Page 62 of Red Dreams

I shoot her a sharp look, silently begging her not to make this worse. She rolls her eyes, then settles back against the side of the boat like she’s on a pleasure cruise.

“Ethan, please,” I say, turning back to him. “I know it's a lot to take in, but we don't have time for this right now. We need to get out of here before Cassie's men realize we're gone.”

Ethan scrunches his eyes shut, then opens them again, as if forcing himself to realize this is his new reality. “Are we just setting sail into the sunset with the Scythe and his long-lost daughter, hoping they don't slit our throats in our sleep?”

“Kaden saved our lives back there,” I say softly. “And Cassie … she’s the reason we made it out. We have to trust her. At least for now.”

The motor roars to life under Kaden’s direction, startlingly loud. The little boat surges forward, cutting through the waves toward the hazy glow of lights that mark Greycliff's harbor.

I huddle against Ethan, providing him with my warmth, and I’m relieved,sorelieved, that he’s alert, pissed off, and talking. As the boat skims over the choppy waves and the salt spray cleanses my face, I press my hands against my stomach, feeling the damp fabric of my shirt. It’s sticky with blood—my blood, other men’s blood, and Kaden’s.

I glance down at my wrists, rubbed raw from the ties that bound me. The skin is broken and bleeding in places, a tangible reminder of the horrors I endured. Every breath aches in my bruised ribs, and I can feel the sting of cuts on my face from Cassie's precise blade work.

But I'm alive. Against all odds, I survived. We survived.

My gaze drifts to Kaden, his dark form rimmed with stars. The man who tortured Ethan, who threatened to end his life in front of my eyes. The same man who whispered reassurances to me in the dark, who stepped between me and certain death. I know it's wrong, this pull I feel toward him. He's dangerous, lethal, a killer forged in the fires of a hell I can't even imagine. But in a world that has shown me nothing but cruelty, his fierce protectiveness feels like shelter, like safety.

As if sensing my attention, Kaden glances my way, his arctic eyes finding mine unerringly in the dark.

I bite my lip and hug my knees to my chest, trying to steady my racing heart. It's wrong, I know, to crave the feeling of safety that comes with being his.

He looks at me like he wants to devour me, like he would lay waste to this boat and let us drown so long as he was inside me while we did.

I know I should look away, should focus on Ethan's battered form huddled beside me or the dark stretch of coastline loomingahead. But I can't seem to tear my gaze from Kaden's or stop the heat from pooling low in my belly at the unspoken vow in his eyes.

It's a reckless desire, a dangerous longing. But as the boat races toward the distant shore and the dark spires of Greycliff loom out of the fog, I can't find it in myself to care.

At last, I’m able to tear my gaze away and drift to Cassie instead, perched at the prow like a figurehead, her long black hair tangling in the wind.

She looks back at me and winks.

21

LAYLA

The lighthouse stands against the coming storm the way it always does, its beam cutting through darkness just like the choker tattoo slices across my throat.

Kaden kills the motor, and we drift the last few yards, the hull scraping bottom. He vaults over the side, splashing into the shallow surf.

I stare numbly at Ethan slumped beside me, his blood seeping through the makeshift wrappings I made from the spare blanket. He groans, his head resting heavily on my shoulder.

“Almost there,” I whisper, more to myself than him. “Just hold on.”

Cassie sits at the bow, her steel-blue eyes reflecting the beam of the lighthouse as she stares up at the weathered tower. She doesn't move to help as Kaden lifts Ethan from the boat, cradling his skinny form like a child.

“We need to move,” Kaden says gruffly.

I snap out of my stupor and stumble onto land, legs unsteady. I half drag myself across the rocks and sand toward the weathered cottage, its whitewashed walls and faded blue shutters appearing out of the mist like it’s heaven-sent. It’s a farcry from the opulent decadence of the Siren’s Call, and I couldn’t be more thankful.

When I realize Cassie hasn’t followed, I turn back, noticing that she hasn’t moved from the boat.

“Come on,” I say over the growing thunder. “We need to get inside.”

She looks at me, her expression so colorless and blank she might as well be a corpse. Slowly, she climbs out of the boat.

Cassie stalks past me, heading not for the cottage but for the lighthouse.

“Cassie, wait—” I start, but she's already gone, disappearing into the shadows at the base of the tower. I hear the groan of rusty hinges as she forces open the door, then the echo of her footsteps spiraling up, up, up.

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