Page 43
Story: Rogue Souls
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
IRENE
“ L and!” Egobor’s voice startled her, snapping Irene out of her reverie. Her eyes fluttered open, and she spun around, a wave of adrenaline coursing through her. She strode briskly to the bow, where Egobor stood, spyglass raised, scanning the horizon with palpable intensity.
“Here, take a look,” he said, handing her the spyglass.
Irene brought it to her eye, her breath catching as the island came into view. Meregoth. It stood close now, almost near enough to smell the salt and lush greenery drifting on the wind. The island was alive with untamed beauty: thick forests draped the hills in deep emerald, and crystal-clear turquoise waves broke gently against pale sands. Jagged cliffs towered over one side.
Irene’s chest swelled with a pride she hadn’t known before—not with the fleeting satisfaction of victory she once felt following the Lorax’s commands, nor the fleeting triumph of a raid. This pride was something else entirely: the knowledge that this moment, this quest, was hers. She was captain of her own destiny.
Lowering the spyglass, she turned to Egobor with a faint smile. “Meregoth…” she whispered.
Egobor nodded, his voice quiet, almost reverent. “I’ve never seen it before... only heard whispers.”
“Neither have I,” Irene replied, her tone lighter, though joy sparked beneath it.
“We’re one step closer to the sapphire, Captain.” Egobor winked at her knowingly.
At the helm, Javier grinned as he caught sight of the island. He let out a sharp whistle and threw his arms wide. “Meregoth, here we come!” he called, his voice carrying across the ship. The crew erupted into cheers, their voices rising above the murmur of the waves.
The crew was already busy—trimming sails, securing crates, preparing weapons. But just as Irene was about to give her orders for anchoring, a sharp note of alarm rang through Egobor’s voice.
“Captain.”
He didn’t need to say more. Something in his tone froze the blood in Irene’s veins. She spun toward him, snatching the spyglass he held out with unusual urgency.
What she saw made her stomach twist.
Off the port side, looming in the hazy distance, was a ship. Not just any ship. Irene felt a chill crawl down her spine, like the ghosts of her past clawing their way back. She tightened her grip on the spyglass, knuckles white.
It was the Cordelia .
The ship she had sworn to the abyss, the ship she had watched sink, now stood like a cursed shadow on the horizon. But it wasn’t the Cordelia she knew. Its gold-and-white sails, once marked with the proud royal Eldorean bee, were gone.
In their place flew black sails, sinister and menacing.
And there, on the deck, amidst the organized chaos of the crew, stood a silhouette.
Even from this distance, she would have recognized him among thousands.
Dax.
Her breath hitched painfully. Her pulse thundered in her ears, so fierce it felt as though her heart would claw its way out of her chest.
“Shit…” she swore under her breath, lowering the spyglass in a sudden, jerking motion.
The bastard wasn’t dead. He refused to be. Even the ocean had failed to swallow him. Dax was nothing less than a curse incarnate, anchored to her existence like a shadow she could never outrun.
Wherever she went, whatever she built, he found a way to claw his way back.
How could this be happening again?
Irene had no time for questions. The chaos wasn’t coming; it was already here. She had to act. Now.
Her fingers tightened at her sides as she closed her eyes for a fleeting moment. Rage surged within her—a tidal wave, wild and relentless. Not now. Not here. She didn’t have the luxury of collapsing under the weight of her hatred for that man.
She snapped her eyes open, a glint of cold fury in them.
“LISTEN TO ME!” she shouted, her voice raw with command.
The crew, startled, froze. All eyes snapped to her.
Irene stepped forward, her chin high, adjusting the knife and sword at her belt with deliberate precision.
“Ladies. Gentlemen. People,” she began, her tone sharp and biting.
Her voice cut through the tension like the crack of a whip.
“We are at war.”
A ripple of unease passed through the crew—a murmur of nerves and tension buzzing like static in the air.
“Our enemies are here!” Irene pointed toward the distant ship, her words sharp as daggers. “They are coming to take what is ours.”
She turned, gaze blazing, her voice rising to a fevered pitch.
“So I ask you: WILL YOU LET THEM?”
“NO!” the crew roared in unison, their voices a thunderous rallying cry. She met Jace’s gaze. His eyes were locked on her. With a discreet gesture to Blade and Lan, she signaled them to guard him. Then she turned back to her crew.
“You have my blessing. Beat them, break them, hit them, choke them—do whatever it takes. But bring me that fragment. That’s all that matters. Understand?”
“Aye, Captain!”
As the StormBreaker neared the shores of Meregoth, Irene readied herself alongside the crew. Javier tossed her his compass, which she caught in one fluid motion and slipped onto her belt.
“Captain?” Zahra’s voice drew her attention.
