And then he left her.
And she wasn’t sure if she did love him. But she no longer felt the pull of the forbidden door.
Chapter Nine
JEANNE
Jeanne dressed in borrowed clothes, rolling up sleeves that hung past her fingertips, cinching the waist with a length of rope she found in one of the trunks. When she caught her reflection in the small mirror above the washbasin, she barely recognized herself.
Her hair was tangled. Her cheeks had color in them, no longer the pale exhaustion of her vineyard years. And her neck—
She touched the marks there. Not bites. He'd kept his promise about that. But bruises from his mouth, from the way he'd buried his face against her throat when the urge to bite became too strong. Evidence of restraint, not claiming.
Evidence that he'd chosen her life over his instincts.
The door to the cabin opened without warning.
Luc stood in the doorway, his scarred face impassive. "Captain wants to see you. On deck."
Her stomach twisted. "Why?"
"Didn't say." Luc stepped back, gesturing for her to follow. "But he's been standing at the helm since dawn, staring at the charts like they've personally offended him. Might be best not to keep him waiting."
She followed Luc up the narrow stairs, through the corridors that were becoming familiar. The ship creaked around them, wood and rope singing in the wind. Crew members moved past, some nodding to her, others averting their eyes.
They knew. Of course they knew. She'd spent three days screaming Anatole's name loud enough for the entire ship to hear.
When they emerged onto the deck, the morning sun made her squint. The air was crisp, carrying the salt-sting of open water. And there, at the helm, stood Anatole.
He'd bathed. Changed clothes. His hair was tied back, the silver-blue streak in his beard catching the light. He looked every inch the captain—commanding, untouchable, nothing like the man who'd trembled in her arms while fighting not to bite her.
"You wanted to see me?" she said.
He gestured to the charts spread across the helm. "If you're going to be on this ship, you should know how to read these."
It wasn't what she'd expected. No discussion of what had happened between them. No acknowledgment of the past three days. Just an offer to teach her something practical.
Maybe that was safer for both of them right now.
She moved to stand beside him, studying the charts. Lines and symbols she didn't understand, coordinates that meant nothing to her untrained eye.
"This is where we are." His finger traced a point on the map. "The Crimson Sea, two weeks from any major port. We're sailing south, keeping to open water to avoid territorial disputes."
"Why south?"
