Page 19

My blood runs cold. No one—not even Amara and Wells—knows about my mother and the blood that runs through her veins. My veins.

Grayson clicks his tongue at me and the coldness I felt just a moment ago turns to fire.

Setting his goblet down, he rises from his seat, the chair scraping against the wooden floor as he moves toward the center of the table and grabs a long knife.

My hands immediately move to my hips and I feel my eyes grow wide, realizing I didn’t put my weapons belt back on before I left my room. Aside from the cutlery on the table, I have nothing to use against Grayson, should he decide to use me as his entertainment for the night.

Watching him carefully, I quietly release a sigh of relief as he digs the knife into the chicken and starts cutting away chunks of meat.

“What was it like being raised with a silver spoon in your mouth? To not have to wonder where your next meal came from? To not have to fight for survival?” When I don’t respond, he chuckles quietly to himself. “I wonder what your crew might think of you knowing you aren’t one of them—not truly.”

“You know nothing about my life. Of the things I’ve suffered.” Reaching for the silver knife next to my plate, I carefully pull it away and tuck it underneath the table.

Grayson stops cutting the chicken and glances at me sidelong. Then he snorts with amusement. “There won’t be any blood spilt here tonight, Little Pearl.”

“If you keep speaking of things you know nothing about, blood certainly will be spilled. Your blood.” My grip on the knife tightens.

He sets the carving knife down and slips his hands into his pockets before turning his full attention on me.

That’s when I notice everything about his dress is different tonight.

Instead of his light linen trousers meant to combat the heat of the sun while on deck, his pants are a black leather that hug every curved muscle of his legs.

A leather string fastens the crotch area in a zig-zag pattern that matches the one on his tunic and I find myself blushing the moment my eyes trace over it.

Fucking hells . Even in the midst of my utter disdain for him, my body still reacts to the unholy maleness he exudes.

“It would be a delight to see you unleash yourself upon me. Promise that I might have the pleasure of it someday?” The bastard has the audacity to wink at me and I do the only reasonable thing a woman in my position would do.

I throw the dinner knife right at his face.

With grace that only a true predator is capable of possessing, Grayson shifts to the side just in time, watching as the knife buries itself into the lacquered wooden wall behind him. The handle vibrates side to side for a few moments before Grayson slowly turns his head to look back at me.

A feral grin splits his face and I fear I may have awoken a monster. With what little fire I have left, I raise my chin in defiance of him, readying myself for whatever he has planned for me.

“So she shows her teeth after all.” His eyebrows raise slightly and I harness the snarl that wants to rip from my throat.

“What the hells are you talking about?” I glower at him.

“I’ve seen it.” He waves his hand around. “Glimmers here and there of your potential for greatness.”

I snort. “Throwing a knife at your face and missing is a great thing? Maybe I should give it another try.”

Ignoring my retort, he continues, “I’m sure you’re an excellent fighter, Rowenya. Even while injured, you possess a great ability to take down a foe. But there always seems to be something that holds you back. I saw it on the quarterdeck with Zaos.”

Grayson moves closer to my end of the table. “You wanted to kill him right then. I saw it in your eyes. But you stopped yourself.” His head tilts. “Why?”

I hate the way he’s looking at me. Like I am some puzzle to be studied as he tries to find a way to piece me together—to make me whole.

I might have been whole once, but that was a time too long ago to recall.

Whisps of distant memories that I reach for, but the mere wave of my hand scatters them to nothing.

Grayson speaks of things I have not allowed myself to name. Things I wish to keep hidden under the cover of darkness.

“I tire of this conversation,” I mutter plainly, keeping my voice as level as I can despite the shaking of my hands beneath the table.

Grayson keeps his eyes fixed on me. I see them narrow to slits like his scrutiny might reveal some truth I desire to remain behind a locked door in my mind.

A slight opening peels his lips apart and I think he’s about to taunt me again, but instead he pushes off the table and goes back to carving the chicken.

Once he’s placed several pieces onto my plate and filled his own, he sits back down at the other end of the table, and I am thankful for it. Maybe I can get through the rest of this despicable dinner without him pushing more of my buttons.

Grayson slices through a cut of the meat and raises his fork to his lips.

My tongue darts out between my own as I wet them.

