Page 31

I snorted. “I’m never truly alone, am I? Not with eleven shadows constantly watching my every move.”

Iris stepped closer, her perfume as scathing to the senses as her voice. “If this hurts our people, you’ll have me to answer to, Black Tide.”

“I know, Sea Witch.” I brushed past her, finally ready to indulge in the savory reward for what I endured tonight.

With a string of curses, Iris left. It was hard to be mad at her. At the end of the day, we all protected our people. But when Serena became one of us, I wasn’t quite sure. I contemplated that turn of events as the first flavors of the tepid soup filled my mouth. It was an interesting development, but one that I felt in my bones was right.

Serena belonged here—she belonged right where she was.

Where did that leave me?

I tipped the container back, letting the broth flow past my lips. I’d been making plans to expand the smuggling operations to other markets. Marrying into an East Coast bratva family guaranteed me access—once Danica’s family accepted the situation. They would no doubt see my bold moves as heroic and be eager to do business. I’d never been uneasy on that part of the plan.

But now I claimed protection over another woman. That complicated matters.

“The wind’s against me,” I muttered, scooping chunks of meat and vegetables from the container with my fingers. “And she’s blowing hard. Maybe it’s time to steer a different course.”

Serena felt like a different destiny.

One worth fighting for.

But I couldn’t quite wrap my mind around that. That was what came of chasing a dream for so long, any change was too hard to accept without resistance. I wasn’t ready to give up and chase after something else, no matter how drawn to her I was.

Chapter 13 – Serena

The clap of the cast iron hitting the burner grate on the stove top jarred me from sleep. I laid still, heart pounding. Someone was here.

It can’t be....

He never came in the morning. Our only encounters had been at night, and last night, as always, he kept himself shrouded in shadows. But who else would be here? Dorothea was likely out with her chickens and goats at this godforsaken hour. Evangelia was on a shrimping rotation, which I’d not been invited to attend.

No, if it wasn’t my villainous host, I was screwed. My pulse pounded in my throat. The nightmares lingered on the edge of my consciousness, driving me to consider the worst was happening at the other end of the cottage.

Taking the knife that I kept between the wall and bed, I crept from the covers out toward the kitchen.

It is him.My host was here in the new light of day.

The sun glittered in the fresh, wholesome space that was the kitchen. The whitewashed walls gleamed. The fresh flowers I placed on the table glowed with pops of pink and blue and green.

And then...there was the pirate. There was no other way to describe him. Jet black hair was pushed off his face, long enough for fingers to run through. Totug.A loose linen shirt was draped over his broad frame, and pants made of the same material hung from his hips, stopping at mid-calf. The bare feet were a surprise, but they fit the picture. Ink decorated what skin was visible on his forearms and biceps. I inched closer, eager to see. Intricate shapes decorated his arms in swirls of deep blue, grey shading, and menacing black. But they couldn’t hide the raised skin and mottled flesh.

Dear mother of god, what happened to him?

Many of my brother's soldiers bore scars. Dante, his enforcer, had a nasty, jagged cut that ran along his back, and some artist turned it into a dragon.

But this?

Those arms looked like they'd been taken apart and stitched back together by Dr. Frankenstein. How else would they be so misshapen?

“You’re here,” I said, feeling formal and unsure how exactly to take this change. “Aren’t you afraid the sun will turn you to ash, vampire?”

Ah, crap.That was not a kind thing to say.

But how else was I supposed to act? His presence here was a surprise enough, but to see him, to soak in the visual details, was even more astounding. The man kept himself hidden. He worked at night. Most of the village didn’t see him in person.

And here he stood—in the kitchen, cooking us breakfast as if it was the most normal thing in the world.

“It’s my house, you’re my guest, what’s strange about that?” he asked casually.