I am about to object, but he silences me with one demand.
“Now, take off your shirt.”
CHAPTER6
“Excuse me?”I lean back and he releases me. A wise choice.
“I will need to anoint all of you. I cannot do that if you are wearing clothing.”
I fold my arms, as if to press my shirt onto me. “Do you often ask ladies you hardly know for them to remove their clothes?”
“I don’t ‘hardly know’ you.” Before I can object, he continues, more impatient, “Now, your shirt.”
We have a staring contest. A silent battle of wits. Frankly, I couldn’t care less about removing my shirt. My notions of modesty are a bit different than most because of my line of work. My crew saw me in all manner of dress and undress as the need arose. But…something about a man seeing me when we’re very much alone… It stirs other thoughts, belonging to a reality that I have not even allowed myself to entertain for years.
I grab the hem of my loosely fitting shirt with purpose. If he wants to turn this into a duel of comfort and discomfort then, fine, I won’t allow him to have the upper hand. I peel it off.
My corset underneath is a well-structured, over-bust style, and stays in place with the aid of two straps. It took three fittings to get the garment absolutely perfect, but what I ended up with was a highly functional and comfortable piece of clothing. After sailing once with my chest coming loose from its binding and flopping about, I was converted. I was not graced with a smaller bosom and it is impractical and uncomfortable to have my breasts flopping with every jump and dash across the deck.
The moment I let go of the shirt, its color drains. The garment fades slightly, turning from solid to little more than an outline. A shift in the currents wipes it away, as if it never existed at all.
“What the—”
“It was no longer a part of you. Therefore, the magic of the old ones didn’t extend to it any longer,” Ilryth explains. “So, it could not sustain here in the Eversea and faded.”
I make connections to everything else he’s said so far. “I’m alive because of this magic.” I hold up my marked forearm. “It connects with these old gods—the same ones you want tosacrifice me to.” The words have enough bite that a hard look passes over his features. Good. “But the second I’d leave the sea, or break that connection, I’d fade away like the shirt?”
“That’s an accurate summary,” he says after a moment of consideration. As if there’s more he wants to explain—finer points—that he omits.
I’m in desperate need of a chair. Or, better, a hammock. I want to curl up and close my eyes and have a nice, long sleep.Everything is clearer in the morning, Mother would say. But I doubt anything will be clearer then. Or any morning to come.
The inking on my forearm takes on new meaning. I might have freed myself from Charles, but there are still shackles around me. I exist only because of a magic tether that I will never be able to escape from, not even in death. I dig my fingernails into my palms and swallow past the lump in my throat.
Keep moving, Victoria. Don’t stop. Don’t look back. Forward.
“I hope this will be fine for whatever this anointing entails.” I motion to the corset I’m still wearing. I’m not going to help my family if I disappear so allowing this anointing to proceed is the only option I have.
“It is acceptable, for now.” Ilryth approaches. I willfully ignore the “for now.”
His fingers hover above my neck. The siren’s eyes shine in the fading light. Small, glowing motes ignite in the water around us—luminescent jellyfish, like fireflies, swim effortlessly on the currents. Everything is cast in a starry, twilight hue.
There’s something unique about this siren, distinct from any other soul who has come close to me, ever. My crew is my crew. They are friends—family in their own way. I don’t see them as men or women. They just are immutable forces in my life.
But this creature…thisman,who’s practically a sculptor’s study in perfection of the male form, from his strong jaw to his delicate lips that could beckon so dangerously with a smile—with a song. He is something else altogether. The curve of his eyes and swell of his powerful arms carved from years of swimming. I allow my gaze to explore his physique, down the swirls painted across half of his broad chest, to the muscles of his abdomen, rippling like waves to the V of where the scales of his tail meet his hips. It’s such a strange, unnatural sight. To see a human melt away into fish. But I don’t find it as unnerving as I might have otherwise imagined. Perhaps it’s because under the waves he looks natural,right, as much an expected feature of this aquatic realm as kelp or coral.
He must feel the weight of my attention, because his eyes are waiting for mine as I return my gaze to his face.
“Are you all right?” His words are a low rumble in the back of my mind. Like summer thunder. Hot. Ominous.
I manage a nod.
“What is it?”
It’s been so long since I was touched by a man and his hand hovers just beyond my flesh. Long enough that the mere thought of it has me fighting shivers. I ache all over and hate myself for it. I’ve been strong for years, fighting the pull of a warm set of arms. The appeal of carnal urges. For the first time, I don’thave to. I am as free on paper as I have been in spirit for years.
But, really? Here? Now? Moved by something as simple as a bare chest?
I hate that the mere idea of a touch from a man has me fumbling over myself—like the girl I was when I fell for Charles.Thatthought sobers me. I am notherany longer. I have struggled, and wept, and bled to not be her. I have fought these urges every day and I will continue fighting them until the last.