“Remember the words: When the stars lose hold, and the north turns cold, the needle will yield to a song of old.”
Irene nodded, before she turned to face the island.
Meregoth awaited them. So did Dax.
This time, she would do whatever it took to claim the fragment, even if it meant facing him again. Sending him to hell a second time, if necessary.
Irene leapt from the StormBreaker, her crew close behind. Their boots splashed through the shallow waves, cutting through the water as it lapped at their knees. To her left, the crew of the Cordelia surged from their ship, Dax leading the way.
Only one thought burned in her mind: If fear or hesitation betrayed her now, it was over.
Jessalyn’s words echoed in her mind: He who hesitates first will have his head fall first.
Their feet touched the warm sand. From the shadowed treeline, Dax emerged, his men lined up behind him, poised for battle.
Irene raised a hand abruptly, halting her crew. Dax mirrored her, holding his men back with a commanding grip as they drew their swords.
Silence.
Dax’s gaze bore into hers. Would he order her death here, now, on this white sand? Would he make the first move?
Her breath caught.
And then he smiled—slow, cruel, mocking.
Irene understood in an instant. This was not a war he sought. Not yet. This was a hunt.
And she was the prey.
“Run,” Irene breathed.
No sooner had the word left her lips than chaos erupted. The two crews surged forward like a tidal wave, splitting the shore and disappearing into the dense forest of Meregoth.
Irene ran, her pace frantic. Each breath tore at her lungs, her muscles screamed in protest, but she didn’t stop. Branches lashed her cheeks and arms, leaving thin, stinging gashes. She didn’t care.
She felt hunted. Ahead of her, Egobor dashed at full speed, his stocky frame leaping between the trunks with surprising agility. Irene gritted her teeth, already cursing herself for losing sight of Dax. Where was he, that cursed specter from her past? She yanked the compass from her belt, snapping it open, but before she could focus, a weight slammed into her.
A soldier.
They hit the ground hard, damp earth clinging to her skin. Irene rolled instinctively, her fingers fumbling until they found a fallen log. With a fierce swing, she struck the guard in the temple, and he crumpled instantly.
“Irene, here!” Baelor’s voice rang out to her right.
Panting, she turned toward Baelor and hurled the compass in his direction. The sound of rustling leaves and snapping branches grew louder behind her. She risked a glance over her shoulder—another soldier was charging toward her, along with the one she’d just struck, now back on his feet and closing fast.
She ran, zigzagging between the trees, frustration boiling inside her.
“Where the hell is Dax?”
She scanned the forest’s shifting shadows, her gaze desperate for his familiar figure. And then she saw him.
He was running with relentless focus, his compass in hand, every muscle honed to a single purpose. Rage exploded in her chest. How could he know? How had he figured out the truth about the melody and the needle without Lady Death’s cryptic words? The answer hit her like a slap. The witch. Of course, it was her.
Dax was gaining ground.
Irene veered sharply to help Egobor,4. She drew her sword, gripping it tightly, and charged. The clash of blades echoed through the forest, metal screeching against metal. A soldier struck her hard across the face, the sting exploding along her cheek. She stumbled, but before she could recover, Egobor tackled the man with a roar, disarming him in seconds.
Out of breath, he thrust the compass back into her hands.
“Run!” Edwina’s shout came from somewhere behind them as she drove her dagger into another soldier. “We’ll hold them off!”
Irene nodded, too winded to speak, and bolted.
She ran until her lungs burned and her legs screamed for mercy. The compass trembled in her grasp, its needle spinning wildly. Nothing mattered except the pull of that needle.
And then it stopped.
It quivered violently, shaking in her palm until the sensation buzzed through her fingers. Irene froze, her chest heaving. Slowly, she looked up.
Ahead of her, partially obscured by vines and stone, was an opening. A cave.
She was there.
Sliding the compass back into her belt, Irene sheathed her sword with trembling fingers. She stepped forward, her boots echoing softly on the rocky floor. The air inside was cool and heavy, carrying a faint metallic tang. Drops of water fell from the ceiling, their sound amplified in the stillness. The further she ventured, the more the light from the entrance faded, and the walls began to shimmer with a faint blue glow, casting eerie reflections on her face.
She paused, her breath shallow, every sense alert.
She could feel him.
A tension coiled in her stomach, a blend of fury, apprehension, and something darker she refused to name. Her lips curled into a mocking smile as she called out, her voice sing-song and sharp, “Daaaaax?”
The sound bounced off the cave walls, carrying her venomous sweetness deeper into the shadows.
“Where are you, my love?” she sang. “I just want to talk…”
The cave answered with silence, save for the faint echo of her words.
Then, a crack—a faint sound somewhere behind her.
Irene turned slowly, a wicked sneer curling her lips. She twirled her knife in her hand, each movement quick, deliberate—like a taunt, like a promise. “Come on, Dax…” she said. “Show yourself, or I’ll come get you.”
