Page 98 of The Sea of Zemira (The Zemiran Chronicles 1)

“Lincoln, perhaps we can duel another time, mate. She comes with us. Either that or I can slaughter yer entire crew,” said Wentworth.

Lincoln glanced briefly at Nola, right as Wentworth held up his sword, inching closer to his throat.

“Get out of me way, lad, or I’ll give the order for Russell to cut ’er clean through the chest.”

Nola refused to blink as she eyed Lincoln. The man she cared for so dearly could not move. At that point, Lincoln’s crew had surrendered their weapons to the floor. No one could do anything to save her.

Still holding his sword, Lincoln leapt at the old man but was met with a sword through the stomach.

A muffled scream left Nola’s lips as a cold rage welled deep within her.

Wentworth snapped his fingers, signaling for the pirate to hold her in place. The siren’s eyes grew wide as their captain placed his hand on her cheek—a miffed glare in his eyes. Wentworth’s hands felt like rough leather as he moved his grip down and held firmly to her wrist, yanking her body forward until she landed against his solid, broad chest.

“Hello, me lil’ dove,” the pirate said in a deep voice, his lips flattened to a grim line. “Prince Elijah is expectin’ you.”

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