His lips curl into a smirk, his green eyes narrowing slightly as if he’s amused by how easily I think I can deflect him. “That’s easy.”
“Is it?”
“Very.” His hand lifts, fingers finding a loose twirl of my hair. He’s slow, like he’s savoring every second. “You’re fearless in ways that terrify me,” he murmurs, voice dropping lower, almost reverent. “You’d stand in the face of storms, men twice your size, odds that would shatter anyone else—and you’d laugh. Even though you claim not to believe in gods, in legends, in promises of gold or youth, you still keep going. Because you do believe in something. You might not say what it is, but deep down, you do.”
My heart skips a beat, just once. Only once. That’s what I tell myself.
“What is it, then?” I ask, barely above a whisper. His fingers linger in my hair, too close, too intimate.
He tilts his head, considering me, his smile softening into something almost... tender. “You believe infreedom,“ he says. “But not just any kind of freedom. You believe in the kind that can’t be tamed. The kind that answers to no one—not gods, not men, not even the sea itself. You want it in every form. The wild, untouchable kind.”
I stare at him, words caught in my throat. He steps closer, his palm brushing softly against my waist, and I can’t help the shuddering breath that escapes me.
“That’s why you like having sex with me so much,” he whispers. “Because no one can tell you what you can or can’t do. No one can control you—not me, not Silverbeard, not anyone.”
“Liked,” I breathe, the word barely escaping my lips. “Likedhaving sex with you.”
“You say that,” he murmurs, “but your body doesn’t lie as well as you think.”
“You’re wrong,” I say, but even to my own ears, it sounds more like a plea than conviction.
“Want to prove it to me?”
The challenge in his voice makes something twist inside me.My eyes flutter shut for just a moment, but in that sliver of darkness, the tension coils tighter, suffocating, unbearable. When I open them again, his gaze is fixed on me—mossy green, unyielding, daring me to fight back.
But I can’t. Because he’s right.
The fire that burns through me now is his doing. Every nerve, every muscle in my body is betraying the lie I want to tell. His scent—sea and earth—wraps around me, pulling me closer to the edge of a cliff I swore I’d never approach again.
My knees feel weak, my breath coming fast and shallow, and I know he feels it too.
“Gypsy…” His voice is velvet now, the sound of it sending heat rushing through my veins, leaving me trembling.
I want to kiss him. I’m going to kiss him. I’m going to drag him down with me, wrap my hands around his neck, feel his lips on mine, erase the distance and the lies and the anger that’s been building between us since the last time we touched.
But before I can make the move, his voice cuts through the haze. “Thought so,” he purrs, the smugness dripping from his tone. And just like that, he steps away.
The loss of his warmth is immediate, and it hits me like a cold wave crashing over the deck. My body feels empty. Raw. Exposed.
Remember how I said that showing feelings out in the open leaves room for someone using them? Yeah. Zayan just used them.
“This means nothing,” I grind out, trying to steady my voice, even though it’s taking everything I have not to scream.
“Oh, it means everything,” he replies without missing a beat, a smirk tugging at his lips as he turns away. He strolls back toward the railing, casual, as if none of this affected him at all. He doesn’t even look at me, doesn’t acknowledge the fire he just stoked to life.
My blood boils, fists clenching at my sides. I rake my fingers through my hair, trying to cool the heat coursing through me before I do something I’ll regret. Like chug something sharp and deadly in his direction.
I glance toward the edge of the ship, and there he is—Vinicola, waving his arms on the shore, looking as desperate as I feel inside. I almost forgot why I even swam over here in the first place.
“Plank,” I say through gritted teeth. “I need a plank for the bard. Something sturdy, so I can drag his ass onto this ship.”
Zayan doesn’t even turn around. “Won’t be a problem,” he says.
“Preferably now,” I snap, my patience running razor-thin. “So we can get going.”
He gives a short nod, then sets off to find a suitable plank among the gathered debris. He takes his sweet time, too. Meanwhile, I stand there, nails digging into my palms.
After a few minutes, he returns. “This should do the trick,” he says, offering it out to me. “We’ll need it back, though.”
