Page 31

31

Eden

A SUDDEN CRACKLE of tension set my nerves on alert. “Still scribbling away, beautiful?” His hand brushed against my back. Dull pain radiated from where he touched, and I winced before a force yanked me aside. The elf was gone from my peripherals, replaced by a larger, aggressive mass.

The crack of bone echoed around us. I gasped, and the elf staggered back, blood gushing from his nose. His hands shot up to clutch his face as his expression shifted from shock to one of impressed surprise. The market went silent as conversations stopped and people watched.

Oberon took a step forward, looming over the man. His entire body was coiled tight, and his breathing was ragged with restrained violence. The shadows that clung to the sharp angles of his face made him appear less like a knight and more like the assassin he was. “Touch her again,” he growled, his voice so low that it sent shivers down my spine. “And I will tear your fucking arm off.”

My stomach dropped.

Garrick’s stopped just behind me, panting. “Oh shit. Are you okay, Freckles?”

My fingers wrapped around Oberon’s arm and gripped harder than I meant to, as if I could hold him back. “I’m fine,” I murmured, trying to steady my breath and break through the tension that was wrapping around us like a noose. “Sinclaire, your eyes. You can’t do this here.” Heat radiated from him, and tension thrummed through his body. His breathing remained ragged but controlled.

“Didn’t think you’d be the jealous type, Fae.” The elf grinned. Not afraid or concerned. His lips twitched, wanting to smirk more, but he was holding back. He edged Oberon, testing him to see how far he could push. Seeing if he cared.

Gods.

My grip tightened on Oberon’s sleeve. It was wrong. Something was amiss about this elven man from the moment he walked down the docks. The way the fishers had stared at him. The way he spoke of the sea, knowing yet uncaring.

The way he looked at me.

It hadn’t just been arrogance. It had been calculated. A push. A test. A trap. Yet Oberon still dared him. His fingers twitched at his sides, and his body remained taut.

He was about to snap.

A slow whistle cut through the tension. “Well, this just got interesting,” Garrick muttered behind us.

My grip tightened. “Let’s just go.” I stepped back. It took every ounce of effort and willpower to pull Oberon away. Even as I tugged him toward the tavern, the tension remained coiled inside him, waiting, seething, and ready to strike the moment I let go.

Garrick glared at the elf as we turned away—an expression that I hadn’t seen from him before. Which meant he knew what Oberon’s reaction meant too. If the elves had been wary of us before, they would become even more cautious now. The last thing we needed was Oberon—a Fae—giving them a reason to distrust us even more. The last thing he needed was to have even more eyes watching his every move, waiting for him to slip.

And if that elf was tied to the thing in the sea, if he wasn’t just another man with too much confidence, then it knew how to rile him. It had seen his rage. It had seen his weakness.

Garrick exhaled when we stepped into the room and rubbed a hand over his face. “I’ve never seen you crack on someone except in battle,” he muttered, leaning against the table. His usual lighthearted tone was gone, replaced by a more serious demeanor. “You held it together all day, Sinclaire. What made you snap?”

He just stood there, his back to us, shoulders rising and falling with the weight of whatever was still clawing at him. His fingers curled, then flexed at his sides. He still hadn’t let go of the anger. It had rooted itself too deep beneath his skin.

I swallowed hard against my dry throat. It wasn’t just because he had to protect me. It was how the man had looked at him, how he had smirked after he touched me, and how he had laughed when Oberon reacted. It wasn’t just arrogance—it was baiting.

And Oberon took it.

His precious ironclad control had cracked. And for Oberon, that had to be maddening. Still, he didn’t answer Garrick. He just pressed his hands against the wooden table.

The tense silence lingered until I spoke. “It’s done now. We need to focus on the mission.”

Oberon huffed a bitter, humorless sound, and his knuckles turned white against the table.

