Page 67 of Pirate Witch

Rysen is quiet as he approaches me, but I know he’s there. He doesn’t say anything, choosing to watch her with me as Cas lifts her back out of the water and she clings to Klaus with a grin. It seems today’s witch dunking is over, because the leviathan gently deposits our mate back on the deck before shifting back.

The soft cotton of her bandeau is clinging to her tits, barely disguising her perky little nipples. Lucky drops of water slide from her hair down her skin until they meet the equally revealing fabric of her panties.

“You’re drooling,” the vampire notes.

“Fuck off.”

“You know, if you want time with her, just claim the night for yourself like Kier did. The others won’t mind.”

“And do what? Wine and dine her? I’m not that kind of man.”

“Don’t pretend you’re so shallow,” Ry retorts. “We all know what’s in those envelopes and packages we deliver to that orphanage in Ilyani. You should let Nilsa see that part of you.”

I shrug. “They’re just trinkets I make when I’m bored.”

“And the notes of credit?”

“One good deed does not erase several lifetimes of piracy.”

“What about—”

“Fuck, I get what you’re saying. I just…”

Rysen snorts, then lets out an ear-piercing whistle that catches the attention of the group on the deck below. “Captain’s night with our witch tonight,” he calls.

Cas grins and waggles his brows in a suggestive way. I don’t feel the least bit of guilt about the rope that snaps free, catching him in the abdomen. Nos is grinning—the son of a bitch always does when he’s seen something—and I resist the urge to treat him the same way. Klaus is watching Nilsa’s expression carefully, and I turn to face her, bracing myself for the disappointment I’m dreading. She’s going to tell me to go and fuck myself. I can feel it coming.

But it never happens. Sure, she’s not jumping for joy, but she’s not exactly hissing and fuming either.

Shit. She’s not going to argue her way out of it. I round on the fucking vampire, ready to demand he tell me what the fuck I’m supposed to do with her for a whole night.

He’s gone.

Bastard.

I glance back at Nilsa, who’s still watching me expectantly.

One advantage of being a bondmage? I can literally use the floor to swallow me up whole if I need a quick escape. I drop into my study with a groan of frustration and a glance at the window. The sun is already starting to head for the horizon. I have maybe a little over an hour to come up with a date.Fuck.

NILSA

I’m not sure what to expect when Val claims one of my nights for himself. Nerves keep me standing in front of my mirror, checking my appearance for a long time after the sun has gone down. I haven’t dressed up. Not really. I’m just wearing nicer clothes than normal.

My dress is conservative for Lunar fashion, except for the fact that it’s made entirely of soft black lace and chiffon. The boning of the bodice stands out in bold black lines which give me more of a defined waist than I’m used to. There are cut outs which leave my arms bare, and a slit in the swishy mid-length skirt which exposes my thigh whenever I move.

I love the dress. I feel sexy and confident in it.

But what if I’m overdressed?

I huff out a breath and force myself to leave the mirror and head for my door. If Val doesn’t like what I’m wearing, I’ll hex his tongue blue and amuse myself by seeing which part of the ship it affects.

Of course, being Val, he hasn’t knocked at my door, or shown up to escort me to wherever his date is. No. Upon opening the door of our cabin, I find myself faced with a completely different corridor than the one I expect. A long, well lit, but thin staircase is waiting a few metres away. In front of it is a long, thin black box, wrapped in a bold red ribbon.

What is the mage up to?

I pick up the box, half expecting it to explode as some kind of prank. When I’ve held it for several seconds without any adverse effects, I slip the ribbon off and slide it open.

Inside is a gorgeous sword, wrought from lengths of twisting steel wrapped together in a filigree that’s almost too ornate to be real. There’s a glowing crystal in the pommel, carved into the shape of a crescent moon and inscribed with a mage glyph, though I have no way of knowing what the purpose of it is. I test the weight before daring to slip my hand around the obsidian grip and give it a few experimental swings. The blade sings through the air.