Page 32 of A Storm in Every Heart (Enchanted Legacies #2)
KASTIAN, PRESENT
T hree deckhands charge toward me, their blades drawn. I hold my own sword steady and plant my feet as the pirates close in.
Deep breath in…
They close in around me, and I pivot, my blade a sharp blur as it slices through the air.
The first pirate lunges, and I strike left, my blade meeting his with a clang before slipping past to find flesh.
Another strike swings wide, and I duck right, feeling the rush of air as his weapon narrowly misses.
With a swift upward slice, my blade catches the third pirate in the stomach, and his eyes widen in shock as he crumples.
Deep breath out…
I don’t let myself think about it as the last pirate falls at my feet, his blood mixing with the salty water covering the deck. I can’t stop to process what I’m doing or why because it’s far from over.
The commotion was enough to rouse every pirate on the ship, and within moments, they emerge from below deck and surge toward me, brandishing their mismatched sabers and axes.
I turn to face the oncoming wave, and my arms move before my mind catches up: block left with the hilt, deflect right with the flat of my sword, duck low and slice at exposed thigh.
Blood spatters across my face, and a body slumps to the deck before me. Another pirate grabs at my shoulders; I twist and smash his nose with my elbow. He drops his knife—I catch it midair and fling it end-over-end into the belly of a man lunging for my legs.
I lose track of time—seconds stretch into an eternity as more pirates pour onto the deck, trampling their dead and dying comrades in their desperation to reach me.
The weight of the crowd presses in on every side until there’s no room to swing my sword without hitting flesh. Not that it matters much—the blade is already slick with blood, my hands slipping on the hilt.
I take three more blows—one to the temple, a shallow cut on my calf, and a slash across my upper chest. I barely feel it, instead feeling an absurd desire to laugh.
I’m outnumbered ten to one, probably about to die for a woman who barely knows I exist.
That damned siren curse.
Out of the corner of my eye, I catch a glint of steel hurtling toward me.
My heart races as I realize I had let my guard down for just a split second.
Time seems to stretch as the knife arcs through the air, its sharp edge gleaming in the setting sun.
I can almost feel the cold metal as it zeroes in on my cheek, and my mind screams at me to move, but my body refuses to respond.
Without really thinking about it, I reach for the ocean.
Magic sizzles across my skin, and the ship lurches, knocking the knife off course. A fraction of a second later, a wall of water rises beside the ship and erupts over its side—impossibly high, impossibly fast—drowning portholes and severing rigging lines as it falls onto us all.
Men scream and clutch at ropes, while others are swept into the rolling dark below. Even those who keep their grip are battered senseless by gallons upon gallons of icy seawater slamming down onto their backs.
In under ten seconds, half the pirates are gone, and as the wave recedes the world settles back into clarity again. I’m left standing alone, gasping for air.
Fuck me.
I could have just died ten times over, but still all I can think about is finding Odessa.
Without knowing why, I lift my gaze and my breath constricts.
As if I summoned her, Odessa stands poised at the far end of the ship, just inside the doorway to the lower deck. Her eyes lock onto mine across the ruined deck, and that instant sends an electric current through my entire body.
She’s alive and looks unharmed, and now finally I can breathe again.
I take one lurching step toward her, but that’s as far as I get before I hear a strange rhythmic cracking, and turn instinctively toward the sound.
A lone figure is walking toward me down the center of the soaking wet deck.
I shake my head, dazed, and it takes a long moment for me to connect the clapping sound to the man in front of me, and even longer to realize that he’s applauding .
As soon as our eyes meet, the man’s face lights up in a wide grin, and he claps more enthusiastically. “Bloody well done, sir,” he calls. “I always appreciate an impressive battle, even if it is at the expense of my crew.”
My brow furrows. What the fuck is going on?
“Who are you?” I demand, hand flying to the hilt of my sword.
The man stops several yards from me and makes a sweeping bow, his electric blue eyes flashing with genuine humor. “Captain James Connell at your service. I won’t ask if you’ve heard of me. I don’t think I could stomach the rejection if you haven’t.”
“I haven’t,” I growl.
He brings his hands to his chest as if stabbed in the heart. “Gut wrenching. Nevertheless, one must carry on, right?”
I shake my head, still feeling dazed.
The strange man—Captain James Connell—is clearly deranged.
