. Explaining myself. Making sure he doesn’t get the wrong idea.
Vinicola sits up, blinking groggily. “And I was just… here. No funny business, I swear.”
“There, see?” Fabien adds, his lips curling into a smirk. “So, Zayan, how’s that leg?”
He’s doing it on purpose. It’s clear Fabien enjoys getting under Zayan’s skin. I can’t even blame Fabien for it, really. It’s like he knows just which buttons to push to make Zayan snap. Still, this tension between the two of them? It’s not just a game. It’s a powder keg, and we’re all standing too close.
Two men, both used to power. Two strong personalities. And me, stuck in the middle of their little pissing contest.
How the hell are we going to manage without someone drawing blood?
Zayan’s fists flex again, his whole body brimming with frustration. “Fine,” he spits, venom lacing his words. “My leg’s fine. Butthis?“ He gestures angrily between the three of us. “This is not fine.”
I sigh, patience wearing thinner by the second. “Enough,” I snap, standing and slipping my boots on. “We’ve got bigger problems than your jealousy. Maybe I should’ve told you we’d be sharing this cabin before I drifted off, but that possessive bullshit?” I point at him, eyes locked on his. “Cut it. Now. I won’t stand for it. If you don’t want to hear me out as your… whatever, then hear me out as your captain. Understood?”
