Page 22

Sapphire

When I emerge from the bathroom, Riven’s wearing the tunic I selected for him.

It fits him perfectly, draping across his broad shoulders, the linen clinging just enough to remind me of exactly what’s beneath it. And of course, it matches his eyes.

I glare at the ceiling.

I hate the universe.

He, of course, looks unbothered, sorting through our supplies with his usual effortless indifference.

His fingers pause over the food.

Our vegetarian food that was packed for us by the cloaked girl.

He glances up, silver eyes catching the low light as he studies me.

“Hungry already?” he asks, although from the way he’s looking at me, I don’t know if he’s asking me whether I’m hungry for food, or if I’m hungry for him.

The thought alone sends a slow, curling heat through me, pooling low in my stomach like a carefully placed trap.

I should have told him to dress in an old blanket instead of something that looks like it was practically made for him.

Not like he would have listened. But still, that’s not the point.

I fold my arms over my chest and glare at him. “I fed this afternoon in the woods.”

“Which means we have three days for this ghost ship to take us wherever we’re going before your hunger strikes again,” he says, watching me with lazy amusement. “Three days until you start eyeing me up like a meal instead of a snack.”

My jaw tightens as a sharp pulse of heat rolls beneath my skin, the memory of his blood’s scent slamming into me like a force I can’t control.

“Absolutely not,” I say, and he studies me with heart racing intensity, clearly enjoying this.

“Not yet,” he says, and magic surges through me, a sharp burst of wind slamming into him.

He easily absorbs it.

“I don’t know why you’re so against the idea,” he says, brushing a few strands of windblown hair from his face so casually that it makes my blood boil. “Given your feral reaction when you sliced me with your dagger, I’d wager you’d enjoy it.”

I clench my hands into fists, my nails digging into my palms. Because he’s right. His blood smelled incredible. Rich, dark, and intoxicating, calling to me as much as he calls to me.

But I don’t know what drinking from him would do to me. I don’t know how much control I’d have. And after that lead arrow, I don’t want to risk finding out.

“You’re scared,” he observes, dissecting me with a single look, peeling back my defenses like he already knows what’s lurking beneath them.

I scoff and cross my arms tighter over my chest, as if that can shield me from whatever truth he thinks he’s uncovered. “Of you?” I finally ask, forcing as much casualness into my tone as I can muster. “Please.”

Frost crawls along his fingers, spreading like veins of ice. “Not of me,” he says, like it’s obvious. “Of what will happen when you give in.”

The ship tilts beneath me, waves crashing harder against its sides.

“I’m not going to give in,” I say, although my breath’s coming faster now, my eyes drifting to that place where my blade sliced his forearm back in the Summer Court.

“Then why do you look at me like you’re already imagining it? Like you’re afraid of what will happen if you have a taste?” he asks, and I half expect him to take out his dagger, slice his forearm, and tempt me again.

Thankfully, he doesn’t.

“Aren’t you the one who should be afraid of me?” I push back, relieved that despite how cruel he is, he’s not quite cruel enough to cross the line and thrust his blood into my face. “I’m the one who can drain you dry. I’m the one who’s restraining myself, even though my life would be easier without you in it.”

“Is that what you tell yourself so you can sleep at night?” He circles me, his voice edged with ice. “That you’re restraining yourself? That you have control? That despite everything, you don’t enjoy me as much as I enjoy you?”

I don’t move. Don’t let him see how deep his words burrow under my skin, setting my heart on fire.

But he does see. He always sees.

“Because if you’re truly in control,” he continues, taking a slow step toward me, the light from the lanterns making his eyes glint like frozen steel, “then you wouldn’t be shaking right now.”

A sharp gust of wind slams through the room, rattling the lanterns and making the wooden walls groan, as if the ship itself is straining under the weight of this moment.

He watches, fascinated, his lips parting slightly, like he’s daring me to lose control.

“What are you so afraid of?” he pushes further, his voice sliding over me like frost. “That you’ll like it? That you’ll lose control? That you’ll kill me?”

His words settle over me like a whisper of fate, and the cabin feels smaller. Tighter.

“Maybe I’m afraid of losing more of myself than you’ve already taken,” I admit, and then I summon my magic again in one violent burst, sending a rush of wind through the cabin, shoving him back just enough to slip past him.

My breaths are ragged as I throw open the cabin door, stepping onto the deck and into the cool night air. The ghostly mist coils around me, and I brace my hands on the railing, forcing myself to focus on the wind, the water—on anything but the way Riven’s words are still curling around my mind, sinking into my bones.

Because he’s right. I am scared.

Not of him.

Not of the hunger.

But of the inescapable feeling that if I ever tasted him, I’d never be able to stop—and that a life without him in it would make me even more broken than I already am.