Garrick, surprisingly, let the silence settle for a moment longer before pushing off from the wall. “Well,” he sighed, “as much as I enjoyed watching you pummel that smug bastard, she’s right.” He grinned, though it didn’t reach his eyes. “So, unless you want to put a leash on him, Freckles, I suggest we all find a way to cool off before we start another war in this cursed little town.”

Oberon turned, his silver gaze flicking to Garrick. But he still didn’t say a word. Garrick’s smirk faded as he studied Oberon. His usual ease was still there, but his gaze sharpened as he tried to read him and make sense of what had happened. Oberon met his stare without flinching. The tension in his shoulders hadn’t eased. He looked ready to strike again if given a reason.

I swallowed and spoke carefully, trying to shift the focus before another fight broke out. “I don’t know if this is a good time,” I muttered, flipping open my journal. “But he may be related to whatever’s happening with the sea.” I hesitated, then added, “Judging by the fact you just broke his nose, I assume you knew, too.”

Oberon’s jaw ticked as his gaze landed on me. He watched me with a deeper intensity than he had with Garrick, who hummed in thought and crossed his arms. “What he said about the sea is still bugging me,” he admitted. “I don’t see how he’s connected, though.”

I traced my fingers along the notes I had written earlier, scanning my frantic handwriting. The fisher’s presence still lingered in the back of my mind, how he had looked at me and how the villagers had watched him, as if he were tolerated. The way he smirked when Oberon snapped showed that he wanted him to lose control.

“He knew something,” I said, my voice quieter. “I just don’t know what.”

Oberon grunted, still rigid, his arms crossed over his chest. “I should have killed him,” he muttered, more to himself than to us.

I stiffened.

Garrick let out a low whistle. “Damn, Sinclaire. I didn’t know you could be so possessive.” Oberon shot him a harsh warning glance. Which part had irritated him more? The teasing or the implication?

He was doing his job as my guard. And that man was a threat. It was the same as that knight in Silverfel.

Stay focused, Eden.

“What I’m saying is, if he is connected, then he knows more about you than he should now, Sinclaire.” I gestured toward the window, toward the market where the half-elf had been. “That was a test, and you knew it.”

Oberon’s entire frame wound tighter. His fingers twitched, his muscles flexed, and the rise and fall of his chest became too slow. Too controlled.

I hesitated. “He knows how to pull your Fae instincts to the surface now. How to make you lose control. That’s what he wanted.”

Oberon took a step forward. Then another. My pulse quickened as he drew closer to me. The weight of his presence turned into a thunderstorm before the first strike. “You knew,” he gritted out, his voice gravelly. “But you let him linger around you.”

I flinched.

“You let him fucking touch you.”

My breath hitched. “I didn’t—”

“You care that he knows I want to rip him limb from fucking limb?” Oberon interrupted. His silver eyes burned into mine. “He knows you have fucking stitches in your back, Herbalist.” His voice dipped to a lethal cadence. “He knows you're weak right now.”

Weak?

The word dug into my ribs, cutting through whatever raw exhaustion had dulled my edges. I snapped my gaze to his, my glare sharp enough to rival him. “I can handle myself, Sin—”

“You mean like you did when you blushed at him?”

I scowled. Heat rushed through my veins. “I can’t help that,” I snapped, my voice rising. “Maybe it’s just nice to feel wanted sometimes, Sinclaire. Like I’m more than a damaged liability!”

His nostrils flared, but I refused to yield. “What in the five hells does it matter to you if I blush anyway?” I argued, stepping closer. My hands shook at my sides, and my pulse thumped against my chest. “It isn’t hurting the mission so long as I’m getting the information we need!”

Oberon’s eyes narrowed. “Would you sleep with him for that information, too?”

I stared at him, eyes wide and jaw slack. The room felt smaller. Garrick pushed off the wall beside us before my vision tunneled to the man in front of me, to the sharp cut of his jaw and the heat still burning in his silver-rimmed glare.

