I turn and find her awkwardly standing in the corner again, like she doesn’t know what to do with herself. “Odi—”
“I need a washroom,” she says simply, already moving towards the door adjacent to my room.
No doubt she’s been needing one for a while and didn’t know how to ask. I give a small nod. Watch the door close behind her. The latch clicks.
And then it’s just me.
The silence hits harder now than when the room was full. Louder, somehow. Heavier.
It leaves too much space for thought—and that’s the last thing I want. I don’t want to think about the crew I’d lost or how there’s a high chance that there will be other casualties if I continue down this path.
With a sigh, I retrieve a fresh pair of trousers from the nightstand. I carefully put them on, wincing with every movement. Then I hobble around the room, searching for the trousers with Odi’s necklace. They lie in a tattered, crumpled heap against the far wall. Pain bursts through my ribs as I bend to scoop them up. My hand dives into the pocket, and relief crashes over me the moment my fingertips graze the familiar smoothness of the necklace. I still can’t figure out how she found it in the first place. They’re rare, near impossible to find, and even more so for those that tend towards unsavory company. Could she have been chosen? I bat the thought away. A night of tending wounds doesn’t change who she is. What she is.
Right?
Once the necklace is secure in my pocket again, I begin to pace, walking the length of the room as I run my fingers through my hair. The movement helps work away somestiffness, but pain is a reminder that it’s going to take a while until I’m fully healed.
When Odi returns, I should thank her for helping them keep me alive, for tending to salves and bandages at the cost of sleep. Or maybe steer the conversation towards the key pieces, safer ground, something that feels less like laying my heart out for the gulls to pick at.
The door to the washroom clicks open pulling my attention from my thoughts and back to the woman I’m trying so hard not to like. That’s when I notice her slight limp. My brow pinches as she makes her way further into the room.
“You’re hurt,” I say as she approaches me.
Dark waves shimmer in the early morning sunlight as she shakes her head. “It’s nothing.”
Before I can stop myself, one arm hooks around her waist, the other behind her knees, and I scoop her up in one clean motion. Heat flares through my hip, but I bite the inside of my cheek so Odi doesn’t see the evidence on my face. She stiffens in surprise, her breath catching, hands instinctively grabbing at my shirt, but I don’t stop.
I flick my gaze to her perfectly pink lips—just for a second. Close now. Too close.
All the ache I’ve been trying to bury stirs at the surface. I lean in, a hair’s breadth from closing the distance. Just one tilt forwards and I could taste the silence between us.
But I don’t.
Instead, I lower her gently onto the bed, careful not to jostle the injured ankle. She’s still watching me, breath shallow, eyes wide.
I shift down, lifting her leg and propping it on the wooden box that someone placed at the end of the bed. My fingers graze the mottled skin just above her foot, slow, steady, deliberate. Purple and brown bruises make a patch on the outer side of her ankle. “It’s badly sprained.”
Odi feigns a tight smile. “I’ll be alright.”
I can’t help the way my brow pinches as I look up at her. “Why didn’t you tell anyone?”
She shrugs slowly. “No one was overly concerned about my injuries when I first came aboardThe Gilded Hart, why would they care now?”
Guilt stabs me in the chest like a hot knife. It’s true. I hadn’t cared about her wounds when I’d dragged her from the ocean, but only because the thought of letting Otto within arm’s reach of a Viper made my heart lurch and my hands itch for the closest weapon I could reach. Things are different now. We have a shared goal. And she’s clearly got a soft spot for the ship’s cook.
I slowly stand, making my way to the nightstand where Otto has left fresh bandages, no doubt intended for me. I collect a roll and move back to the chair before beginning to wrap Odi’s ankle. “You only have me to blame for that, and for what it’s worth . . . I’m sorry.”
Her eyes meet mine, silence hanging between us for a moment, but she lets the topic drop. “So, you’re a siren?” she says instead, her hand tracing absently over her neck.
I nod as I continue to bind her ankle. “I am.”
Odi hisses softly as I reach the darkest part of thebruising. “And a prince?”
“Correct,” I say softly, making sure to cradle her ankle as gently as possible. “Prince Rune Ahren, King Ahren’s first and least favourite son, at your service.”
She huffs a laugh.“Seems like you have secrets too.” Her voice is soft, but not accusing. “How does a siren prince become a bounty hunter on the ocean’s topside? I thought your kind couldn’t stand being out of the water.”
I finish wrapping the bandage, securing the loose ends together with a small knot. “Every race has their purists. Some of us refuse to leave the ocean. They might condemn my choices, but you’d be surprised at how many of us actually enjoy breathing this air.”
