Page 26

“ A nother, Harrick!” I slam the shot glass onto the bar upside down. Remnants of rum fly outward, soaking my hand and the bar top as a hiccup bubbles past my lips with a squeak.

I’m three pints of ale and four shots of rum deep and the room starts to spin as I glance over my shoulder toward Grayson and his men.

Zaos whispers something to him while he maneuvers a silver shilling over the tops of his knuckles.

The piece moves effortlessly across his deft fingers—back and forth, back and forth.

He’s been staring at me for a while now. Every time I steal a glimpse I find him boring a hole through my soul with his piercing gaze.

I huff at him and turn back around to the bar. As I do, the world starts to spin again and I have to extend my arms forward, grasping onto the far end of the bar to stop myself from toppling off the stool.

Blinking a few times to right my vision, I look down and notice the space between my forearms is still empty.

“Harrick!” I holler. “Where’s my shot?”

“Sorry, dear, but you’re cut off for the rest of the night.” He swings his white towel over his shoulder and ambles over to me.

“Cut off?” The words sound slower coming out of my mouth than they do in my mind. “What kind of bar is this place? Cutting people off . . . I’ve never heard such a thing.”

“It’s for your own good.” He sets a glass of water down in front of me.

I reach for it, suddenly feeling parched, only to grasp at thin air.

“What the hells kind of magick is that?” I reach for it again and the glass wavers, spilling cool water over the top of my hand. I grip it firmly and bring it to my greedy mouth. Closing my eyes, I wrap my other hand around it and tilt my head back, draining the entire glass in one go.

Setting it back down on the wet bar, I wipe the moisture from my lips with the back of my hand and hiccup again. “Can I have another one of those?”

Harrick’s bulbous cheeks tighten as he smiles widely. “It made you feel better, didn’t it?” I don’t respond as he takes the empty glass from me. I squint trying to watch him fill it with a large pitcher, but his movements are a hazy blur.

I can’t remember the last time I was this drunk, but Grayson struck some wounded part of me. A part that I wish would have stayed hidden but his cruelty summoned it to the surface, forcing me to inspect it against my will.

“You hate yourself .” His words echo around the empty cavern of my mind, getting louder and louder with each passing breath.

I wish I could tell him his assessment is untrue. That he knows nothing about me. But the moment the words passed between his lips I felt the cold sting of them that only candor can inflict.

“Here you go, dear.” Harrick sets a full glass between my forearms before he moves back down the bar to tend to someone else.

This time, when I reach for it, I notice the sticky mess on my skin. Droplets of ale and whatever other liquors had been served tonight run down the length of my forearm, landing in the rolled-up sleeve of my tunic.

“Great,” I grumble. The white fabric was once striking but after a week at sea and my unwillingness to be parted from my things again for another washing, the shirt is soiled with countless stains, including blood from when I injured my shoulder.

I probably look like a beggar who’s spent too many nights sleeping on the streets.

“Hello, pretty.” I look to my left to find a relatively handsome pirate eyeing me up and down like I’m some sort of treat.

His skin is a rich tan, making his green eyes stand out like glistening emeralds.

He has one hoop earring in his left ear and his blond-streaked brown hair falls just above his shoulders.

A chestnut belt strapped around his waist holds a sword on one hip and a pistol on the other.

Given the thick forearms that spill out of his white tunic, I imagine he’s strong.

Maybe even strong enough to throw me around for a bit.

I smile at him and pat the stool next to me.

“Pretty is all you’ve got?” The words are thick on my tongue, and as he moves to sit down, he somehow manages to duplicate himself.

Fucking hells.

I don’t know which one of him I should focus on. I make myself dizzy going back and forth between the two. Thankfully, my vision steadies and both of his bodies become one again as he slides onto the stool next to me.

He leans in close, his elbow touching mine as he says, “Why don’t we start over then? Hello, beautiful .”

I snort and roll my eyes, which is a mistake because the room starts to spin again. Nearly spilling the glass of water over, I reach for it and empty it once more.

“So, tell me, what is such a lovely woman doing in a place like this? Surely there’s somewhere else you’d like to be.

” Even through the haze of my drunkenness, I know the bastard is trying to butter me up.

His striking green eyes haven’t peered at mine once.