She took a step forward, then another. But before she could move again, a shadow shifted. A sudden, crushing weight slammed into her back, stealing her breath. She stumbled, almost falling, but a strong hand snatched her roughly, pulling her up.
Then came the cold bite of steel. A blade pressed against the tender skin of her throat, so sharp that a single drop of blood slid down her neck, tracing the curve of her collarbone.
“You were looking for me, my love?” his rasping, venomous voice growled in her ear.
Irene’s breath hitched as a shiver tore through her. His hot breath brushed her ear.
His chest pinned her firmly against him. She felt the raw strength in every inch of his body as it locked her in place. Trapped. “There you are…” she whispered, her voice soft but laced with amusement, even as the sting of the blade at her neck deepened. The throbbing ache sent sharp, twisted jolts of pain through her, yet her lips still curled into a smirk.
His body pressed closer, cruel in its proximity, until she could feel the brutal heat of him against her. His hips pressed into her back, hot and unrelenting, as if daring her to move.
Dax leaned closer, his breath now at the nape of her neck, hot and maddening. Irene’s pulse thrummed against the blade. Their bodies vibrated, a tension so sharp it felt like the air between them might ignite.
Irene twisted in his grip, her body a wildfire fighting against iron chains. But Dax didn’t falter. His hands were firm, holding her like a predator toying with its prey. His arms pinned her completely, locking her against him. Despite her height, Dax made her feel small—his muscled frame crowding her, his strength swallowing hers whole. She thrashed harder, but it only seemed to amuse him.
His lips hovered near her ear, his breath hot and maddening against her skin. His voice came low, rough, and mocking, “You did me so wrong, little siren…”
Her throat tightened at his words, the heat of his breath igniting a storm inside her.
“You didn’t enjoy my gift?” she rasped, her voice like a blade, mocking him. “It came from the bottom of my heart.”
“Liar,” he hissed, his tone venomous. “You don’t have a heart.”
Irene’s breaths came fast, her chest rising and falling against the pressure of his hold.
Dax chuckled low, the sound dark and unhinged, vibrating deep in his chest as it pressed against her back. “I suppose this is where I should kill you,” he murmured, his voice smooth but seething, every syllable laced with a threat far too intimate.
“Do your worst,” she shot back, her tone daring, defiant, even as her pulse raced.
Her head turned just enough to meet his gaze. His eyes, half-lidded, were staring at her lips. Then they flicked up, and his stare burned into hers.
Irene smirked, just before throwing her head back, slamming it into his face with a sickening crack.
Dax stumbled, his grip loosening as a growl tore from his throat. Blood smeared across his lips and fingers as his hand flew to his nose, his eyes wild, feral.
They drew their swords at the same moment. Their blades clashed in a splinter of metal, the sound echoing. Irene gasped as Dax’s fist connected with her stomach, knocking the air from her lungs. She didn’t hesitate, slamming her fist into his face. Doubling over, Irene raised a hand, “Wait… wait a moment,” she said breathlessly, her voice edged with pain. Dax stood across from her, blood trickling from his mouth as he spat onto the dirt floor. His chest heaved, muscles taut beneath the sweat-soaked fabric. “Fine,” he rasped, his own breathing ragged.
They straightened, facing one another. But before either could catch their breath, Irene’s hand shot out, slapping him hard across the face. Dax's head snapped to the side. Dax froze, his eyes widening in stunned disbelief. Slowly, he turned back to her, blood smeared at the corner of his lips. “We said to wait,” he screamed. Irene chuckled despite the sharp ache in her ribs. “I’m sorry.”
Dax leaned closer, his face inches from hers, a dark, feral smile curling his lips. His voice dropped to a dangerous whisper. “No, you’re not.”
“You’re right,” she replied. “I wanted to hurt you.”
Without warning, she lunged, and their swords clashed again.
They fought hard, neither willing to back down. Each movement was a violent dance of dominance, their swords clashing with deafening force. They knew each other’s weaknesses too well: the angles to avoid, the openings to exploit.
Dax swung his blade with brutal precision, the air hissing as the steel sliced through it. "I see you’ve turned Egobor and Edwina against me," he snarled, his voice edged with anger.
Irene blocked his strike with hers, their swords grinding together. Sparks flew between them, their faces inches apart. Her lips curled into a taunting smirk. "They just saw you for who you truly are… a traitor," she spat.Dax growled, shoving her back with the force of his blade. Irene stumbled but quickly regained her footing, her boots skidding on the dusty cavern floor. Dax closed the distance between them, his strikes brutal and deliberate, his blade tearing through the space between them, testing her defenses. “It’s hard, huh?” she taunted, her lips curving into a bitter smile as she deflected a vicious blow that could have slit her throat. “To win a fight when you’ve been trained by the same monster.” Dax growled, his jaw clenched. He feinted left before pivoting with almost inhuman speed. Irene stepped back, narrowly avoiding his blade as it sliced through the air, a breath from her side. She stumbled slightly but regained her balance.
