Page 11 of Ruthless Scoundrel
Nothing attempts to intercept me as I carve a path through the water, perhaps because of the chaotic storm, but I hope it’s because I’m fearsome enough to not be fucked with. I would prefer the rest of our journey be as calm. It’s a fool’s hope, especially because we’re coming ashore to a set of islands I’ve never been to, with very little in the way of supplies for survival.
And I’m magically exhausted. Staying in my enlarged octopus form takes so much more effort than wearing my Man skin. I yearn to return to my true form, but I would paint a target on myself, no matter how secluded the island might be.
We’re in the vicinity of a trade route, and if I can get the sea to speak to me, I’ll find a new ship. From there, it’ll be a boat down to Port Alvara, a few weeks’ trek inland to the southside city of Hammon, and then a few hours in a smaller boat out to the wicked king’s tiny plot.
Revenge is so close, I can almost taste it in the salt flowing through my gills. The sun kisses my bulbous body, warming it through the cold seawater. My blood pumps hot and heavy atthe thought of murdering the old fuck who took my family, my people.
The little island grows in my above-water vision, and below, the shallows emerge. It’s teeming with life, so I snatch up a few fish to help replenish my magical stores. I’ve grown so accustomed to eating as a man that the raw, bloody snack has me yearning for a bit of seasoning and smoke.
When the coast gets too shallow for my octopus, I let my body contort back into my man form and vomit all the seawater from my chest. It burns up my throat as my tentacles shift, flipping inside out and coming together. My second skin emerges, clothes and weapons still perfectly in place.
I kick my weak little feet and push Reina’s raft onto the sandy beach, then drag it up out of the tide’s range, leaving great furrows in the sand. I gulp down huge breaths of air into my lungs, but it doesn’t feel thick enough. It doesn’t satisfy the burning in my arms and legs. The world is spinning, and nausea rolls through me.
Rest. I just need to rest.
But Reina will run or kill me the second she wakes up.
I dig around in my pouch until I find the key to her chains. I unclasp the manacle from her right wrist and suck a breath through my teeth when I see her skin and remember.
It’s burned, badly. Angry red half-circles flow up her arm to her elbow from her wrist. There’s more on the other side, and a smattering of these crescent burns across her chest. She used her magic internally because the copper binds prevented her from externalizing it.
I’m magically drained, but if I don’t heal her, these will get infected. I take off the other manacle and then lay my hands on the wounds. Opal light shimmers through my fingers and mends her skin, pulling at the reddened flesh until it joins once more.I’m too weak to prevent scarring, and so the princess will forever wear the marks of her bondage.
I’m destroying her, bit by bit.
My eyes droop and I know I can’t hold it together much longer. I snap a manacle back on Reina’s wrist and attach the other to mine. I drag her against me and hide my eyes in her hair, wishing the world to stop spinning.
I breathe in her scent: flowers and the salt of the sea. It’s calming in a way I don’t understand, or care to figure out right now. The smell eases my suffering, so I breathe her in again, and again, until darkness finally claims me.
One step closer.
Just a little more.
Chapter four
Reina
The cold crash of water against my toes jolts me from sleep. Pain ripples down my arms and across my chest, my skin overly sensitive and tight, like it was just healed. Memory trickles back in as I make sense of what happened. The queen came for me, and I burned myself to fight her. It worked. The rebellion told me it would work, and it did.
I am her antithesis. The light to her dark. The only magic that can hurt her—except her own.
An angry red scar rings my wrist. Right—my copper binds. How did I get out?
I move to touch the tender skin, and the clanking of chains alerts me that I’m not entirely free. Or alone.
Jasper.
Fire burns through me and I grit my teeth as my skin pulses a much-too-hot blue at the sight of him. My magic is detained behind the copper manacle, and so is his. He’s bound us together. But why?
That doesn’t matter. What does is my freedom.
There’s a piece of hull beside us, meaning the ship I was once on is in pieces. Only the light of our two moons, Eyzanth and Nol’Ther, illuminates the beach in red and silver. The sea looks like dark blood crawling up the shimmering sand.
I scour Jasper’s form for weapons in the low light and find only one I can reach: the three-shooter flintlock holstered high on his thigh. I have no idea how to use it, but I can pretend.
I grip the handle of the weapon and try to pull it free, but a leather strap holds it in place. My gaze shifts to Jasper’s face in a panic when he mumbles something. His eyes dart from side to side under his closed lids and my pulse pounds in my veins.
His manacled arm rests on my thigh, so I can’t turn too much without making noise and moving him. I twist, reaching for the holster strap to unbutton it. The leather is swollen with water and my grit-covered fingers slip on the smooth button.
