Page 42 of Siren's Treasure

“What does loving me have to do with any of this?”

And here he was talking about love again… like he’d uncovered feelings in her heart she’d carefully hidden beneath layers of duty and fear, too terrified to name them even in her private thoughts. “I don’t know!”

“She might think I’d rebel against her,” he said, “—that I’d stay away from you… maybe because we’re an undefeatable force. And she’s not wrong. We’re more powerful together.” His lips found hers again, sending a balm of relief coursing through her as they reunited, two currents merging into one powerful tide, his kiss deepening until her bones felt like they were dissolving into the sea itself.

“Those witches won’t control our lives anymore,” he whispered, his voice hoarse against her cheek. “We’ll fight them until the end.”

Her heart hammered against her ribs as fear and hope mingled in her blood. What if Scylla truly wanted her to fall in love with him? What would the witch gain?

“What’s this?” Raggon had found his necklace on her. His fingers traced the edges of the coin, and he smiled, a low chuckle under his breath. “Clam! You thief!” He pressed his forehead tohers, his eyes impossibly blue in the dim light. “I’d hoped you’d wear this.”

“I like having a part of you with me,” she admitted.

“You’ll steal all of me, piece by piece?” he murmured. That teasing look was back in his expression. He shifted and made a face when his knees protested against the hard floor. Letting out a grunting laugh, he rose with one fluid motion and shrugged off the confining jacket, stripping down to the cambric shirt beneath before sitting beside her, his knees bumping into hers as he turned to face her. The heavy coverlet moved beneath them as he ran his fingers down her cheek, callused fingertips catching slightly on her skin. “Tomorrow… when we get to Undine’s Island, we need to know where to search. Do you have any idea where to go?”

Her stomach knotted with dread at the thought of the blade being hidden where they couldn’t reach it. She didn’t know where it had been buried. “It can’t be too hard to find,” she said. “We just need to figure out where Undine would take it.”

She listened to his swallow. “Like finding a pearl in the depths,” he muttered. “Will we have enough time?”

She could only pray that they did. The horror of losing his brother would only be the beginning. If her father surrendered to his illness and descended to the eternal currents, the whole sea would groan under its weight of grief. Nothing would hold the witches back from coming after them then.

Raggon’s hands tightened over hers as their fingers wove together. “This is going to work. There is magic in your eyes; your smiles sparkle with it.” His lips brushed light kisses against her cheek.

“No magic here,” she whispered, glancing up at him, “or Scylla would’ve stolen it. She gets all my powers, I’m afraid.” A sudden pit of depression weighed against this newfound happiness, and she broke from him, climbing over the bed to find the flintlockpistol on the table, the weapon he’d entrusted to her care. “This is all I’ve got. Some bilge rat gave it to me.”

He laughed lightly in response.

The cool wood against her palm brought an odd kind of comfort—a tangible connection since this gift came from him.

Perhaps that was when she first started to… love him? The thought crashed into her with unexpected force. Why did everything keep returning to that? Her breath caught, and she met his eyes again. “Did you want this back?”

He grinned, his eyes darkening with emotion. “I didn’t come here just to get a pistol from you.”

“No,” she whispered. He’d come to offer his heart… a second time. How many times would he do it before she crushed it? When all she wanted was to offer hers in return? The pistol clattered against the bedside table when she set it down. Instinctively, she scooted further away from him, creating a small island of space between them. Her own heart demanded distance—room to breathe, to think clearly again.

Glancing up at him, she noticed he was still watching her from the other side of the bed, his eyes following her movements with quiet intensity. She tried to fill the void with words: “What do I have to offer you in return? I traded everything that made me a princess of the Sea Sovereignty.”

“No,” he answered firmly. “You cheated that witch—she got nothing of value.” He settled across from her, propping his head with his palm while he continued to watch her, no longer as the drowning man, but as the one who’d been rescued. “I got the best part of you,” he whispered. He reached through the invisible wall she’d created between them and captured a strand of her hair between his fingers.

“If you try to cut another chunk off…” she warned playfully.

“No, never.” He ran the back of his knuckles against her arm, sending a pleasant shiver through her to remind her ofthese inconvenient feelings all over again, ones that only grew stronger the longer she knew him. And there was no keeping back her smile at his touch.Disobedient mouth!

His broad shoulder dug into the pillows across from her. This time, however, he maintained a respectful distance that would certainly gain the old Duke’s approval—though she supposed earlier they both might’ve earned a sound lecture from the good man.

Was it deserved?

Thessa’s cheeks flushed at the thought of Raggon’s kisses. Her lips burned with them. Her piratical prince was a man who showed who he was without saying a word. His eyes—full of promise of more to come—never deserted her.

She felt the same need to stay close. In him was her hope.

“Just a few hours more,” he whispered, “… and we’ll be on the island.” He ran a circle over her arm, his breathing slowing at the gentle rock of the ship. What would happen once they reached their destination? Would this fragile peace they’d found still be the same? She watched the battle between wakefulness and sleep play out in his face until his eyes closed, his fingers draping over hers, as if afraid she might slip away like the tide.

The lantern light cast shadows across a face that was troubled.

And there was more than enough reason—she felt it too—something gnawing at her thoughts, even as she also drifted to sleep, something dreadful lying below the surface, and it was just waiting for her to wake and discover it.

Then silence… before it was broken by piercing screams. Thessa shot up in bed, hearing a terrifying sound shake the cabin, making the gas lanterns swing wildly from their hooks and glass bottles topple from shelves, vibrating through her in a roar—yes, a roar! It was unlike anything she’d ever heard before, primal and ancient. The sea itself had found its voice.

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