“So? Your witch brought you back from the dead?” she snapped.
“You know nothing, Irene,” he replied, lunging at her again.
Irene felt herself nearing the breaking point. But she knew her words were weapons every bit as sharp as her sword. “You’re not asking me where the prince is?” she continued, her voice sharp and mocking.
The blows intensified. Each strike from Dax was heavy, brutal, almost desperate, while Irene, more agile, narrowly anticipated each attack. But he was gaining ground.
In one fluid movement, he grabbed her forearm and yanked her violently against him, their bodies colliding. Irene’s breath hitched.
Their blades crossed, each pointing at the other. One mistake, one misstep, and it would be over.
“I saw you smile at him,” Dax whispered. “Does he flatter your conscience? Is this your new game? Playing the good girl? Do you want to be his virtuous lady?”
His words dripped with sarcasm and contempt.
Irene stared at him, wide-eyed, as though she couldn’t believe what she was hearing. Then, a spark flickered in her gaze, followed by a smirk. Tilting her head slightly, she peered at him from under her lashes and whispered, “Oh my… You’re jealous.”
The word hit him like a slap.
Dax snarled, feral fury twisting his face. In one swift motion, he disarmed Irene, her blade flying from her hand and clattering to the ground. Before she could react, he grabbed her shoulders and spun her roughly, her back crashing into his chest.
“Do you really think I’m jealous of him?” he hissed, his voice low and raspy, a dangerous mixture of anger and something indecipherable.
He ripped her dagger from her sheath with a brutal twist, the cold blade grazing her side. It cut a hot line—not deep enough to kill, but enough to send a sharp sting and the tingle of blood pooling.
“He doesn’t know the scent of your fear,” Dax murmured, his voice soft, dangerously soft, “the sweet taste of your anger, how soft your skin feels when it's stained with blood.” His thumb dragged slowly across her bloodied bottom lip, and Irene closed her eyes for a split second, as if to gather herself. Her breath was ragged, her heart pounding.
Before she could respond, Dax shoved her back roughly.
Her body slammed against the cavern wall, and she collapsed to the ground, groaning in shock. Sharp pain radiated from her temple, and sticky warmth trickled through her hair. Gritting her teeth, she refused to show weakness. “Enjoy your little games, darling,” he sneered. “In the end, you’ll be right where I want you—by my side, completely undone.” Irene’s fists clenched, the hatred and pain boiling beneath her skin, ready to spill over. But then she froze. Something stopped her. A sound.
A melody.
Soft, hypnotic, like the haunting hum of a river whispering secrets into the void.
Her chest tightened as her eyes widened. The fragment.
She fell to her knees, the damp ground pressing into her skin as the melody vibrated through her bones, drawing her gaze to the flowers clinging to the wall. Fragile purple blossoms, delicate yet alive with a strange, unnatural glowing energy.
From the corner of her eye, she saw Dax stiffen, his sharp gaze cutting through the room. His brow furrowed as he scanned the space, his piercing eyes burning with realization. He’d heard it too.
Panic burned through her veins.
She couldn’t let him find it. She wouldn’t.
“Do you hear that?” he murmured.
She ignored him. The melody grew louder, more insistent—a chaotic symphony of beauty and madness that threatened to drown her. Her chest tightened as she turned her back on him, tearing at all the flowers. She ripped them from the wall in frantic handfuls, her breath hitching.
And then, without thinking, she shoved the blossoms into her mouth.
Her teeth tore through the petals, bitter and acrid, as the melody’s piercing song bloomed into fire. She chewed, swallowed, desperate to kill it, to silence the cursed sound.
It was like swallowing lightning.
Her body convulsed, trembling violently as if rejecting her act of defiance. Her breath hitched, her throat constricted, and her knees gave out beneath her. The flowers burned like acid, scorching her from the inside out.
The world blurred. Her vision dimmed.
And then, she felt him.
Dax.
His hands were on her shoulders, strong and unyielding as he wrenched her toward him. His grip bit into her flesh, his voice sharp and cutting through the haze. “What the hell did you do?”
Her lips parted, but she couldn’t answer. She was too busy dying.
Her fingers loosened, and a crumpled purple flower fell from her palm. Dax caught it before it hit the ground.
His jaw tightened, his nostrils flaring as he lifted the flower to his nose and inhaled sharply. Realization dawned in his eyes, bright, furious, and edged with panic.
“You absolute idiot,” he snarled, his tone laced with rage and something darker: fear. “It’s poison.”
