Page 32 of Claimed By the Depths

Heaving, my palm flattened against the damp wood to stabilize myself. All that came was blood. Mouthfuls of my life force escaped me as I retched, blinding affliction erupting across my back where Sorva had carved her claim into my skin. My vision blurred as I failed to catch my breath, hand trembling as my nails raked through the worn planks.

A touch settled on my shoulder, warmth crawling up my side as Saph slid herself beneath my arm. “Hey… Hey. I’ve got you, Cas. Come on. I need you to stand up for me…”

Her words faded as the sharp shing of metal rubbed against scabbard. Tension polluted the air, carrying with it dark royalty, an unknown presence nearly as malicious as Sorva’s billowing across the ship. As it lingered, Saph clutched at the drenched fabric of my shirt, her frame unwavering.

“I am not imprisoned by her bind,” my navigator snarled, her wrath poisoning the stormy sky. “So if you wish to keep your innards, I suggest manning the helm and guiding this godsdamned ship out of the mess you’ve elected to steer it toward, Malrik.”

The Overseer of Assassins chuckled, though it was devoid of its usual mockery and strength. “I never took you for a caring woman, Sapphira.”

“Our family doesn’t run on hierarchy, prick. Now get back to your duties as a failing captain before I cut your legs from your torso.”

“Very well then,” Malrik crooned as he took two steps before stopping. “Though, let it be warned that the next time your captain wishes to challenge me, I’m certain he won’t survive the outcome.”

Coughs racked my frame as if he commanded them, but Saph’s boiling ire swallowed Malrik’s threat. “Continue acting like you mean something in this world, Ravelle. You’re nothing more than a human pawn that Sorva plans to use, just as she is using me to keep an eye on Caspian. There is nothing that awaits you but death, and believe me when I tell you I am fully confident in that claim. Misery is all a male as pitiful as you deserves, especially when your cock proves as useless as your mouth.”

CHAPTER 17

Flesh May Bind

ALASTAIR

Mystery far more potent than what shrouded Thornebay clung to the clouds cloaking Hollowmere. Its eeriness derived not only from the shadows lining every crevice of its lethal mountainous terrain, but from the stillness that lingered in every interaction.

The fog swallowed all sound, and the pale figures who drifted through it seemed more like apparitions than residents. They carried themselves with a peculiar quietness, not unfriendly, but distant. That subdued nature quickly made Hollowmere uncanny, a location where everyone guarded a secret or listened for something just beyond hearing.

It was all practiced, near-ritualistic. Every street corner, each glance, carried an undercurrent of unease, as if the town itself preferred not to be fully understood. And that stirred something within me.

Analyzing everything while my thoughts fixated on the interaction with Rohen, the large palm that settled on my arm hardly registered.

“Your mind is distant. Do not allow it to wander. Not here.” Parran’s warning came as a whisper before they moved from behind me to grab the knob of the pub we had approached.

Peeling one of the double doors open, that same unsettling silence enveloped us. There were no boisterous shouts or laughter, no building swell of music. Instead, the patrons turned to peer over their shoulders and stared for a breath. They returned to what they were doing, but the sense of them watching lingered, even with their backs to us.

A male approached, his gait sluggish but intentional. His cropped gothic jacket was made of many fabrics. From its structured shoulders, long sleeves, wide lapels, and layered ruffled detailing, he embodied the aura Hollowmere emanated. Trousers fitted to his lithe legs, the chain dangling from his right hip bounced against his thigh. Its chime became the only sound alongside his booted footsteps as he closed the gap between us.

Ethereal in appearance, his high cheekbones, slim nose, and sharp jawline seemed to be carved by the gods with intention. Even in the dim light, his porcelain skin glowed, its vibrancy seeming to increase as he gave us a soft smile. His inky lips accentuated the shift in his expression, clashing with his platinum hair, which matched his complexion and fell in soft waves to his waist.

His pointed ears extended through it, each heavily adorned with multiple silver earrings—hoops along the outer rim, gemstone studs scattered across the cartilage, several helix piercings, and a dangling chain connecting the upper cuff to his lower lobe. Pearls and white crystals decorated the skin beneath his eyes, while a ruby choker rested against his pale throat.

“Welcome to the Hollow Lantern.”

I went to respond, but Parran’s voice replaced mine. “Do you have any booths available?”

The host’s all-white eyes lifted, scanning them. “Ah, another Fae. Lovely to know that more of our divinity still roam the lands.”

“Divinity?” I asked, unable to prevent the question from falling.

Lifting a brow, with no hair to accentuate the gesture, he craned his head to the side. “You are unfamiliar as divinity yourself?”

What? Divinity?

Leilani brushed her fingers along my spine before slipping from behind me. “Pardon my bluntness, but out of respect for you and the Damned we believe worthy, my partner and I are but mere humans traveling with a gods-blessed being.”

Striations danced along Parran’s jaw, a frequent occurrence when they wished to speak, Sorva’s bind preventing them from doing so. “Apologies, they aren’t⁠—”

“My name is Ignis,” the host interrupted as if sensing Parran’s discomfort. “If you don’t mind following me, I will get the three of you seated somewhere more private.”

Without argument, we fell into the same stillness that fused to the walls of the pub.