Page 5 of Ruthless Scoundrel
As I stare at Reina, the tug in my gut swells. She’s my bait, my only way of saving my people.
Mine.
I swallow my remorse and curl the princess close to my chest. I run the last few feet and leap over the edge of the cliff into the crashing black waves of the sea. My form contorts and bends as we fall, folding my Man-shape in perfect condition inside itself as my octopus emerges. I wrap the princess in my many tentacles to protect her from the impact.
The slap of water against my body feels like the sweetest relief, but I don’t waste any time relishing this small victory. There’s a ship waiting for me just off the coast, and I can’t be late. They’ll depart at sunrise with or without me, and then I’ll be well and truly fucked.
I tighten my grip on the princess as I spear through the water, holding her just above the surface. Her bodyweight is barely noticeable in my massive tentacles yet her presence so significant I can’t help but focus on her.
She is their salvation, and my greatest bounty yet.
One step closer.
Chapter two
Reina
Black surrounds me.
It’s cold and wet.
My empty stomach turns and my head thunders like the crash that ripped open the palace. My memories are so foggy, but I know I saw Alyse covered in blood. Gods, is she dead? She can’t be…
My eyes burn and I try to swallow, but my mouth is so dry. I lick my lips and taste salt. Maybe I’m all dried up from crying.
Something is holding my arms overhead. I blink in the darkness and stare up at it. Tiny rays of moonlight pierce the wood above me, glinting off the manacles on my wrists. The green oxidization lets me know they’re copper, probably enchanted, blocking the use of my magic. I try to summon my fire, just to see, and the heat flickers painfully below my skin. I groan and drop my head.
A matching pair of chains are around my ankles, giving me barely enough space to shift from sitting on one hip to theother. The restraints on my arms make it impossible to lie down comfortably, and so I’m stuck in this seated position.
The world cants to the left and my stomach roils with nausea. The sound of whining wood and flapping sheets filters through the pounding pulse in my sensitive ears.
I’m on a boat.
I take a deep breath through my nose, smelling the sour stink of body odor and the putrid reek of waste. Bile surges up my throat and I dry heave.
I’m on a slave boat.
The ship rocks again and I close my eyes, willing myself back into unconsciousness. I can’t deal with this. Not right now. I need sunlight.
But sleep doesn’t come, only more nausea and agony.
By sunrise, my head throbs as if someone is beating my skull like a drum. My eyes are so dry and scratchy I fear I might lose them. My throat feels like it’s coated in sand. If only I could make a little spit to swallow, but sucking on my tongue is useless.
Heavy tromping draws my attention to the stairs on my right. There’s a clank like chains hitting the deck, and then light floods the hold. I groan in anguish and delight as sunlight washes over my face. I lean into the radiant light, stretching against my bonds. My skin soaks it up and I feel the power swell beneath the enchanted copper.
But then it’s over just as fast and the door is shut. Three men stomp their way down, two of them grumbling loudly about “feeding the wretches.” Their voices grate against my ears and I hiss, wincing my eyes shut to get through the pain.
One set of footsteps stops in front of me. I crack my eyes open and glare up at the owner of the scuffed leather boots. He’s wearing loose-fitting black pants and a thick belt with two thigh holsters, one sporting a flintlock, the other a dagger. His shirtis gray—though I assume it used to be white—below a black, button-up vest.
Finally, my gaze reaches his face. He’s cruelly smirking down at me with his angular, stubble-covered jaw. The bridge of his nose sports a lump and a scar, but it doesn’t take away from his infuriating beauty.
He crouches down on his haunches, his dark eyes never leaving mine. “So, you’re not dead.”
Where the other men’s voices were grating, his is like silk, soft and soothing. I fucking hate it, and I hate him. I’d tell him so if my mouth wasn’t so gods damned dry.
As if sensing my thoughts, he holds up a full skein. “Want some? You were out for two days. Must be thirsty.”
I purse my lips and clench my teeth, desperate not to throw back my head and beg this man—my captor—to squirt the liquid into my mouth. I don’t even know what it is. It could be poisoned.
