Those are different from Kit’s too. The same shape, with crow’s feet and smile lines etched into their skin, but the colour isn’t the same.
My chest gives a sharp pang, and I suck in a breath, trying to rub away the ache left behind.
“So, you’re Kit’s mate,” Finch says softly. “That makes you family.” His eyes rest just behind me, where Aster is still standing close enough for me to feel him.
“And who’s this?”
I twist around and meet Aster’s dark gaze for a moment, and he gives me a fleeting half-smile that has my bunched shoulders relaxing just slightly.
Licking my lips, I clear my aching throat before I reply, “This is Aster. He’s... also my mate. He can’t speak, but the two of us have found a way to communicate.”
The captain’s eyebrows shoot up as he takes in my words with avid interest, retaking his seat behind the desk. “Is that right?”
He rubs his chin before his lips quirk up in another smirk. This one looks decidedly dangerous, although I’m not entirely sure why. Then his focus goes over the top of my head toward the blonde man. “Did you hear that, Torin?”
The blonde man just grunts, and I wonder what that could mean. Then Finch leans back in his chair, lacing his fingers behind his head as he eyes me with that dangerous smirk still in place.
For a second, I wonder if Torin will also lay his claim to being my mate. He’s certainly got the mark on his arm to prove it, but he keeps his shirtsleeves pulled down over his brawny forearms, avoiding looking at me directly. He spins on his heel, striding to the other side of the room.
A heavy weight is laid over my shoulders and I startle, only to realise Torin is putting a massive knitted blanket around my shoulders. I slowly relax again, pulling it closer until the worst of the shivers fade. I still need some fresh clothes and a long, hot bath, but at least it doesn’t feel like my extremities are about to drop off.
“So, a flying sofa, eh? Trust Kit to be kidnapped in style.” Captain Finch seems remarkably calm considering his brother has disappeared and we have no idea where he is.
I suppose a pirate captain can’t go losing their shit. Even so, he seems so calm while I can still feel that raw terror scrabbling inside me, threatening to close my throat.
“How are we going to find him?” My voice comes out a rasp that I try to hide behind a cough, but everyone in the room heard it. I avoid their eyes, glancing around the room again until the tightness growing in my chest feels like it might suffocate me. That’s when I spot the scrying glass in the corner, the one Captain Finch used to speak to us yesterday.
“You called Kit,” I say. “It alerted him while we were away from the house. Can we try to call him again?”
“Not sure what good that’ll do,” Torin replies. “He can’t answer it. It just tells him that someone’s trying to contact him.”
Dammit. My stomach sinks. I knew that. Of course, I knew that. That was the reason we had to get out of the coven house so quickly. I rub at my face, wincing at the layer of salt leftover from my dip in the ocean.
“How are we going to find him?”
“Still noodling that one myself, love,” Captain Finch says. “Your bond doesn’t help track him down, does it?”
He’s now the third person to ask that. I give a grunt rather than answering. Then, the captain’s hat gives a dangerous wobble, almost toppling from his head, and I stare at him, momentarily distracted.
Torin clears his throat. “Think your mate here has something to say.”
Aster
I USED TO DREAM OFsunshine glinting off the sea. It was one of the last things I remember seeing before I got locked away in a basement, accompanied by other idiots too naïve and foolish to realise we were stepping out of our old lives, directly into a trap.
There used to be a few of us basement dwellers. We were only allowed out at night and even that was rare. The sorcerers would sometimes bring a select few of us out for a couple of hours at a time. But we were always accompanied, never free to roam or do anything other than serve them. Most of my days over the past few years have been spent in this endless darkness I couldn’t escape.
To begin with, there were three sorcerers holding us there, each with their own style for drawing out our magic so they could drain us dry. One loved to talk, and the other could barely look at us and would knock us unconscious every time.
But the one all of us hated worst of all was the sorceress. She’d start off gentle, but she’d take and take until nothing was left.
Something must have happened a few months back. The number of people in the basement shrank, but so did the number of sorcerers.
Three became two and then they divided again, until only one remained.
The sorceress.
I kept that memory of the sea as something I’d draw out when things seemed hopeless. But like most memories, it got warped and twisted until I didn’t have the faintest idea if it was anything like the true image anymore.
