Page 69 of A Storm in Every Heart
Jett holds me tight, his hand firm on my back. “Don’t celebrate yet,” he warns, his voice steely. “We still have to get off this godsdamn ship.”
As if on cue, another crash sounds up above, and I look toward the stairs, suddenly realizing that it’s odd none of the pirates have rushed down here to stop Jett from reaching me. Whatever is happening above deck must be taking all their focus. “What’s happening up there?”
“Kastian,” Jett says, as if that’s the only explanation necessary.
My eyes widen, and my heart skips a beat. I struggle to find words, and my voice comes out hoarse and breathless. “Oh…he’s here too?”
Jett rolls his eyes, clearly not fooled by my attempt at nonchalance. “Just come on. I can’t stay down here a second longer; it smells like shit.”
I laugh slightly hysterically, and out of instinct, I reach for my long skirt to lift it as we dash toward the stairs. Only then do I remember that my dress is torn, leaving my knees exposed.
I suppose that’s the least of my concerns right now.
Jett ushers me up the slick, wet stairs, and we emerge onto the top deck.
I blink rapidly, the low evening light feeling surprisingly bright after the darkness below. I inhale a huge gulp of fresh air, but there’s no time to savor it.
All around us is chaos; sailors run this way and that, men scream, and barrels and crates slide across the deck as the ship rocks back and forth as if in a storm.
“Watch out!” Jett shouts, pulling me back into the stairwell just as a massive wave crashes over the deck. Salty droplets spray my face and drench my front, but I’m lucky to have escaped the worst of it.
The crew is not so lucky.
Pirates scream as many sweep overboard into the churning sea. Others cling to the masts and walls to avoid falling.
I whirl around, bewildered by the wild, frothy waves crashing against the ship despite the clear evening sky above.
Then, all at once, I understand.
On the other end of the ship, Kastian stands firmly at the center of the deck, surrounded by the remaining pirates as they close in around him. Blood coats his tattooed arms and one side of his face, but he doesn’t seem to notice as he cuts into each pirate almost methodically, sending them crumpling to the ground one by one.
Then, like he can feel me looking, he turns and our eyes meet across the deck. My heart races, constricting my chest as if it’s caught in a vice. My breathing turns shallow, and in that moment two things become absolutely clear:
This is the Kastian I remember—the one I fell in love with a hundred years ago.
And it’s too late to save us. We’re already doomed.
KASTIAN, PRESENT
Three deckhands charge toward me, their blades drawn. I hold my own sword steady and plant my feet as the pirates close in.
Deep breath in…
They close in around me, and I pivot, my blade a sharp blur as it slices through the air. The first pirate lunges, and I strike left, my blade meeting his with a clang before slipping past to find flesh. Another strike swings wide, and I duck right, feeling the rush of air as his weapon narrowly misses. With a swift upward slice, my blade catches the third pirate in the stomach, and his eyes widen in shock as he crumples.
Deep breath out…
I don’t let myself think about it as the last pirate falls at my feet, his blood mixing with the salty water covering the deck. I can’t stop to process what I’m doing or why because it’s far from over.
The commotion was enough to rouse every pirate on the ship, and within moments, they emerge from below deck and surge toward me, brandishing their mismatched sabers and axes. I turn to face the oncoming wave, and my arms move before my mind catches up: block left with the hilt, deflect right with the flat of my sword, duck low and slice at exposed thigh.
Blood spatters across my face, and a body slumps to the deck before me. Another pirate grabs at my shoulders; I twist and smash his nose with my elbow. He drops his knife—I catch it midair and fling it end-over-end into the belly of a man lunging for my legs.
I lose track of time—seconds stretch into an eternity as more pirates pour onto the deck, trampling their dead and dying comrades in their desperation to reach me.
The weight of the crowd presses in on every side until there’s no room to swing my sword without hitting flesh. Not that it matters much—the blade is already slick with blood, my hands slipping on the hilt.
I take three more blows—one to the temple, a shallow cut on my calf, and a slash across my upper chest. I barely feel it, instead feeling an absurd desire to laugh.
