There goes another bout of bile over the edge of the ship.
Shadows caress against my face, pulling my hair back so I don’t yak on the strands.
Groaning, I spit and lift my head.
“Are you trying to make me feel worse?” I moan at Stark. “It’s annoying how good you are at that.”
Stark merely smirks. He’s been the Sovereign Alpha for only about a week, and yet he shortly mastered shadebending—something I still can’t manage with any consistency. It’s as if he got some sort of nefarious tutor while I was left flailing.
Then again, he’s always been a master of control. The thought whispers some heat back into me, and the nausea starts to abate.
“Stupid fucking sea,” I grumble. “Fuck you, waves. Fuck you, boat.”
“You don’t find the sea as beautiful now?” Stark asks.
I wipe at my mouth and straighten. “I’ll never set foot on another ship as long as I live,” I grumble. He chuckles. I frown at him and sniff, “I look stunning, right?”
Stark assesses me for a moment. “I swore I wouldn’t lie to you.”
“Lie right now.”
“You are not even slightly green. Very lovely. The sea will settle soon,” Stark assures me.
I sigh and nod, staggering away from the railing.
When I turn, my eyes naturally settle on Lucien, and I’m immediately queasy again. He’s sprawled prettily across the helm of the ship, one hand on the ship’s wheel. Yet again, he’s wearing flowing clothes that ripple in the same breeze that fills our sails. Looking at him, we could all be on a pleasure cruise.
“Don’t,” I warn him.
His eyes light with amusement. He doesn’t listen. “The mighty queen of Nocturna brought low by simple waves.”
I glare at him through my misery. Stark strides past me, glower set on Lucien, and I have to catch him. “Stark,” I say weakly.
He pauses. His anger seems to amuse Lucien further.
“I said don’t, Lucien,” I remind him. “Iwantto let him kill you. And I think I might’ve vomited up whatever organ it was that produced all my restraint, so my reserves are dwindling.”
Lucien chuckles. “You’re fun.”
I sit on the deck, and Stark follows, arranging himself beside me. “We need his cooperation. None of the Nocturnans know how to steer this damn thing. You’ll have to settle for imagining his disembowelment,” I tell Stark over our bond.
He turns to stare at Lucien. Then, a second later, I sense the edges of his thoughts. Immensely violent thoughts. And slowly, still staring at Lucien, he starts to smile in a terrifying way that doesn’t reach his eyes.
Lucien’s own smile drops, and he moves as far from us as he can while keeping a hand on the helm, eyeing Stark like he’s worried he’s about to pounce.
“Sturmfrost, make him stop that.”
“No.” I settle my head against Stark’s shoulder.
Just then, Anassa completes one of her pacing rounds of the deck. She pauses before me, sniffing, and touches her nose to my cheek.
“I’m still okay,” I tell her. “And before you complain some more, I know you hate this.”
She huffs warm air at me, nudges me with her nose, then sets about pacing some more. She hasn’t settled once since we’ve been on the ship, except formaybe when she has to lie down to get some rest. And even then, she can only manage it curled up against Cratos.
We really are more similar than I ever realized.
Cratos, to his credit, is a lot more composed than she is. He’s laying near the masts where the rocking of the waves is less acute, his green eyes scanning the waves like he’s expecting a sea serpent to jump onto the deck for an easy snack.