He’s dressed slightly better than the crew I just slaughtered, but still looks like a pirate with salt-stained trousers and an oversized jacket over a scarred, bare chest. Beyond that, the man is pretty , which isn’t an adjective I can recall ever using to describe another man.
He’s obviously human, and has the same strange allure that Alix does—the beauty that comes with being slightly unusual.
The man is smiling widely and seems entirely unbothered by this bizarre exchange. If he’s really the captain of this ship, then I’ve just killed most of his crew. Yet, he doesn’t seem to care. He must be out of his mind, but that won’t stop me from killing him.
I reach for my sword again and he mirrors me. “I assume you’ve come in search of the Lady Odessa. That, I can understand. I wondered when we got the contract, you know? Why would anyone go to so much sodding trouble over one woman? But then, ‘course I saw her and it all made sense.”
I bite back a growl. “Are you fucking done?”
Still smiling, Captain Connell draws a curved saber from his belt and points it at my chest. “Right, sorry, got carried away. Shall we fight for her, then? You strike me as someone who only fights when you mean it.”
“Funny, you strike me as someone who’s about to die.”
He rolls his wrist as if testing the balance of the blade, then levels it again between us. “I hope you’re right.”
Before I can process what he said, he lunges forward with a lazy, half-hearted swing of his sword, and I raise my own blade to clash with his in a metallic clang.
Our swords meet in midair, and I step back to brace myself, feeling the force of his strike reverberate through my arm.
Quickly, I regain my footing and drive my sword forward, catching him off balance and sending him stumbling backward.
Connell recovers and drives me backwards toward the center of the ship.
We trade blows like that for several long minutes, almost as if sparring for fun.
Connell is an odd fighter—it doesn’t feel as if he’s really trying to kill me, but neither is he letting me find a moment to land a fatal strike.
More importantly, he forces me to keep both hands on my sword to keep up with his quick motions, preventing me from drawing another wave from the ocean to wash him overboard.
“So,” Connell says conversationally between swings, “where did you learn to fight?”
“Prison,” I grunt, slashing at his shoulder.
He laughs, ducking just in time to avoid losing an ear. “Fascinating. I might say the same of myself—in a manner of speaking.”
He whirls, and I only just lean out of the way in time to avoid catching his blade in the throat. I duck low and sweep my blade toward his shins.
“You’re human?” I ask—though it’s more of a comment than a question.
“Originally,” he replies, spinning just in time to stop me from planting a blade in his flank. “Ooh, nice one. That was close.”
“Is this a game to you?” I growl.
“Isn’t everything?” He grins. “It’s not bloody often I get to practice with a real fighter, and undoubtedly you were well trained.”
“Don’t expect me to thank you.”
“Oh, I don’t.” He feints left. I block high, but he pivots low, taking my feet out from under me. “Because I do believe I was trained better.”
I hit the deck hard, the sword tumbling from my grip. Connell steps on my hand to prevent me from reaching it and stands over me, saber tip at my throat.
“Good show, mate. Truly.” He says, breathing hard. “But this is where you beg.”
My face hardens. “I’ve never begged for anything for my entire life and I’m not about to start with you.”
I knock his boot away from my hand and raise my fingers just in time to conjure a jet of water from midair. It’s imprecise and weak, but the motion surprises Connell long enough for me to roll out of the way—barely.
I scramble for my sword, fingers closing around the wet hilt just as Connell brings his down in an arc.
Our blades lock, crossguards grinding, and I shove him back.
He’s stronger than I expected a human would be and doesn’t move easily.
I let out a grunt of effort and shove harder, finally forcing him back a step at the same moment as another wave of ocean water crashes into him.
Connell staggers, and I slam the flat of my sword against his temple, and he goes down hard.
I kick the saber away, then kneel on his chest. “This is where you beg.”
He grins up at me, eyes bright with mirth, as if this is all a grand joke staged for his amusement. “Isn’t that what I’ve been doing?”
“Beg,” I repeat.
His eyes flash. “Please, let this be the end.”
A disconcerting shiver of discomfort passes over me, but I shove the feeling aside as I draw the blade across his neck, fast and sure.
His blood wells up and he keeps grinning up at me as he draws a last ragged breath. I kneel there a long second, breathing hard, feeling nothing but the ache in my limbs and the way the deck tilts beneath me.
When I finally stand, the world is quiet.