The scars are worse on my body—decades of piracy have left their marks. The cutlass slash across my chest from the mutiny that nearly ended me. The burn on my shoulder from a fire aboard theBlack Tide.The countless small marks from fights I barely remember, wounds that healed wrong, violence layered on violence until my skin is more scar than smooth.
She traces each one the way I traced hers. Her fingers are gentle, her touch reverent, and something cracks open in my chest that I didn’t know was sealed.
“You’re beautiful.” Her voice carries wonder. “All of it. Every mark.”
“I’m a ruin.”
“So am I.” She rises on her toes, presses her lips to the burn on my shoulder. “Ruins can be rebuilt.”
I can’t wait anymore.
I lift her—she’s light in my arms, lighter than she should be, all lean muscle and sharp angles. Her legs wrap around my waist as I carry her to the bed.
I lower Aviora onto the mattress. She pulls me down with her, her hands urgent now, her mouth finding mine in a kiss that tastes like salt and wanting.
“Mine.” The word escapes her, breathed against my throat as I settle between her thighs. “You’re mine.”
The possessiveness in her voice does something to me. Unlocks something primal, something I’ve kept caged for years of solitude and penance.
“Yours.” I growl the word against her skin. “And you’re mine.”
When I enter her, she arches off the bed with a cry she only barely muffles. Her hands claw at my back, leaving marks to match my scars. Her legs tighten around me, drawing me deeper, and I lose myself in the heat of her.
This isn’t the frantic coupling on the beach. This is slower. Deliberate. Each movement a declaration, each breath a promise. I watch her face as pleasure builds—the way her lips part, the way her eyes flutter closed, the way her whole body trembles when I find the rhythm she needs.
“Zoric.” My name, broken on her lips. “Zoric, I?—”
“I know.” I kiss her. Deep and claiming. “I know.”
Release takes us both—not violent this time but overwhelming, a wave that crests and breaks and leaves us shattered in its wake. I bury my face in her neck, breathing her in, feeling her pulse race against my lips.
This. This is what I’ve been fighting for. This is what I’ve been running from. This woman, this feeling, this terrifying certainty that I would burn the whole coast to keep her safe.
We lie tangled in the sheets, her head on my chest, my arm wrapped around her. Outside, the fleet sleeps.
“Zoric?” Her voice is drowsy, sated.
“Mmm?”
She’s quiet for a long moment. Then, softly: “I choose you.”
Three words. Simple. Devastating.
I hold her tighter and don’t let go.
TWENTY-SEVEN
ZORIC
Dawn breaks bleak and cold.
We stand at the harbor quay, watching the longboat approach from Gyla’s flagship. Aviora is beside me, my hand resting on her hip in casual possession that speaks louder than any weapon I could carry. Behind us, the remaining guards have assembled—a show of force that looks more impressive than it has any right to, given our actual numbers.
The longboat reaches the quay. Gyla’s guards clamber out first, securing the vessel with professional efficiency. Then the merchant queen herself rises, her silk dress immaculate despite the sea spray, her pale eyes assessing us with the cold calculation of someone counting assets.
“You’ve decided to be reasonable.” Not a question. She can see our packed bags, our prepared expressions. She knows she’s won.
“We’ll show you the Fortune.” Aviora steps forward, my hand falling away from her hip as she moves. “I suggest your fleet sails with us. All of it.”