Irene’s breaths came in shallow gasps, her lips tinged with blue. Her body convulsed in his arms, and his grip on her only tightened.
“Irene,” he hissed, his voice rough and dangerously low. His fingers dug into her arms, grounding her, forcing her to stay in the moment. His face was inches from hers, fury etched into every line of his expression.
“You don’t get to die,” he growled, his voice raw, the words a vicious promise. “Not like this. Not before I’m finished with you.” Irene would’ve snapped back with a biting insult, but the air was leaving her lungs too fast. Her chest heaved, her head spun, and her vision blurred. Her knees buckled as she felt herself slipping into the void.
Dax’s sword clattered to the ground as he lunged forward. He yanked her to her feet, gripping her so tightly her shoulders screamed in protest. His eyes burned with something between fury and desperation as he shook her violently, his voice rough and raw.
“Don’t you dare. Don’t you fucking dare die on me!”
Irene barely registered the anger in his voice. Her throat was on fire. Her stomach clenched violently, the flowers inside her clawing at her like shards of glass. Her eyes rolled back, her breaths coming in choked gasps, shallow and ragged.
His hands moved to her jaw, fingers digging into her skin, forcing her face toward his. head up so their eyes met. Her tears blurred his features, but she could feel the sheer power radiating off him. “Spit.” He leaned in, his lips so close she could feel his breath ghosting over her trembling mouth.
Irene choked, but she shook her head weakly, the tears streaming freely now. Her lips parted as if to obey, but her throat closed up, locked tight. Dax’s fingers dug into her cheeks, his patience unraveling. “I said spit,” he yelled. Irene wanted to. She wanted to purge the poison clawing at her throat, the fire tearing through her veins, but she couldn’t. She wouldn’t. Not if it meant giving him what he wanted. The melody had stopped when she swallowed the flowers, but what if it came back? What if it revealed the fragment’s location? She’d rather let it kill her than let him have it.
Irene’s lips trembled, her breath shallow and weak, but she shook her head weakly, the effort costing her what little strength she had left. Dax’s patience snapped.
Dax’s fingers dug into her cheeks, “Spit! Or you’re going to die!” He shook her again, hard enough to make her head snap back, her tears spilling onto his hands. “Irene!”
And then she saw him clearly—the man in front of her. Not the boy who had grown up with her and she knew how to manipulate. This was someone else. This was Dax, the man. Raw. Dominant. Ruthless. A pirate king.
Tears streaked her cheeks as she nodded faintly, her body trembling against his. Dax’s eyes darted around the cavern before landing on the shimmering pool of rainwater reflecting the faint blue light from outside. Without a word, he dragged her toward it.
She stumbled, nearly falling, but he didn’t let her go. Dax forced her to her knees, shoving her forward with a roughness that left no room for resistance. He followed, kneeling behind her, his chest pressed to her back, every inch of him dominating her space. His touch wasn’t gentle. His movements weren’t kind. They were raw, and urgent. She could feel it all—his anger, his desire, his hatred.
His hands tangled in her curls, tugging her head back sharply. He wrapped the strands around his wrist like a leash, his other hand prying her mouth open despite her weak struggles. She whimpered, her throat searing with pain, but Dax didn’t care. His fingers brushed against her jaw before trailing down to her throat, his palm pressing against her neck. The touch wasn’t soft. It was possessive, terrifying.
“Come on, little siren, spit," he growled in her ear, his voice rough and low, vibrating through her. “Be a good girl and spit for me.” His grip tightened, his breath scorching her skin. “You don’t get to die yet. Not unless it’s by my hand,” he hissed.
Then, without hesitation, he shoved two fingers past her lips, pushing deep into her throat. Irene gagged, choking, her body jerking against his. The flowers surged out of her in a violent heave, purple petals spilling into the dirt as her body shook with the effort.
Dax let out a sharp breath, his relief almost guttural. Irene collapsed against him, trembling, her breaths shallow and uneven.
“Water,” she rasped, her voice hoarse and broken. “Water…”
Dax leaned forward, scooping water from the rain-fed pool into his hand, and brought it to her lips. Irene parted them, drinking greedily from his palm, the cool liquid soothing the burn in her throat.
But the moment of tenderness vanished in an instant.
She felt his grip tighten, furious and unrelenting. His hand slid down her thigh, gripping it with bruising force. Then came the first slap, sharp and stinging against her skin.
“Don’t.” Slap.
“You.” Slap.
“Dare.” Slap.
A gasp escaped her lips, more a moan than she intended, and her body jerked with each strike. Heat flared across her skin, her eyes squeezing shut as his nails dug into her flesh.
His voice was a growl, low and dangerous. “Do this kind of nonsense again, and I’ll make you wish you hadn’t.”
