Page 19 of Rise of the Gods: Vardor’s Destiny (Time for Monsters)

T he deck tilted beneath my feet, the wooden planks creaking as The Orion's Tide sliced through the dark waves. I clutched the railing and my fingers went numb from the salty wind as I stared at England fading into the horizon, the last hints of home swallowed by the mist curling over the water.

A strange hollowness settled in my chest. Had I made the right choice?

I had told myself a thousand times that I hadn't, that cooperating with Vardor was a mistake, that I should have fought harder, screamed louder, run faster. But it didn't change the fact that I was here now, on a ship bound for Gibraltar, my fate tethered to a man who had stolen me from my own wedding without hesitation or remorse.

A madman. A kidnapper. A warrior who looked at me as though I belonged to him. And a barbarian at that.

Last night, he introduced me as his wife. The word—the lie—still burned in my mind.

"My wife and I require passage to Gibraltar." He said it so casually, as if it were true instead of a calculated lie. The ship's captain had barely blinked before leading us to the largest cabin aboard the vessel, our passage secured in exchange for a thick bracelet made from pure gold.

When we entered the cabin with its worn bedding and leaky window that allowed in a cold draft, I prepared myself for a fight—I would not share the bed with him. Instead, he wished me a good night after he made sure our luggage was all there, then took his leave. "Rest, we leave at first light."

Stunned, I stared at his broad back until he closed the door. Where was he going? The ship wasn't leaving the harbor until the morning, but Vardor had wanted to spend the night aboard instead of in one of the questionable inns lining the harbor. Was that where he was going? This was my chance to escape. I should have run to the door and checked if it was unlocked, but I stayed. It wasn't from fear that he would be there somewhere, lurking, like he had at the tavern a few days ago. No, it was worse than that. I stayed because I wanted to. I had nowhere else to go.

Being here in Portsmouth had brought it home to me how ridiculous my plan had been. A woman alone. It was laughable. I would have been mobbed, robbed, maybe violated, maybe killed before the sun rose. Hiring a companion? Unless I had planned the entire route and found trustworthy captains, there was no way I would have been safe with or without a companion, unless the companion was a burly man. Which meant I might as well stick with Vardor. At least for the time being , I told myself, fully aware that those words were becoming more and more a lie. I had made my bed; now I had to lie in it no matter if I liked it or not. At least I had my jewelry. Vardor hadn't even asked to see what I had. I kept it inside the satchel I carried with me at all times. It was a risk, but parting with it by putting it into the luggage seemed an even bigger risk to me. As long as I had it with me, I had the option and the means of simply running—or so I assured myself.

At some point in the night, I woke to the sound of waves slapping against the ship's hull, the cold draft still coming from the porthole and an empty cabin. He still hadn't returned. Anger churned up inside me. Who did he think he was? Did he go to the Inns to find amusement with the women offering their trades? And why in God's name did that bother me? I should be happy he wasn't forcing himself on me. And I was. Truly.

Later, in the pale morning light, his whereabout were still a mystery, leaving me unsure if he had even been there at all.

And now I stood by the railing, enduring the wind tangling my hair and whipping it into my face as I stared into the vast, endless sea. England was gone, swallowed by the world I had left it behind for.

And then, suddenly—he was there.

I felt him before I saw him, his presence a force in the air, a heat even in the cold wind. He moved like a shadow given form, stepping to my side without a sound, his gaze locked on the horizon as if he could see something I couldn't.

"Where were you?" I asked before I could stop myself, the question grating against my own resolve.

Vardor didn't answer immediately. Instead, he inhaled deeply, his expression unreadable.

"I do not sleep," he said at last, his voice rough as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

A chill rippled down my spine. "That's—" I stopped, shaking my head. "That's not possible."

His gaze shifted to me, black and fathomless, while the wind stirred his long dark hair. "I am not a man."

I swallowed. He was insane.

Before I could respond, the ship's captain approached, his boots heavy against the deck. He was a broad man with sun-lined skin, his coat tattered at the edges, but his sharp eyes were kind when they met mine.

"Got yourself a fine set of sea legs already, madam," he said with a grin. "Not many ladies keep their footing on a ship's first day out."

I opened my mouth to respond, but Vardor moved before I could speak.

The air shifted, thickening like a storm about to break.

His hand closed over my wrist, his grip possessive but not painful, his body shifting slightly toward the captain in a way that sent a silent but undeniable message.

Mine!

The captain's easy demeanor stiffened as he looked between us. "No offense meant," he said, holding his hands up in mock surrender. "Just an observation."

Vardor said nothing, but the tension around him coiled like a predator ready to strike. I stepped forward before things could spiral, placing a hand on his chest—a mistake.

His body was like stone beneath my fingers; heat radiated from him even through his shirt and coat. He looked down at me, his jaw tight, as if he hadn't expected me to touch him at all.

"Thank you, Captain," I said quickly, forcing a smile. "I suppose I've always been quick to adjust."

The captain hesitated, his gaze lingering on Vardor before he nodded. "Aye, well, best adjust to something else now."

He tipped his head toward the horizon. "A storm's coming."

The words sent a shudder through me, though I wasn't sure why. The air did feel heavier now, the sky darker than before, the water no longer smooth but restless.

Vardor's hand finally released my wrist, and his fingers flexed once before he turned toward the open sea. His jaw tightened. "I know."

A gust of wind ripped through the deck, tangling my hair and driving a sharp chill through my coat. The captain yelled at his sailors to secure the rigging. He nodded at Vardor. "Best that the Missis below deck. The storm's gonna hit us hard."

I hesitated. The thought of being trapped below, away from the open air, away from the sea, made my stomach twist. But then I looked at Vardor—his dark gaze locked onto the churning horizon, his expression one I had never seen before. He looked expectant, as if the thought of riding out this storm excited him. I shuddered at the realization that he probably would.