Instead, they stay settled on my breasts as his tongue darts out between his lips.

There’s a suitable bed mate right in front of me, but my traitorous mind doesn’t see him.

Instead, I think of another male not so far from where I sit.

I think of his lips and how my fingers are pained with the desire of wanting to run through his dark silken locks.

How I’d relish in running my tongue down the length of his abdomen and?—

No.

Grayson Tyde is horrible and wretched and no good. And he certainly isn’t worthy of my affections. Not when he’s said such vile things. Not when he’s forced me to look at parts of myself I wish would have stayed hidden for all eternity.

Squinting, I try my best to focus on the man next to me and rid my mind of any thoughts of Grayson.

“I’m a pirate,” I say. “Emerald Cove is my home.”

The man smirks. “You are much too pretty to be a pirate.” Then he tilts his head so he can whisper into my ear, “But I’d certainly enjoy showing you what a real pirate is capable of.”

I huff. “And what exactly would that be?”

“Why don’t you come back to my room and I can show you?”

I really take a look at him now, wondering if fucking him will get a certain someone out of my head.

It’s been a while since I’ve taken a man to bed, which, come to think of it, is probably why my body has been reacting so wildly to Grayson.

I’ve been deprived of intimacy for too long and maybe this man is the perfect solution to quell the aching lust between my legs.

Peeking over my shoulder, I swallow the dryness in my throat when I see Grayson still has his stormy eyes trained on me. A hawk watching its prey.

Flashes of Grayson flirting with that working woman—Cassandra—flickers across my mind, making my stomach coil. He told her he’d consider meeting her tonight, yet he won’t leave my side. Is he planning on taking her to bed in our room? In front of me?

My blood boils at the thought.

Then a plan hatches in my muddled mind. The man next to me is offering himself freely. If Grayson is having Cassandra come to our room tonight, then I shall have my fun first.

I look back to the pirate and he’s still wearing the same smirk. Some small part of me screams in protest as I say, “We can use my room instead.”

His smile widens and there’s something not quite right about the look of it, but I think no more of it as I carefully slide off the stool and steady myself on my feet.

I stumble forward with the first step I take and the man takes hold of me, steadying me. “Easy there. Do you think you can make it or shall I carry you like a maiden?”

I scoff and shove him off me. “I am no fair maiden who needs your assistance. I am a pirate captain of one of the most powerful ships in the Southern Realm,” I boast, taking another step forward. This time I manage to keep myself upright.

“Right,” he snorts. “And I’m the Kraken.”

His jab hits somewhere in my chest, but I pay it no mind as I look to my left and see not only Grayson, but the entirety of his men watching me stumble toward the staircase in the corner.

Not one of them makes a move, but I notice Grayson’s knuckles are a stark white as they grip the mug of ale in front of him.

His lips are drawn into a firm line and his other hand rests on the pommel of his sword that should be hanging from his belt on the back of his chair, but instead it remains at his hip.

Strange , I think right before I feel the weight of a heavy arm drape over the top of my shoulders. The motion pulls my attention away from Grayson, as the pirate—who I just now realize has no name—tugs me closer to him.

“Oh, the things I’m going to do to you, beautiful .” His breath is hot against my cheek and I can smell the stench of alcohol on his breath. Or maybe that’s my own breath. It’s difficult to tell, given how close he is.

Suddenly, I feel hot and sticky. His closeness is damn near suffocating. The closer we get to the bottom of the staircase, the louder my heartbeat rings in my ears.

“Get off me,” I murmur, trying to sneak under his hold, but his hand closes around the top of my bicep, squeezing me closer to him.

“You want this,” he purrs and there’s a rival of thoughts in my foggy mind as I imagine it is Grayson’s arm wrapped around me.

I imagine what it might be like to be held in his embrace.

But the pirate next to me is much too short and a kink grows in my neck as the weight of his arm pulls me down at an awkward angle, ruining the traitorous fantasy.

“No, I don’t think she does.” Grayson’s smooth voice cuts through the air and I can feel him before my gaze snakes to my left.

Despite his large frame, he looks well at ease as he leans against one of the many wooden pillars that keep the inn’s second story firmly above us.

His arms are crossed over his broad chest and he has a bored look on his face.

Irritation sweeps over my nerves at his nonchalance.