“It’s the same with me,” Soraya says. “Human father, siren mother. Fifty-fifty shot of being able to shift, but I can’t.”
That takes me by surprise, but it makes sense. The voice, the allure. I almost bring up that I can shift, but the thought of talking about it has the exhaustion rushing back in. Rune likely told them the moment he found out.
The animal in me has been . . . quieter. Even with our return to the water I’ve yet to feel the tightly wound tensionof her beneath my skin—her warnings and whispers. I should be angry at Rune for goading me. For pushing me to lose control. But the truth is, that as terrifying as that run had been, my blood had thrilled in a way that almost made me mourn how I’d shoved her down so long. Almost. I’d kept her and me both alive. I’d stopped her from taking over, from bolting, again and again.
Softer memories brush the edge of my subconscious. Older, washed in the faded watercolour of time. My mother, nuzzling me in her deer form. Teaching me the patience needed to learn the animal’s drives and needs. But it hadn’t been enough. The grasp I’d have would slip every time we returned to the water.
And then she was gone.
“Well,” I say, standing and pulling up my empty plate, “thanks for lunch ladies. It’s been . . . enlightening.”
We should be close to the next island, but there’s no shadow on the horizon, no matter how hard I squint my eyes against the glare of the water. Bodies churn on and over the deck, directed by Elio, who has to shout over the crash of waves that carry the ship through open water. The darkened sky behind us bodes ill, but at this time of the year, the wind should carry any storm far to thesouth. A few of the crew note the plate in my hands, including a swooping bird’s shadow that I scowl at as I cross to the captain’s quarters. The damn thing has been messing the deck like it means to. It’s surprising no one has put a bolt in it yet. I shove down the annoyance, ignoring it all the same way I ignore the rising swell of nerves in my stomach.
I knock, then chastise myself. If Rune wanted privacy, he shouldn’t have forced me to share a room with him in the first place.
The moment I walk in, I spy familiar rope and leather waiting on the bed. “Is that my bola?”
“It seemed time to return it.” His voice is heavy behind me, and I turn to find him taking up an impossible amount of space while sitting in that damned chair.
His eyes are trained on the plate in my hands. “Otto wanted me to bring you food,” I say by way of explanation.
“Otto said that, did he?” The words are teasing enough that I freeze, realizing too late that there are empty dishes on his desk.
I set the plate down on the desk and face him. He’s sprawl legged in a surprising amount of captain’s finery. A navy jacket with gilded buttons, dress boots, a white shirt that strains over the width of his chest. He’s washed too, based on the dampness of his wavy hair and the scent of oranges that envelopes the room. For a moment, I wonder if they use scented soaps in Nareth.
I shrug, knowing neither of us will believe what I’m about to say. “This plate was left alone, and I was already on my wayhere. Figured it must take a lot of energy to run your mouth as much as you do.”
He huffs a laugh, but it’s subdued. “So you brought me food?”
“So I brought you food.” I hadn’t seen him grab any, and it was the least I could do after . . . I swallow, too proud to admit I’d been caught.
He says nothing. Only studies me with an aggravating, knowing look.
“Are you going somewhere?” I push on, gesturing to his state of dress as I study the dishes beside him, because the weight of the last two days is dense between us, and both walking away and looking him in the eye seem like they’re each on separate lists of bad ideas.
“There will be funerals tonight. On this ship we honour our dead.”
The word settles on my shoulders, the rage in Reid’s words ringing in my ears again. I know it’s worse for Rune. The Vipers wouldn’t have spared the thought, but Rune looks like a mountain has crumbled around him, pinning him under the grief.
I should reach out to touch him. Curl in his lap and let my weight remind him the world is still beneath us. Our boundaries are tangled, blurred in places they should never have been blurred, but in this moment it’s simple comfort he needs.
I’m just not sure I’m capable of it.
I feel his gaze on me like a challenge now, and force myself to meet it. He’s tired. Even more tired than I am. Dark circles nest under his bright-blue eyes. There’s ahealing cut over his cheekbone and probably all over the rest of him, if my own small wounds are any indication. The temple had tried to swallow us whole. Had tried to polish its stones with the grit of our bones. I grit my teeth, shoving it all down again, as far to the back of my mind as it will go. I’m not capable of comfort, but we do distraction well.
“Think Tavi will let you borrow the Captain’s hat?” I say.
He turns to the bottle beside him and pours the waiting glass till it’s full of liquid amber, then pulls another from the wall bracket and fills it too. “Hate hats. They make my hair flat.”
When he hands me the second glass, he’s got the ghost of a smirk on his lips. I down it in one go, watching his eyes flick from my face to the skin of my bare neck as I swallow. When his gaze flicks lower, going molten, the air shifts. The sweet heat of the alcohol mirrors the feeling that teases my core and makes my breasts feel heavy with need for a hand or lips or the flick of a tongue. I can still taste him. Can feel the space between us charged with the friction of who we are and what we want and what we’ve already endured together.
He downs his, never taking his eyes off me. “Was there something you needed, little doe?”
There’s something in the question. Another dare, maybe.
“I planned to sleep,” I say, honestly. “Until this evening at least. You could join me . . . if you don’t take up too much of the bed.”
Neither of us moves, the implication thickening the air between us.
