Seated at a table, back to the wall, with a cape draped over his broad shoulders and a hood concealing most of his face, Zayan Cagney seems to be watching me.
He doesn’t move. Only his lips twitch, forming the faintest smirk as I approach. I can’t see his eyes, but I know there’s a devilish glint in them—there always is.
There’s something about the way the cape cascades down his frame, the way no one knows who he is yet they leave him alone, and the way I know he doesn’t belong here, not on this part of the island, that makes me want to turn and walk right out of this mess.
But instead, I slide into the seat opposite him, doing exactly what I shouldn’t—getting tangled up with him again.
Zayan doesn’t say a word at first, just studies me from under that hood of his, like he’s weighing whether this is going to be one of our usual games or something else entirely. His smirk remains, lazy and confident, the kind of expression that makes you want to wipe it clean off his face—or kiss it off, depending on the day.
“Well, look who finally decided to show,” he says in that smooth, deep voice that always feels like a challenge. “Thought you’d given up on me, Gypsy.”
I rest my elbows on the table between us and lean forward, trying to catch his eyes beneath the material.
“Still stuck on what happened last month?” I whisper, the scent of the sea mixed with earth and spice filling the air between us. “Sulking is not a pretty look on you, Cagney.”
Zayan’s smirk widens, a spark of mischief lighting up his dark eyes as they meet mine. He leans forward too, the movement slow and deliberate, as if to remind me just how in control he feels.
“I wouldn’t dare sulk, love.” His voice is smooth, with a hint of mockery. “I knew you’d be back.” He tilts his head slightly, his gaze sliding over me like a wave lapping the shore. “Because regardless of what you like telling yourself, you just can’t stop it.”
I can’t help the smile tugging at my lips, but I keep my voice low, just above a whisper, so no one in the tavern can hear. “Stop what, exactly?”
“Oh, Gypsy, you know exactly what I’m talking about. But if you need a reminder…” His fingers brush against mine under the table, a subtle touch that sends heat rushing through me.
I pull my hand back, but not before letting my fingers linger just long enough to feel the spark between us. “You really have a death wish…”
We cannot do shit like this. Not here. If he’s seen… If he’s recognized… I don’t even want to think about what would happen then.
Without waiting for a response, I stand up from the chair and weave through the crowd, leaving him behind. But not for long.
I step outside, the heavy night air wrapping around me, and hear him following after. I don’t turn around, but I know it’s him. He moves like a shadow, quiet and sure, but somehow, I always seem to feel him.
He’s following me.
“Keep running, Gypsy,” he murmurs, his breath warm against the back of my neck. His voice sends a shiver down my spine, one that has nothing to do with the night air.
If I had room in my black heart for thoughts like that, I’d say it’s a damn romantic night to be running from him. The beach, bathed in moonlight, looks exquisite—his breath warm on my neck makes it all the more exhilarating.
But romance isn’t why I’m running. His words are not the reason either.
I slow just enough to let him close the gap, teasing him, before breaking into a full sprint. The muffled sounds of the tavern fade into the distance, replaced by the steady rhythm of the waves and the soft crunch of sand under my boots as I hit the shoreline.
When I know we’re alone, I stop, spinning to face him, breathless from both the run and the thrill. Moonlight catches on his features, his smirk tugging at his lips just like it always does, and damn, maybe I should’ve done this sooner.
Maybe I shouldn’t have ditched him last month…
His cloak is gone, tossed aside somewhere in the chase, and there’s a hint of exhaustion in his eyes that tells me he’s more used to life at sea than sprints across sandy shores. Yet here he is, on land, with me.
“We don’t have much time,” I say, breath still coming in short bursts. “My crew’s probably docked by now. I need to be in that tavern when they arrive.”
He raises an eyebrow, that wicked smile spreading across his face—he’s thinking what I am. This? Right here, right now? It’s the most reckless thing we’ve ever done. Forget fucking in the cliffs or the middle of the sea—this is dangerous. My father’s territory.
Anyone could see us.
Someone could talk.
And if there’s one thing a pirate captain-in-the-making doesn’t do, it’s meet with a rival crew member in secret—especially when that crew openly hates yours. But here stands Zayan Cagney, one of the Marauders, our sworn enemy.
But oh, how this enemy looks… His hair is as dark as the night sky, his skin like honey-glazed almonds. He’s freshly shaven, his shirt almost gleaming white, like he’s dressed up just for this. Just for me.
