It was how easily it had happened.
“Welcome to Shadeau,” Alaric whispered more to the wind than to me.
29
Alaric
The Black Marrow
I’m a selfish man—always have been. But with Nerina, it’s a different breed of selfishness.
The taste of her blood still lingered on my tongue—sweet and strange. It hit like a molten wave through my veins, flooding every sense until the world tilted. Her blood wasn’t just sustenance—it was sacred. Forbidden. A high that blurred the edges of reason, a pull so potent it made everything else recede.
I’d fed on hundreds before, but nothing had ever gripped me like this—nothing that made me feel both invincible and utterly undone all at once. It wasn’t just her blood I craved—it was her. Every unguarded laugh, every sharp retort, every piece of herself she didn’t even know she was giving.
What had once been a means to an end—the glowing mermaid I’d dragged from the sea—had become something else entirely.
Séraphine had asked me how long I’d loved Nerina. I lied. Love was a liability. I’d buried it before, watched it erode over years and oceans.
I’d loved before—saints, I’d lost before. I’d buried mortals and immortals alike. Love never lasted. Each story ended the same—by death, disillusion, or the slow erosion of time.
That’s the curse of the long-lived—we survive everything. Outlive everything.
But this was different. It didn’t ask permission. It didn’t let me look away. It lodged under my skin like shrapnel, impossible to dig out. She wasn’t a passing distraction anymore—she was the axis I’d begun to turn around. I didn’t even notice it happening until the thought of her slipping beyond my reach felt like being cursed all over again.
I remember the first shift now—clear as salt on my tongue. Not in a fight. Not in some grand gesture. It was on deck during a storm, when she stood barefoot in the rain, head tipped back to the clouds, laughing like the world couldn’t touch her. Lightning cracked, and for a heartbeat she shimmered with that impossible starlight beneath her skin. She didn’t see me watching, but in that moment, I knew—she was dangerous to me in a way no blade or curse could be.
Nobody had ever risked their life for me. But she had—reached for me like I was her safe place, saw me not as a monster, not as a vampire, not as a pirate, not avampirate, but as something more. Something redeemable. She stayed when she had everyreason to run. Pressed her blood into my mouth and risked every breath to drag me back.
She infuriates me—cuts through my commands like mist, dares the world to strike her and dares me to stop it. She defies every warning, throws herself into danger. Hoards her truths like stolen treasure, heavy and unspoken between us. And still… she’s magnificent. Wild. Untamed. A force the sea itself should envy.
I needed to talk to her. Thank her.Apologize.
Since Shadeau, she’d gone quiet in a way that had nothing to do with me—and everything to do with what she wouldn’t say. I told myself I was giving her space, but the truth was, I didn’t trust myself not to say something I couldn’t take back. And Saints, I was angry—angry she’d slipped away while I was bound to the ship. Had something happened to her there, I would never have forgiven myself.
Killing the vendor wasn’t just protection—it was possession, and that truth should have sickened me more than it did. The second I pictured his filthy hands on Nerina, the world narrowed to a single thought: kill him.
I didn’t care if it was quick or drawn out—only that it ended with him rotting on the cobblestones. I’ve spilled blood for coin, for power, for boredom, but this… this was different. This was mine. A hunger so black it made the curse in my veins feel almost civilized. And when his lifeblood hit the ground, I didn’t feel guilt—I felt satisfaction. Almost cathartic. If I were the sentimental type, I might’ve called it justice.
I can still feel the hot spray of his blood against my skin. The vendor’s shocked eyes locked on mine for a moment before they dulled, the copper-salt scent mingling with the starlight sweetness still lingering on my tongue. It should’ve felt like any other kill—clean, efficient, forgettable—but it didn’t. And I would do it again without hesitation.
She’d ended a life without intent, and it nearly broke her. I ended one with purpose—and felt nothing at all. That was the difference between us. And the thing I feared would hollow her out.
I stood at the helm, staring into the dark. The truth gnawed at me—I could keep pretending distance was for her safety, but it was for mine. Every time I let her close, I felt the fault lines widen, the parts I’d spent centuries sealing over beginning to crack. And if she saw too deep—if she decided what she found wasn’t worth the trouble—
I’d fought gods, monsters, and men—but none of it made my heart pound like the thought of Nerina turning away from me.
Before the curse, there was The Atlas—a pirate’s creed passed hand to hand through smoke and salt. Articles of allegiance. The division of plunder. The ways you could challenge a captain—and the price you’d pay if you lost.
It kept greed in check. Kept men from slitting each other’s throats over a handful of gold.
But those laws were written for the living.
For men who bleed red and fear the noose.
And I am neither.
I remember the first time I held a copy. The paper soft from years of handling, edges burned by cannon blasts, dark stains baked into the fibers. My father put it in my hands when I was barely tall enough to see over the rail. Told me to learn it like scripture—because a captain without order is nothing more than a target.
