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I took a step away from the weaponry. I had no idea how to operate any of it, and the last thing these people seemed to need was me messing up their systems.

“Shield!” a man shouted.

The air shimmered around the boat just as one of the dragons breathed and a wall of fire fell toward us. My breath caught in my throat, my limbs freezing as panic ripped through me.

Directives shouted all around me.

“Aim!”

“Steady!”

“Hold!”

A hand grabbed my elbow and fingers laced with my own before pulling me away from the frantic people on the ship’s deck.

“Sterre.” A man’s voice wrapped around me, softer than the others and yet more commanding. A bolt of heat shot down my spine and through my limbs, making my toes curl. “We must get below deck, or we risk everyone’s lives.”

I couldn’t help but turn toward the honey and velvet voice. It gave me the same feeling as the odd design embedded in the ship’s deck: home and safety. The man’s gold eyes were full of worry, his jaw clenched as another fall of fire met with whatever was keeping it at bay. His neck was covered in a tattoo the same color and pattern as the ship. A similar tattoo spread along his forehead and framed his temples. It highlighted a nasty set of scars running down the side of his face cutting near his left eye.

“You’re not strong enough yet,” he whispered. “You can try a different time when the lives of our navy aren’t at stake.”

He squeezed my hand and pulled me toward him. His lips were soft as they brushed mine, and I wanted to sink into the heat and breadth of him.

“Callum, now,” a woman said from just behind him. “You have seconds.”

The man muttered a curse, and then he was dragging me through the open door tucked toward the back of the ship, guiding me down stairs I couldn’t see in the sudden darkness of the unlit underbelly of the ship.

3

AMETHYST

Iawoke all at once, so fast my ears nearly popped.

What in the hell was that dream?

I waited for my mind to clear, but the odd haze still hovered over me. My body ached like I’d been hit by a truck rather than fallen on the rocks of the Maine coastline. Slowly, I felt both of my wrists, trying to figure out which arm they’d shoved the IV into. There was no way I wouldn’t have one, not with the way my head pounded. Paramedics had grabbed me from the shoreline, at the very least.

Except both my wrists and hands were bare. I slowly traced higher up, all the way to my elbows. Confusion settled heavily over me at my forearms being bare, too, even thicker than the weird feeling behind my eyes.

“Amethyst?” Sloane’s soft voice cut through the odd floating sensation but made my temples pound.

Did I have a concussion?

I’d never had one before, but maybe this was the brain fog people described. The pounding in my temples got worse as I turned my head toward my sister’s voice, but I fought through it. Slowly, I managed to open my eyes.

It was dark, much darker than a room in a hospital should be even with the curtains fully closed. I eased to my elbows, the room swirling around me with the movement. Bile burned up my throat, and I desperately swallowed it. It took a minute for the room to register, and then my confusion doubled.

Where were we?

The room was simple, a singular bed taking up most of the space. The walls were a dark stone, the pieces too irregular to be made by a mold or machine. There was one window only a few inches from the low ceiling, opened a couple inches. The sky beyond it was a deep blue. Crickets chirped in even intervals, creating a background hum that didn’t help my brain fog feel less intense. I’d been asleep long enough for it to become night?

The floor was a similar stone, though a shade or two darker. It was too dimly lit to tell what color the sheets were other than something not quite white. A fireplace took up the wall opposite, carved into the stone rather than built out from it, and a small fire burned inside the hearth, its single flame and glowing orange coals the only light. There were no light switches, no overhead fan, no lamps in the corners of the room. There were no tables at all, actually. The entire space was smaller than my bedroom in our tiny apartment.

“Amethyst?” Sloane asked again. “Are you awake this time?”

It took too long for my gaze to train on her, my mind slowing the longer I was awake. She sat beside me on the bed, hugging her knees to her chest. The warm light of the fire flickered over her face, turning her brown hair dark enough to almost match my own black. Her jeans and t-shirt were gone, a long, flowing, off-white skirt covering her legs instead. With a frown, I glanced down at my own clothing. The shorts and shirt I’d worn on the beach were gone, too, replaced by the same type of dress Sloane had. I traced the low scoop neckline even as I slowly sat straighter, clenching my jaw as the room spun again. The fabric was rough, catching on small callouses I hadn’t realized were on my fingers.

“It’s linen,” Sloane whispered. “And I’d bet money it’s handsewn, too. The stitches are too irregular for a machine.”