“You bet I’d rather be with you than be a sitting duck here.”
He planted a soft kiss on the top of my head and lingered there, taking a deep breath. “I’ll keep you safe, Miss Daphne. Like I promised.”
I swallowed my question. Stashed it away for later. Miss Daphne. After what we had done, it was ridiculously inappropriate.
We slipped out of the cabin. All corridors were empty. The ship was deep asleep.
“To the deck,” he said.
My pulse hammered in my ears. “Could it be some technical problem?” I asked, my mouth dry. He shook his head and pushed the door to the deck open.
The crisp salty air tingled my nose. Heavy fog coiled up to my waist.
Emrys frowned. “This mist is not natural. It’s here to hide something.”
Well, great. I stayed close to him, seeking safety in his warmth.
Darkness pressed in, the only light a faint silver trickle from the moon above the fog. Emrys stood still, listening.
Something was wrong.
I couldn’t name it—not at first. It was like hearing an off-key note in a symphony. Subtle. Wrong in a way it stirred some primal unease.
There was no wind. Only the hush of waves.
But even that sounded… off.
They weren’t just lapping against the hull. They were breaking against something else—something solid.
Was it land?
Or was something massive just beyond our sight?
His fingers touched my hand. “This way, Daphne.” The fog swallowed the sound of our steps as we crossed the deserted deck.
“Where is everyone? Shouldn’t there be a crew on duty?” The more I thought about it, the less I liked it.
The bridge’s light faded behind us. Emrys shot out an arm to stop me. Shadows spilled down his shoulder blades, solidifying into two massive black wings. Even at this moment, I couldn’t help admiring them.
“Do you see it?” he asked. We’d reached the railing. Looking down, I expected nothing but more mist or black water, but no—
There was a boat. Dark and abandoned. I peered closer.
“La Clémence,” I read the peeling letters. It looked like a narrow fisherman’s barge well past its prime.
Emrys raised a finger to his lips.
“What is it?” I asked, trying to peek over his shoulder.
He let out another curse in that strange, lilting language he spoke sometimes. “Hollowborn.”
“How many?” I asked, my blood turning into ice. He didn’t answer. His eyes were fixed on the dark boat, around a hundred feet away. Sparks of unseen colors gathered around his hands.
“They’re coming,” he said. “They’ll flank us from the sky.”
Terror clenched my gut when I saw the shadows rising from the barge. They gained shape when they hovered above the mist—the moon revealing their carved-out eyes and leathery wings.
God, there were so many.