His hand lingered, possessive and heavy, before delivering one final, stinging slap. Dax’s head dipped, his lips brushing the curve of her neck, his breath hot and heavy against her skin. His teeth scraped her shoulder as his voice dropped to a dark whisper, “You’re the fire in my soul. The ash that coats my lungs, little siren. The smoke that blinds my eyes.” He pressed closer, his breath hot and uneven. "I’d burn for you. I’d burn with you. Death won’t take you from me—because your life is mine to claim." And then, he stood, leaving Irene on all fours, still shaking on the damp ground after his punishment. She pushed herself up, despite the pain searing through her body.
Dax turned away, walking with unbothered confidence, his gaze fixed on the walls, searching for the flowers and the melody they carried.
“If you wanted your air cut off, little siren,” he called over his shoulder, his voice low and teasing, like velvet laced with poison. “You could’ve just asked. I know better ways to do it. Pleasurable ways.” He smirked.
Irene rolled her eyes, swallowing the anger and humiliation that burned in her throat. For a moment, she thought of the poisoned flowers. If she could, she’d have shoved them into his mouth, just to silence him.
Before she could speak, Dax stopped abruptly in front of the rock wall.
He pressed his ear to the cold, jagged surface, his fingers grazing the stones. “I can hear it again…” he murmured. The fragment sang again.
Irene darted toward Dax. Sliding to the ground beside him, her fingers clawed at the damp earth. She ignored the ache in her ribs, ignored the way her heart hammered in her chest.
Her hand brushed against the handle of her knife.
Her gaze shifted to the wall, and for the first time, she saw it—the faint vibration of the rock, almost imperceptible, pulsing in time with the melody. It wasn’t just a song. It was alive, a whisper sung by a voice that wasn’t human… but wasn’t divine either.
The melody was haunting, something that dug under the skin and refused to let go. It shifted between a bewitching sweetness and a discordant dissonance, slipping into the mind like smoke. It disturbed thoughts, awakened something primal, and stirred a deep, ancient fear.
And yet, it called to them. A pull they couldn’t resist.
She struck the stone with her knife, each blow echoing like the pulse of a beating heart. The first shard gave way, falling with a hollow thud. Behind it, a dark gaping hole appeared.
Irene slid her knife away and dug in with her bare hands, fingers clawing through dirt and rock. Sharp edges tore at her palms, but she didn’t stop. Irene turned, her breath catching as her eyes locked on Dax. He stood a few paces away, his massive frame framed by the eerie blue light of the cavern walls. Dirt streaked her cheeks, her hair clung to the dampness of her skin, but his gaze didn’t waver. For a moment, there was no hatred between them, no rage—only an unspoken understanding. He knelt beside her, his hands brushing past hers. He gripped a jagged stone, his muscles coiling as he ripped it from the wall. Irene turned back to the smaller rocks and dust, her hands moving instinctively, clearing the debris. They worked in a tense silence, their breaths syncing. And then, both paused. Their fingers hovered over the opening, the darkness beyond drawing their gazes. The melody grew louder, clearer. It slithered between them, threading itself into their minds. The voice didn’t just call, it demanded. Dax tilted his head slightly, his expression shadowed, unreadable. His dark eyes glinted with a strange, almost primal light Irene had never seen before. She shivered as the melody coiled deeper, reaching for something buried inside her. “It’s here,” she whispered. Dax didn’t answer. He tore at another stone. Irene wiped the dust from her arms and shoved the rubble aside, until her fingers brushed something inside the cavity. A rolled parchment. Yellowed with age. Irene reached for it. The melody stopped the instant she touched it, leaving the cavern heavy with silence. She blew away the dust and stared at the lines and symbols etched into the fragment, her lips parting in awe.
But before she could savor the moment, sharp pain ignited at the base of her skull. Her head snapped back; he pulled her hair violently.
“Damn it, Dax!” she screamed, clawing at his hand.
"Thanks for your help, darling," he whispered in her ear, his breath hot against her skin, as he ripped the fragment from her hands.
Irene roared, frustration burning through her veins. Her fingers scrambled across the ground until they found something heavy—a wooden pestle buried in the dirt.
Irene let out a hysterical scream. Her eyes darted wildly until they landed on a thick log of wood, splintered at the edges. She lunged for it, gripping it tightly. Without hesitation, she spun around and struck him hard in the head. The crack echoed through the cavern, and Dax staggered, one knee slamming into the ground. Blood trailed down his temple. Panting, Irene stood over him, the log still raised, her body shaking with rage and adrenaline.
Between them, the fragment lay in the dirt, pulsing faintly, as if it reveled in the chaos it had unleashed.
ax moved first. His hand plunged into the dirt, grabbing a fistful of dust and gravel, and hurled it at her face. Irene choked, coughing violently as her hands clawed at her eyes. Her vision blurred into a stinging haze, and for a terrifying moment, all she could see was darkness. She stumbled back, her knees hitting the ground hard as she gasped for air.
