Page 61 of Wicked Tides
Bluish skin. Small frame. Golden eyes and red hair. Strong voice.
A Gorgos. I knew of them, but I’d never met one. They were just as formidable as the Kroan, but they lived far to the east. Realizing Vidar had seen one, and in chains, confused me.
I flipped to another page and found more drawings and more descriptions. I even found a rough sketch of a xhoth with sloppy, urgent writing filling the rest of the paper. I saw weapon sketches and designs with detailed instructions on how to create them. Instructions on how to fold hemsbane into a bronze blade. There were sketches of skulls with fangs. Lists of weaknesses he could use against my people.
Then, near the bottom of the stack, one drawing stood out among the rest. It was old. The paper was delicate and worn with creases as if it had been folded a thousand times over. It was a sketch of a girl. A girl with big eyes, long, dark hair, and a bleeding laceration across her cheek. And on that picture was written,The Daughter.
Finally, I heard the lock on the door turn and looked up to see Vidar stepping into the cabin. He had an edge to his expression like anything might set him off. I slapped the leather folder closed and clenched my fists, preparing for whatever he might inflict on me to make himself feel better for all that had transpired. I was a siren, after all. I was the perfect doll to meet every blow he wanted to deliver on the sisters he could not reach. If he were like any other cowardly man, he would do just that.
But then his eyes focused on the deep gashes across my chest. They had stopped bleeding, but the wound still throbbed. Blood stained the front of my shift a dark red and the fabric had torn, leaving a significant portion of my breast exposed.
Taking a deep breath, Vidar circled around me to the side of his bed. There were bottles arranged in a small crate near the foot of it andI watched him pull out a clear one full of transparent liquid. From the same crate, he pulled out a roll of white cotton.
“Your men said it wasn’t a good idea to go to that island,” I said, seeking to measure his level of tolerance. “You did. Now one of them is dead. You lead your men into the mouth of death with no remorse. You are your father’s son.”
His nostrils flared and I knew I’d struck a nerve.
“Tor was dead long before he became a member of my crew.” He lifted his sharp eyes to meet mine. “Losing two sons to bitches like you took his soul years ago. Without a soul, men do not care what happens to them. It made him a good hunter.”
He slammed the bottle down on the table and unraveled the cloth as if he were about to mend my wound. I backed up a step.
“I will heal.”
“Why’d she try to kill you?”
“You know why.”
“Do I?”
“I am the girl who got her mother and her clan murdered by a human boy. And then she saw me with you, no chains and no binds. What would you think?”
“She thought you were working with us.”
“Aren’t I?” I raised my cuffed wrists up in front of me. “Or is it back in the cell with me?”
He eyed the irons. Then me. Then my chest as if he could not decide whether to kill me, mend me, or fuck me.
Yes… deep in those brown pools, I could see it. He had a flicker of that desire, no matter how much his hatred outshined his lust. He probably despised himself for it if he was not in complete denial.
Then, without a word, he uncorked the bottle and splashed whatever was inside across the open wounds of my chest. It burned like fire. I snarled and pressed my hands to the stinging incisions, but too quickly, Vidar stepped forward and grabbed my wrists. I heard a dagger unsheathe and in a blink, he’d slid the fine point of a concealed blade through a rung in my chain. He pushed me back onto the table,slamming the dagger into the wood above my head so my wrists were pinned. The sting of the alcohol on my fresh abrasions made me feral as Vidar’s hand collared my throat. I looked up at him, my fangs piercing my gums and protruding, sharp and aching for violence.
“I am not fond of games, Dahlia,” he hissed, squeezing my throat. “I have many questions. Questions you need to answer.”
“I owe you nothing,” I said, his scent flooding my lungs. His delicious, tantalizing scent. I wanted to taste his blood on my tongue again and feel my teeth pierce his flesh. “You are but a boy dancing on waves where monsters play.”
“What did the Frenchman say to you?”
I laughed at his questions and he squeezed my throat harder until I was silenced. Shivers shot through me. My blood pumped furiously through my veins and my head swam as all of my senses clashed together in an instant of breathless bliss. Blackness swallowed my vision. Silence overwhelmed my ears. Pain racked my bones and excited my nerves and for a brief moment, I was being teased with wonderful death.
I came back to myself with a deep breath that sent my blood shooting south. My back arched off the table, one knee rubbing up the side of Vidar’s leg.
My eyes focused on Vidar. He was bent over me, hand still on my throat, but no longer so tight I could not breathe. He was looking at me like I had just slapped him in the face.
What cruel god was toying with me at that moment? Vidar nearly choked the life out of me and when I came back, my body craved… something. Touch. Pleasure. Release. A cleansing, perhaps, of the life I was living. My nipples pebbled under my bloody shift, the threat of dying at the hands of Vidar Bone Heart sending me into a daze.
I should have hated the thought, but my body betrayed me.
“Do it,” I challenged with a raspy whisper. “I am your greatest enemy. I am the ghost that haunts you in the night. I know I am.” My knee rubbed against his hip, my heel pressing against the back of his thigh to draw him closer. “Do it. Finally, watch the life bleed from myeyes as you steal my last breath. Save your crew. Save your sanity. We both know I deserve worse and you want nothing more.”
