Page 118 of Heir of the Beast

No.

Yes.

No.

“Human? You okay?” Mort asks with a raised brow.

“Mort,” I take another breath and grit my teeth, “how is Apollo?”

She frowns. “I think the same, no new updates are logged.”

I nod and try to re-braid my hair—step one in getting my shit together. “So what do we do now?”

“We can go up and see the action until they say differently, I guess. You need to tell Siron that we need to save the other princess.

“Laura needs to be out of harm’s way or she might have to be ejected from the game altogether. Personally speaking, I think she is over this.

“Eltson came to her completely naked, wanting to play torture games—hence the lifeline.”

I shiver. “That’s bad.”

Mort nods.

I take a deep breath and finish with my hair. “Okay, I’m going up.”

I can hear shouts and screams already. I make my way to the top deck and see total chaos, cannons being loaded, men with dangerous-looking weapons aimed and ready.

I hear an ear-splitting sound and realize that we are in combat. My heart is pounding as I try to locate a bow.

I can shoot better than anyone on this ship—well, save for the fishing bow that I never got to shoot with Siron. I need to think fast and collected, not letting emotions rule my actions.

I run up to the red-haired highlander, kicking myself for not catching his name. “I need a bow!”

He looks at me like I’ve lost my mind. “Go below deck, lass, are you crazy?!”

“I can shoot!”

He pushes me out of the way and barks orders to the other men. Double damn.

I glance up and see Siron shouting commands while carrying a long, deadly blade on the deck above me, no cane in sight. I wonder if he is hurting, exerting himself like this.

As if he could sense my stare, our gazes clash, and I can sense his panic like a ton of bricks. Like a child caught with scissors in a running stance.

I will reflect on this later, but right now, he is making his way to me, jumping over this and that like a seasoned athlete running to the finish line. No signs of him being disabled.

He waves his arm for me to go below deck like a crazy person. He stops in front of me, entirely out of breath. His large chest moves up and down as his dark gaze sears me.

“I need a bow! I can shoot better than anyone here!” I yell over another loud crash. I think my right ear is humming.

He closes his eyes and shakes his head ~no~.

“Siron, trust me!”

He angrily shakes his head ~no~ again, then points to the door—~or he will carry me~. He mimes that he will pick me up over his shoulder.

He is counting down from five like I’m a toddler, making me mental.

“Don’t you dare!”

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