When she finally cleared her eyes, Dax was standing again, leaning against the wall as if nothing had happened. One hand rested on his bruised side, his knuckles bloodied.
The fragment was gone. Irene’s eyes swept across the ground, then to his hands, but nothing. Where had he hidden it? She tried to stand, but she faltered and dropped to her knees. Across from her, Dax was hunched against the wall, his breath sharp and shallow. Blood dripped from his split lips and nose, a scarlet trail tracing the corner of his wounded eye where the log had struck. He growled low in his throat, like a beast savouring the sting of pain. Irene didn’t move.
She should have reached for her knife, lying just out of reach. She should have lunged and ended him. Yet, she stayed where she was, her knees pressing into the ground, watching him.
Something shifted.
Her breaths came hard and fast, matching the rough rise and fall of his chest. Her thoughts spiraled, feverish and chaotic. She didn’t see an enemy anymore in front of her. He was dangerous, brutal, drenched in blood, and somehow, still impossibly, maddeningly handsome. How could someone so lethal, so murderous, look so damn good?
The blood on his lips, the bruises darkening his sharp cheekbones, even the crimson streak beneath his eye, all of it stirred something inside her. It was sick. She knew it was sick, but the heat coiling low in her stomach didn’t care. She opened her mouth, a breathless kind of awe stealing her words. She liked seeing him like this—broken, battered, and dangerous. Pain and blood looked good on him. Too good.
Dax dragged the back of his hand across his mouth, his eyes locking onto hers. His lips twisted into a smirk, cruel and knowing. "You like the view, little siren?"
A violent tremor coursed through her. Irene staggered to her feet, taking a step toward him. “Oh, shut up,” she snapped, shoving him hard.
Dax chuckled, the sound raw, but his smirk faltered when she pushed him again. And again. She drove him back until his back hit the wall.
He slumped against the stone, his breath ragged, heat and tension rolling off him in waves. Irene remained frozen, hands still raised, until something within her seemed to snap. She sank to her knees once more, this time far too close, her face nearly brushing his thighs.
She looked up at him through her lashes, lips parted, her breath uneven. Dax didn’t so much as flinch.
Her hand moved before she could stop herself, grazing over his powerful thighs, his bruised side. She told herself she was searching for the fragment. She needed it. That was all. But every brush of her fingers felt heavier, as if the air itself weighed down her movements.
Dax stayed perfectly still, but she could feel the tension in his body.
“Don’t stop, little siren,” he murmured, his eyes half-closed.
Heat rushed to her cheeks, but she didn’t pull away. Her hand slid beneath the hem of his shirt, her fingertips brushing warm skin. Her heart pounded, thunderous and erratic, as her fingers closed around the fragment hidden there. She gripped it tightly and rose to her feet.
“Why haven’t you killed me yet?” she breathed. He could have ended her so many times. Yet here they were.
Dax leaned closer, his presence swallowing hers, his smirk curling into something darker, more deliberate. “Kill you?” he murmured, his voice low and edged with mockery. “Why would I end the fun so soon?” His gaze dipped to her lips, then back to her eyes. Irene’s heart lurched. She wanted him to hate her as much as she hated him—because without that, what fire would fuel her desire to destroy him? Dax smirked. “For now,” he said.
They walked side by side, shoulders hunched in pain and exhaustion. The only sounds were their ragged breathing and faint, muffled groans. Though the tension still crackled between them, it had cooled. Neither dared meet the other’s gaze.
Irene couldn’t deny the raw embarrassment prickling at her skin. It was ironic how mere moments after their clash, they ended up trudging together back to the beach—both battered, both silent, and both keenly aware of the unspoken tension still sparking between them. A sharp cry shattered the quiet of the forest. “Captain!”
Irene’s head snapped to the left, her eyes widening. There, at the edge of the trees, Egobor perched on the shoulders of an Eldorian soldier who stumbled under his weight. Egobor beamed, waving one arm in greeting while the other clutched a sword he brandished like a trophy.
“Captain, look at me!” he yelled. “I’ve got that damn rat!”
Irene’s expression remained neutral, though her brow arched slightly.
From the other side came another shout. “Come back here, you little coward!”
Edwina burst out of the trees, spinning an axe above her head. An Eldorian soldier in a tattered uniform scrambled ahead of her, nearly slipping on the sand in his panic.
Irene blinked. Dax let out a long-suffering sigh beside her.
Farther down the beach, Baelor clashed swords with another Eldorian. Their blades met awkwardly. “You want to taste the blade of an Amorian?” he roared—then nearly dropped his own weapon.
