Page 57 of A Curse of Salt

I watched him, my eyes drawn to his, measuring their intensity. It was strange, seeing his whole face in the light. His features were strong, stubbled, but young. The darkness of his gaze was unsettling, but not . . . monstrous.

Before I could even begin to fathom their depths, his eyes dropped to my hands. I tucked them back into my skirts, clenching my fists to hide how they shook. I hadn’t been able to hold them steady since they’d touched the hilt of that sword. Even in my dreams, they’d quaked amid the clash of battle.

‘You look terrible,’ Sebastien said gently.

My scoff drowned in my throat. He was right. I’d barely slept, barely been able to shake the heaviness from my bones.

‘Thanks,’ I replied, a smile tugging at the corner of my lips.

When I looked up, my stomach flipped.

His gaze was trained on my mouth, the ghost of an answering smirk painting his own. He held out his palms and I stared at them for a long moment, bewildered.

‘Give me your hands,’ he said, fingers beckoning mine.

My breathing shallowed, unnerved by how readily my feet took me forward, to him. I slid my hands tentatively into his and inhaled sharply, standing rigid between his legs, unsure how to respond to his touch when it no longer made me shudder in fear.

A look of deep concentration etched Sebastien’s brow as he folded his hands around mine. I couldn’t tear my eyes away from his face. Couldn’t stop drinking in the rugged planes of his sun-sculpted features. Couldn’t believe that, after all this time, he was just a man.

‘Killing a monster doesn’t make you one,’ he said eventually, his thumbs tracing the paths of my veins. He didn’t look up, voice so low that I had to lean closer to hear. ‘Taking a life to save others – that doesn’t make you . . . like me.’

When I looked down, my fingers no longer trembled. Shrouded in his, they didn’t seem so unforgivable. The world outside wasn’t so terrifying, not with the Heartless King’s calloused hands wrapped around mine. Hands that had bled bodies of life, sending shivers through me as they circled my skin. I stared down at them, lost in the sensation.

‘It scares me,’ I murmured. ‘I never wanted to kill anything. To know how it feels . . . how easy it is.’

‘Death is always the easy part,’ he replied, fingers whispering along the veins of my pulse. My blood sang for it, his touch. ‘Living with it . . . that takes time. But you’ll learn. You saved a lot more lives than you took yesterday.’

He raised his gaze to mine slowly, his eyes so soft I could feel myself melting into them. Two months ago, I’d quaked at the mere thought of him, more a myth than a man. Yet as his hands slid slowly up to my jaw, I couldn’t resist. I leaned in.

My heart raced, lips quivering as my fingers curled around his broad, burning shoulders. The taste of desire on his breath was like wine, like quicksand, and I was sinking. His thumb traced a path over my bottom lip, catching my shallow breaths. Every shadow in the room stilled as I shifted closer.

My eyes fluttered closed as he tilted his head, stubble grazing my cheek as his mouth reached for mine.

The door swung open.

18

Ispun around in alarm as Aron’s head poked inside, his face still grimy and spattered with blood from yesterday’s battle, as though he’d worked through the night on deck.

‘Have ye seen—?’ He broke off as his eyes landed on us, my body wedged between Sebastien’s thighs, his hand on my chin. Aron’s face split into a wicked grin. ‘Ria. I was just lookin’ for ye.’

Searing shame flooded through me as I glanced up at Sebastien, seeing the embers of lust that still burned in his gaze.

‘I’ll be out in a moment,’ I whispered.

‘Take yer time.’ Aron winked, darting out and pulling the door shut behind him. A faint laugh rang out, then silence.

I bit my lip. Sebastien’s gaze didn’t stray from my face. It took me a moment to gather the strength to step back, to withdraw my hands from around his shoulders.

A muscle pulsed in his jaw as he let his hand fall, eyes shifting as they studied me.

‘You were right,’ I managed, when I’d mustered a voice strong enough to carry the weight of my words. I looked down as I backed away, unable to meet his gaze. ‘I’m not like you. I can’t . . . do this. I can’t spill blood without it tainting my own. I can’t pretend that this – that you don’t terrify me.’

‘You scare me, too, blackbird.’

The raw truth in his words cut deep. I shook my head, struggling to swallow. Something thick and foreign was threading its way through me, twining through my bones. It was that feeling I was afraid of most – feeling it for him.

I hurried from the room without a backward glance. What could he possibly fear from me? I didn’t want to know the answer. Because the idea that I could mean anything to him . . . that was something to be afraid of.

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