Page 16 of Dragons' Bride
"Go," Quinton said roughly, trying to jar the human into motion before fear froze her altogether. Knowing Kit, she’d start climbing just to show Quinton up.
The human let go of the rail and started toward the ladder.
Quinton raised his chin.
The ocean however, had other ideas. A wave birthed from its depth caught the Phoenix's bow, jerking the ship like a cat shook its kill. The Phoenix lurched. The platform lurched even more. Kit lost her footing and fell with a scream.
8. QUINTON
Quinton moved on instinct, snatching Kit from the air. Her legs were already through the opening in the platform, her bare feet kicking wildly. Quinton barely had time to wrap his arms around her midsection before that too could slip away. She writhed in his grip, terror – and not just the human’s – spiking the air all around them as he hauled her back up to solid footing. Kit shook so hard that Quinton didn’t waste his breath yelling. There was no point. She’d unlikely hear him anyway.
Not trusting Kit to hold up her own weight, he left one arm around her waist while bracing the other on the rail, keeping them both steady as the ship rolled and righted itself. The culprit wave passed as quickly as it had come, but the wind was rougher than before and the sea fussed in response. Kit trembled and clung on to him like a tree-bear.
An officer from the deck called up to see whether all was well. Only the male’s intense caution around Quinton was stopping him from ordering the pair of them to get the rutting hell down from his mast this instant, but Quinton heard the unsaid demand. And he didn’t disagree.
"Time to go,” he told Kit.
She shook her head vehemently, her eyes firmly shut and fingers digging into his shoulder hard enough to bruise.
"It's not going to get any smoother."
"I'm not climbing in this. I can't." The words came with quickening breaths. Peeling herself off Quinton, Kit wedged herself into a corner of the platform. "I'll wait until… it calms.”
Quinton squinted at the horizon. Wisps of purple mist were separating from the dense fog and reaching toward the Phoenix, and there was a predatory feel settling over the ocean. Quinton wasn’t sure the previous wave was caused by the wind at all, and not something that was living beneath the sea. Something not of this realm, but from the darkness of Mors. The types of creatures that filled the blight.
“It won’t be calming any further,” Quinton said. “Let’s move.”
“You go.”
Oh, bloody hell. He weighed the human with his gaze. There was no safe way to lug her down without some cooperation, and the other option – shifting and taking to the skies – would be too dangerous for the Phoneix. That meant negotiation. Which wasn’t his forte. Tightening his jaw, Quinton gentled his voice.
“The waters won’t get calmer this close to the rift. Come with me.” He held out his hand. “I will spot you.”
Instead of taking his hand, Kit dug her fingers into the planking, as if that would do any good.
Down below, Captain Dane, who had none of his officer’s hesitation, raised his voice to a bellow and demanded they return to deck.
Rut. Quinton crouched beside Kit and gripped her chin, forcing her to look at him. "Human. Kitterny. Come with me. I will not let you fall. I promise.” His heart hammered as he realized he was wasting his breath. He had gotten what he’d wanted – Kit didn’t trust him. And now, instead of taking his promise, she’d gone glassy eyed instead.
"No,” she said, panic shaking her body as she glanced down again and what color still remained in her cheeks leached away. “No. No."
"Kit!" He shook her shoulders desperately, searching for words that he didn't know. He was the last person to talk anyone down from a panic attack. He was much better at inspiring it. "Stars, damn it. Kit, slow your breathing before you pass out.”
She didn't. Hell, she breathedfaster. Her heart raced. The scent of her terror rose and spiraled, feeding his own. The wind rose, howling through the rigging and carrying more purple wisps of mist. The rushing air sounded like a haunting moan as it beat their faces. The ship was swaying savagely now, the passage down the rigging becoming more perilous by the moment.
“Get your ass down, Quinton,” Dane hollered into a speaking trumpet. There was no pretense at courtesy in the captain’s order, not anymore. “Now.”
A fine drizzle joined the cold gale beating on them, the droplets like tiny needles that struck skin and scales. The human didn’t react. Not even to flinch away or protect her face from the sting. Her breaths came too fast for her body to make use of the air, which only made her gasp faster still. She was too far gone into panic and as distrusting of Quinton as she was of the rocking ship.
"Kit, please," Quinton heard himself beg as he leaned over her shaking body. She couldn’t hold a rope now if it was placed in her hands and he didn’t dare try to haul her into the rigging by force. He didn’t remember the last time he was scared, but he was now. "Please, just slow your breaths."
Nothing.
Out of ideas, Quinton wrapped his arms around Kit, slipping his hands under her crop top to splay his palms over bare skin. She flinched. He was probably on a bruise. Stars. This was all his fault. She’d come here because he was here. Because Quinton ignored her everywhere else. She was scared of heights to begin with, but had conquered that fear for the sake of talking to him. And now they were here, with Kit hurt and terrified and in danger. Because of him.
He had to do something. Even if that something made his stomach churn.
Leaning his forehead against Kit’s, Quinton surged his magic into her body. It pierced into her easily, mixing with Kit’s lifeblood and sending tendrils of heat through her. His heart pounded. She was so open to him, so unprotected. The way Quinton held her, he could kill her in a hundred different ways. Swiftly or slowly, with no pain or with a great deal. That was his magic. His gift and curse. Fear wrecked everything inside him. He’d never used his magic the way he intended to now, and it could go wrong in so so many different ways. But Quinton was out of ideas and out of time.