Dax locked eyes with Irene. Neither needed words, she knew he felt it too: a mixture of exasperation and embarrassment.
Reaching the shore, they were met with a scene that only deepened their embarrassment. On the shore, the two ships were locked in chaos—but it was less a battle and more a disorganized mess.
On the StormBreaker, Hezra hurled rocks at the Eldorian soldiers. Meanwhile, on the Cordelia, Commander Roderick barked frantic orders that no one seemed to understand, his face shiny with sweat. While soldiers fumbled with ropes, nearly tangling themselves. Meanwhile, Javier, perched on the Stormbreaker, spat in the Cordelia’s direction. Irene dragged a hand down her face, muttering something under her breath. She shook her head slightly, her patience frayed by the absurdity of it all. Beside her, Dax let out a low, rasping chuckle.
“Don’t laugh,” she snapped back, turning her head toward him.
He leaned back slightly, his shoulders shaking with barely contained mirth. His laughter rolled out in raspy bursts, sharp and unrestrained. “Your crew…” he said, his words cut by another breathless laugh.
Irene’s lips twitched. She fought the smile clawing its way to the surface—but lost. “Yours is worse,” she shot back. Irene closed her eyes, tilting her face to the sky as a long breath escaped her lips. Ahead, the screams of their two incompetent crews echoed. Exhaustion weighed heavy in her bones.
She felt Dax move. Through half-lidded eyes, she watched as he pulled out a pipe, raising it to his lips with infuriating calm. He inhaled deeply, his gaze fixed on the chaos ahead, where Blade and Commander Roderick clashed in a messy, desperate fight. He took a long drag, ember glowing bright, then turned to her. “If we don’t kill each other,” he smirked, smoke curling from his lips, “they might just finish the work for us.”
Irene barked a laugh, but the sharp motion sent a jolt of pain through her ribs. She winced, her free hand pressing to the bruise blossoming along her side.
Dax stepped closer, his grin sharp and cruelly charming.
“Open your mouth,” he ordered, voice rough and low.
For a heartbeat, she considered shoving him away, the idea flashing hot and bright in her mind, but with a defiant lift of her chin, she parted her lips. She stared at his eyes, while he stared at her lips, like they were the most precious thing in this world.
He brought the pipe to her mouth, his fingers brushing her swollen lip, the touch sent a shiver down her spine, sharp pain mixing with a darker thrill. She inhaled deeply, the smoke numbing her wounds, then without hesitation, she exhaled—straight into his face.
The smoke lingered between them, a thin, shifting veil that couldn’t mask the heat in his gaze. His lips curled, dimples breaking through the blood and grime on his face. There was a disarming charm in the devilish way he smiled.
“That’s it, little siren,” he drawled, his voice a low rumble. “Let it burn.”
Irene’s lips twitched. Her ribs screamed with every breath, but she didn’t flinch, even as Dax stepped closer, his presence overwhelming, his shadow swallowing hers.
“You’re shaking,” he whispered, his voice teasing. He raised a hand, brushing a stray curl from her face. She wanted to shove him away, to slap that infuriatingly smile off his face, but her body betrayed her. Instead, she leaned into his touch, her eyes fluttering shut for a moment.
His dimples deepened as he watched her, his gaze dark with amusement. "I think you like this more than you care to admit, little siren," he breath hot against her ear.
Her pulse quickened, but she forced herself to stay calm. "Next time," she said, her voice sweet and seductive, as she took another slow drag from the pipe. Dax followed her every move, his eyes fixated on her lips again. She exhaled the smoke. "I’ll kill you."
Without waiting for a response, she shoved the pipe into his chest. His smirk widened as his fingers curled around it.
She turned on her heel, every step deliberate despite the sharp ache radiating from her side, and strode toward the Stormbreaker, her head held high.
Behind her, the rich, sinful sound of Dax’s laugh chased her all the way back to the ship.
Table of Contents
- Page 1
- Page 2
- Page 3
- Page 4
- Page 5
- Page 6
- Page 7
- Page 8
- Page 9
- Page 10
- Page 11
- Page 12
- Page 13
- Page 14
- Page 15
- Page 16
- Page 17
- Page 18
- Page 19
- Page 20
- Page 21
- Page 22
- Page 23
- Page 24
- Page 25
- Page 26
- Page 27
- Page 28
- Page 29
- Page 30
- Page 31
- Page 32
- Page 33
- Page 34
- Page 35
- Page 36
- Page 37
- Page 38
- Page 39
- Page 40
- Page 41
- Page 42
- Page 43 (Reading here)
- Page 44
- Page 45
- Page 46
- Page 47
- Page 48
- Page 49
- Page 50
- Page 51
- Page 52
- Page 53
- Page 54
- Page 55
- Page 56