Page 56 of A Storm in Every Heart
I don’t believe him for a second. But every instinct says:move.
That man is not human—I don’t know what he is, but I’d rather run straight into his band of pirates than wait to find out.
I barrel past the still-grinning pirate, fling open the compartment door, and lurch into the corridor, half expecting to be cut down from behind.
Captain Connell holds true to his word and gives me a chance to run, but it’s hardly a gift.
The hall outside is chaos incarnate, worse even than last year’s train crash. Screaming passengers, overturned luggage, glass crunching underfoot. I duck low, sprinting toward the next car, slipping once in a pool of something—hopefully wine, not blood—and catch myself hard on the wall.
Behind me, the thump of Captain Connell’s heavy boots follows me. He’s not running, just… following. Stalking. Like he’s got all the time in the world.
I reach the vestibule between cars and smash the release lever with unsteady hands. The door hisses open, and I stumble out onto the platform. The crowd is gone, and there’s not a single guard in sight.
My heart pounding in my ears, I grab my skirts and sprint across the platform, not really seeing where I’m going. I round the side of the ticket booth and dart toward the road.
Then, suddenly, another pirate is in front of me, blocking my path. I scream and turn, trying to dart around him, but another man blocks that direction.
Suddenly, they’re everywhere, swarming the platform and closing me in. There’s nowhere to go. I’m caged, and every single man is grinning, like this is just some game to them.
From down the platform comes the slow, deliberate click of boots. He’s whistling now, like he’s in no hurry, and the tune sinks into me with bone-deep dread.
He’s drawing it out; he enjoys the chase.
“We can do this the easy way, or the hard way,” Captain Connell calls as he grows nearer.
I straighten my spine, and dig deep for a bravery I don’t feel. “I dare you to take me back to your ship,” I hiss, teeth bared. “I could drown you in seconds. You know that, right?”
The pirate finally stops in front of me, his bloodstained shirt still pulled up to show ridges of unblemished muscle. He bows, sweeping his arm in a grand gesture of mock chivalry, and whenhe straightens again, the smile that splits his face is all teeth and hunger. “That’s the spirit, darling. I love a fighter.”
KASTIAN, PRESENT
Imade a huge fucking mistake.
That’s all I can think when I wake up alone in my bed, my thoughts already on Odessa. I know she was here when I fell asleep, but her side of the bed is cold, and it looks as if she left hours ago. Knowing her, she probably waited for me to go to sleep and snuck out at the first opportunity.
Maybe she also realized what a terrible decision last night was.
It was a mistake, because it was far too good. Nothing that feels that incredible can ever be good for you.
Overnight, my fascination shifted into a full-blown obsession, and I know I won’t be able to handle never having her again. But that’s wrong.
Everything about this is wrong.
I shouldn’t be able to want her so much. I should feel guilty about betraying my soul-bond, but I don’t. Technically, Ishouldn’t have even been capable of touching her while bonded to someone else. So, what does this mean?
I sit up and squint around my destroyed bedroom. It somehow looks even worse than last night—truly giving the impression that a storm tore through here leaving only wreckage behind.
There’s probably a metaphor here somewhere, but I can’t find it right now.
I swing my legs over the side of my bed and try to avoid stepping on the broken buttons and shards of a lamp I don’t recall breaking as I make my way to the wardrobe. I’m oddly resolute—confident, even—as I dress quickly and climb the stairs up to the third floor.
I’m not entirely sure what I’m planning to do. I know this can’t happen again, but I must be a masochist because I still want to talk to her.
I reach the top of the landing, my heart thudding in my chest as I stop in front of Odessa’s door. Taking a deep breath, I knock softly and brace myself, waiting for the familiar clatter of her navigating her messy room, but there’s nothing. Silence greets me instead. I knock louder. Again, there’s no answer.
Cautiously, I test the doorknob.
It turns easily, but I need to lean heavily against the door to push it open. Clothes, shoes, books, and papers clutter the floor and obstruct the door. For someone like me who thrives on order, Odessa’s room should be revolting. I know I must be really far gone because the chaos barely registers with me. “Dessa?”