My mind betrays me again as it wanders to thoughts of his mouth moving over certain parts of me.

He pulls the meat off the fork, flashing his white canines before his jaw starts to work.

Hunger pulls at my insides, but I can’t look away from him. It infuriates me. This incessant pull toward him. The carnal need to watch him all night long with a desire to both murder him and fuck him.

What is it they say? There is a fine line between love and hate? I wonder if the same is true for lust.

When he reaches for his goblet of wine to wash down his food, my stupor is broken and I finally start in on my own meal. Hints of thyme and rosemary fill my nostrils before I even take a bite and once I do, my eyes nearly roll into the back of my head from just how tender and savory the chicken is.

“Enjoying yourself?”

My eyes shoot up to see Grayson pulling the goblet away from his mouth. That serpentine smile pulling at the edges.

I swallow the bite and dab the corners of my lips with the cloth napkin to my right. “I’m sure your men appreciate you keeping the good portions for yourself. This chicken is much better than anything I’ve had the past few days.”

He huffs. “Or maybe I enjoy treating you to something special.”

Heat rises to my cheeks, despite my will to stop it. The look on Grayson’s face tells me he notices the blush right away. The smug bastard does nothing but take another sip of his wine while he continues to stare at me with those ocean eyes.

I wish nothing more than to have the magick of the Dark Moon witches and be able to splash his face with the wine from his goblet without moving a muscle to do it. Instead, I set my fork down and just stare at him. Not giving him the satisfaction of a response.

“I see you’ve taken the healing potion. Your movements seem to be less agitated.”

Does he miss nothing ?

Rolling my shoulders back, I do notice the pain has eased significantly and my range of motion is a lot better already.

Through my anger and frustration for Grayson I hadn’t really noticed until now, but I’m thankful for the improvement, especially since Grayson has decided to bring his most obnoxious self to this dinner tonight.

“Doc seems to be the only civilized person on this ship. I figured taking the potion was worth the risk if it meant I’d stand a greater chance against you.”

“And what if it had been poison?” The candlelight from the table flickers a shadow across his face.

I shrug. “I guess it would rid me of the inconvenience of having this dinner with you.”

For once, Grayson doesn’t laugh. Instead, his lips straighten into a tight line and the edge of his jaw feathers from the weight he must be bearing down on his teeth.

“It seems I’ve hit a sore spot. Poor pirate lord.” I stick my bottom lip out in an exaggerated pout. “I wonder what the notorious Grayson Tyde might do to me now that I’ve hurt his feelings.”

Smiling, I slip another bite of chicken into my mouth before leaning back in my chair, satisfied with the jab I just made. Some part of me thrills at the idea of pushing his buttons, of seeing the depth of his agitation at my words. It is a game he started, but one that I fully intend on winning.

Given the sour look on his face, I note that tonight I have earned a point on the board.

Pure satisfaction has me lowering my guard as I steal a sip of the red wine in my own goblet.

Notes of cherries and chocolate hit my palate as I swirl the liquid around my mouth.

It’s rich and decadent. Not normally what one would pair with a poultry dish by nobility standards, but something about the spices used on the chicken bring out the deeper notes of oak and cinnamon from the wine.

A slight heat pulls at my throat when I swallow it. A heat similar to the sensation pooling at my core when I meet Grayson’s hardened gaze.

He still hasn’t let it go. Where is the retort? The quick-witted jab?

I swallow again, but this time it’s from the nerves starting to build in my chest.

His voice is rougher than usual when he finally asks, “How is your work coming along with the Serpent’s Key?”

Back to business , I see .

Two days from now we should make port at Emerald Cove if the weather holds out.

It’s normally a week’s venture from Silvermoon Landing, but earlier I heard booms of thunder from my room, which explains why the ship stopped moving.

Grayson must have given the command to anchor and wait for the passing of the storm to prevent any further damage to the Caelestia .

If I can hold out for a few more days, I may have a chance of escaping once we reach Emerald Cove. Now that I know the Serpent’s Key is a puzzle box, I can crack the pattern and see what clue lies inside.

Keeping my voice as steady as possible, I tell him, “I’ve only observed what lies atop the surface and we both know it represents the ancient tale of the old gods.”

“And what of the poem?”