Page 45 of Blood on the Tide

I cup Maeve’s elbow, ignoring her sharp look, and help her onto the dock. Not that she seems to need much assistance, but guilt is riding me hard, and I manage to put distance between us. “Let’s find you a healer.”

“That is absolutely not necessary.” She covers my hand with hers, her eyes concerned. “Have you fed since...?”

“No.” I barely left her side for the last five days. I hadn’t wanted to leave her side. I couldn’t shake the fear that if I wasn’t there to measure each inhale and exhale, each beat of her heart, that both might... stop.

“Lizzie, you have to feed.”

I have the strangest urge to shuffle my feet and drop my eyes. Even stranger is the desire to dig in my heels. Hurting Maeve scared the shit out of me. I don’t know if I can bring myself to bite her again, but the thought of biting someone else fills me with unease. It’s a silly reaction. It makes absolutely no sense. I don’t know a single vampire who is perfectly monogamous. Even if they are sexually, they certainly aren’t when it comes to their bites. Even being in a long-term relationship with some fast-healing supernatural, there might be times when it’s simply not feasible that they’re your only source of blood. Now, with Maeve, who almost died because of me, the concept is unthinkable.

So why haven’t I asked one of the crew to step in? I could say that most of them are still terrified of me and would rather toss themselves into the sea than allow me near them, but that’s not quite the truth. It barely registered that I should ask in the first place. Hunger is a gnawing monster inside me, but it’s one that I’ve dealt with before. Conquered before.

I’ll conquer it this time, too.

“Lizzie.” Maeve tightens her grip on my arm. “Let’s talk about this.”

“There’s nothing to talk about.” I try to pick up my pace, but I pull up short when I realize she’s not doing the same. I’ve never had conflicting urges to conquer and protect inside me. Not even with Evelyn, whom I cared about more than I thought possible. Funny how I have to remind myself of that now. Funny how what I experience with Maeve has eclipsed that feeling in every way. Except it’s not funny. Not even a little bit.

I’m thinking myself in circles, and it’s making me want to scream. This isn’t what I do. I pick a direction and go, annihilating anything in my path. There’s no room for questioning, no room for doubt. And yet that seems to be all I’m capable of currently.

It’s a testament to how much better Maeve is feeling that she digs in her heels the moment we leave the dock. “If you want me to go to a healer, then we’re going to talk about this. Now.”

I snap at her, even as my mind wonders what the fuck I’m doing. I’m no animal, to bear my teeth when I’m frustrated, and yet I seem to be devolving with every day I spend in this godsforsaken realm. I step closer, crowding into Maeve’s space. Her regular bathing has washed away the scent of sickness—of weakness—leaving only her. It makes my mouth water.

Back up. Give her some space. I can’t quite make my body obey the command. “What’s to stop me from throwing you over my shoulder and taking you to a damned healer, Maeve? We both know I can overpower you.”

“Yes, you can.” She doesn’t so much as flinch. “But you’re not going to do that. Not with me. Not anymore. So you can agree to talk to me, and I can agree to respect your concern and see a healer, or we can get into a screaming match right here in public.”

I glance around. It’s midday, the sun a pulsing sphere of fire overhead that makes me sweat, but it hasn’t deterred the crowds coming to and from the port. The locals seem to dress in flowing robes and veils that protect their faces from the scorching sun overhead. They mingle with people from dozens of different islands. Sailors are easy enough to pick out in their sun-bleached fabrics and suntanned skins. People from the Three Sisters wear their expensive fabrics and carry an air of pretentiousness. There are others in garb that’s unfamiliar to me. People from islands that I have yet to visit.

A month ago, I wouldn’t be experiencing the curiosity that flows through me despite my current argument with Maeve. I wouldn’t be wondering what their home islands are like or where in Threshold they come from. I certainly wouldn’t be having the faintest desire to visit and find out for myself. I hardly recognize myself anymore.

But Maeve is right—we’re attracting too much attention. I turn back to her and lower my head until I’m speaking directly into her ear. “Fine. Have it your way. But we will be seeing the healer first. If you submit and let them help you, then we’ll have that discussion you’re so keen on. Do you understand me?”

“As long as you understand that there will be no distracting me from the conversation itself.” There’s no give in her voice, and the steel I find there sends a thrill through me despite my concern for her.

“So be it.” I take her hand and start toward the nearest staircase carved into the cliffside. As we get closer, I’m relieved to see a lift that appears to be powered by magic. Good. Maeve might be feeling better, but if we have to climb more than one level, it will put too much stress on her body. I veer toward the lift, pretending that I don’t hear Maeve’s huff of irritation. She can be mad if she wants, but I am looking out for her best interests. Even if she doesn’t appreciate it.

The person at the lift is dressed head to toe in shades of vibrant purple. Only their eyes are visible, deep orange orbs that give little indication to the type of person hidden beneath the clothing.

Conscious of the irritated selkie at my back, I decide not to make matters worse by being an asshole. I can’t quite manage a smile, but I keep my tone polite. “Can you direct us to a healer?” After a pause, I add, “Please.”

Like everyone else in Threshold, the translation spell I acquired upon entry seems to work with them. They take me in and glance at Maeve. It’s everything I can do not to step sideways to prevent them from looking at her. My reaction doesn’t even make sense. They’re hardly threatening.

They point one gloved finger upward. “Three levels. Go right. Look for the door with roses on the mantel overhead.”

“Thanks.” Whoever this healer is, they’d better be good. No doubt, the locals keep the most skilled healers to themselves, far away from sailors and tourists. It’s what I would do. If I have to, I’ll track down one of those fuckers, but it would piss Maeve off more, so I truly hope it won’t come to that.

We take the lift up three levels as directed and follow the instructions to the curved doorway with roses carved and painted along the mantel frame. Up until this point, Maeve seemed content to let me take the lead, but as I raise my hand to knock on the faded white wood, she steps in front of me. “I’ll take it from here.”

“Maeve.”

“Lizzie,” she mimics my irritation. “If your glaring face is the first thing the healer sees upon opening the door, they’re liable to slam it right in your face. Let me do the talking.”

“As long as you’re honest about how you’re feeling and what happened.” I’m not used to this guilt. I don’t know how to combat it. I don’t even know if I have the desire to combat it. I’ve killed so many people over the course of my life, and never spared a thought to who they were or what their hopes and dreams may have been. Or even who they left behind. I’ve hurt countless others with the same lack of care.

But there is no lack of care when it comes to Maeve. I catch myself staring at her face, clocking the exact tone of her skin to ensure that she’s feeling well. Of measuring the steady beat of her heart for any irregularities. Every time I blink, I see her in that bed, too pale, too still, too lacking in the vivacity that makes Maeve Maeve.

Because of me. Because I lost control and almost damaged someone that I have grown to—No. There’s no use following that train of thought to its natural conclusion.

---