“I know you’re desperate to escape, so how about you tell me the rest of the riddles and I’ll let you off on the next island we see.”
She hesitates, but only for a moment. “No.”
I slowly stride towards her. “Why? Tell me. Will you take the riches back to your crew?”
“No,” Odi huffs, standing her ground.
“Typical that you’d betray your own kind. So, off into the sunset, huh?” I say with a grin.
She squints her eyes. “That’s none of your business.”
“Mmmm my guess is another ship then? This time your own crew? All grown up. Striking out on your own. I’m sure your mother would be proud.”
Odi flinches, her brow knitting together as her hand instinctively reaches for her throat, grasping for something that is no longer there. She gets heated fast—too much bite for how small she is. She pushes right up into my space, chest brushing mine, chin tipped up so she can snarl at me properly. It’s almost funny. She barely comes up to my collarbones, but she spits venom like she could bring me to my knees.
“My mother’s dead. Can’t you tell? she hisses, words sharp enough to cut. “No milk stains on my shirt, eh? Not likeyou. Mommy buy you a ship? Wanted to make sure you could compensate in any way necessary, I’m sure.”
Her words curl around me like a sharpened blade, but I’m not laughing now. It’s too easy to feel that old wound crack open like it never healed.
I look down at Odi—so close I can see the flecks of gold in her eyes, see how her throat works around her anger. I should find it amusing, how small she is under my shadow. But all I can think about is my mother—how she vanished over a decade ago. No storm, no wreck, just gone.
My father held a funeral anyway. A box of rocks in the ground. An empty coffin for show. Water elementals don’t just disappear . . . not unless greedy bastards come sniffing for their knowledge of the sea and its hidden treasures.
I breathe through the anger. If she’s dead—andgods, she might be—it’s because of greedylandsmenlike the ones Odelia calls captain. Those who would carve the very sea open just to see what they could drag out bleeding.
My gaze finds Odelia’s again. She’s waiting for a reaction, craving it.
The small shell carving in my pocket feels smooth between my fingers as I rub my thumb over her necklace. Admittedly, my mother would have liked Odi. The same desire for freedom I once saw in my mother’s eyes is mirrored in the woman in front of me. For a moment, I feel sorry for her. There's a hole in her chest that's a twin to my own. In another life, other circumstances, maybe—no. She is everything I stand against.
Dreams be damned.
She flinches as I reach for her wrists. While I hold her, I move to the chest tucked between my nightstand and the desk, pulling out a fairly long length of thin rope.
Her eyes widen, but there’s no way I'm letting her free roam around the room. She might be beautiful, but that doesn’t mean she isn’t trained to kill.
A loop around her wrists, pulled tight and knotted twice. Then another length runs up, over her shoulders, down around her chest—crisscrossed so if she tries to shift, her arms will stay pinned tight against her sides. I anchor it at her waist for good measure.
Honey and pear wash over me as I tug the rope at her waist, the movement causing her hair to brush her shoulder.
“Hope you remember how to untie me when you need my help.” Her voice drips with sarcasm.
I ignore her, and continue to tighten all the knots.
She trembles under my hands. Anger, not fear. Good. Let her be angry—she’ll live longer that way.
“Elkhorn crab got your tongue?”
I flick my gaze up, meeting her. Slowly, I push her away until the back of her knees hit the edge of my bed. She sits, tries to look away—stubborn, sharp thing—but I catch her chin between my thumb and forefinger, just under the hinge of her jaw. “My mother’s dead too. Can’t you tell? I’m horridly lacking in propriety. A pirate in my bed?”
There it is. That flicker of defiance, the bite of fear she’s too proud to swallow. She breathes through her nose, nostrils flaring, lips parted like she’s weighing whether to spit in my face or find more words to insult me. Then I flick her chin with my thumb, a sharp, irritating tap that makes her teeth snap shut.
My gaze hovers on her lips, for a moment I wonder if they’d taste as good as I’d hoped they would in my dream.
She’s a pirate, yes. But perhaps like me, she longs to be someone different.
Without another word, I clamp the manacles around the rope and chain her to the bed again. Then I stride across the room, boots tapping on the wooden floor, and settle into the chair.
Neither one of us dares to fall asleep, and only with the rising sun, do I finally let my guard down.