The way he said it, the sharp bite behind it, wasn’t just anger. It was ugly and aching. But what for?

My fists clenched at my sides.

Breathe. Don't react. Don't let him see how his words hit deeper than they should have.

A palpable silence rippled through the room as we glared at each other.

“You guys have serious sexual tension.” Garrick’s voice cut through the suffocating air, casual as ever. I whipped around and shot him a glare so sharp it could have skinned him alive. My heart was still pounding, and my blood was still boiling from Oberon’s words. Garrick only smirked and leaned against the wall with his arms crossed over his chest.

“Gods,” I dragged a hand through my hair. “This is not—”

“Oh, it is.” He gestured between the two of us. “I mean, I was going to wait for the grand confession, but at this point, I might have to speed things along.”

Oberon growled, a deep, guttural sound that made even Garrick hesitate for a breath before his smirk deepened. “Oh, you two are oblivious.”

I gritted my teeth as Oberon continued to stare at me. The muscles in his arms clenched, and his veins pulsed with whatever Fae essence surged through him.

Snatching my journal off the table, I stormed out, slamming the door so hard behind me the walls shuddered. My hands shook. My breaths were shallow. I wasn’t even sure where I was going, only that I needed to get out, needed space before I broke apart in front of them. Before Oberon saw any more from me.

Weak.

The word bounced around in my skull.

I pushed into my room and slammed that door, too. My fingers curled tight around my journal until my knuckles turned white. The argument replayed in my mind—his words, my words, the way his nostrils flared in restrained rage. The way his eyes had burned into me.

Like I had been wrong. Like I had wounded him.

My lips pressed together while I swallowed against the lump in my throat. I refused to cry over him again. I needed to focus, piece together what I knew and suspected, and stop ruminating over Oberon Sinclaire.

My palms pressed against the table, and I stared at the mess of ink and scattered thoughts before me. The connections were there, but something was still missing. The elf. The villagers. The sea. The trinkets. It circled back to the same damn thing, but I couldn’t put my finger on what tied everything together.

I picked up my charcoal, ran my eyes over the notes again, and traced my steps from the beginning.

The fishers spoke of those taken by the sea, the ones who vanished beneath the waves only to return… changed. They weren’t themselves when they came back. They only remembered enough to make their loved ones believe it was them. But it wasn’t. They weren’t. That detail clung to me, a sickness twisting in my stomach. Not themselves. That sounded unnatural.

Then there was that elf. The villagers looked at him as though he didn’t belong, as if they were waiting for him to make a mistake. And the way he spoke of the ocean wasn’t just passing knowledge. He knew more than he should. He was too smug, too certain. He had tested us, tested me. He wanted to see how much we knew.

Did the villagers suspect him? And if they did, why had they not done something about it? Unease crawled through my chest. What if it was because they couldn’t? What if whatever came back from the ocean wasn’t something they could fight?

The tension between the elves and humans was suffocating. The humans were wary, and the elves were resentful. The innkeeper’s reaction to Oberon and how she flinched at his presence wasn’t just hatred, it was fear.

Were they afraid because of what had happened here? Because of the ones taken? Or was it because they knew the truth?

My pulse pounded as the pieces shifted into place. The elves kept their distance, but the humans continued to fish. They continued to take their boats out to the sea and disappear. The elves weren’t just angry, they were hiding something.

Then there were the trinkets. They weren’t just for protection, nor were they just prayers. They weren’t only meant to keep something out; they trapped something. They weren’t simple warding charms but containment spells. The villagers weren’t just trying to protect themselves from whatever haunted the sea; they were trying to contain it. They had been dealing with something.

And the ones who were taken… they didn’t come back as themselves. I swallowed hard, my chest tightening. If the things taken from the sea were returned, could they still be the same? Or were they something else that wore their faces?

That elf felt off for a reason. The tension between the elves and humans had only worsened since this began. They were connected, but one piece was still missing. Something wasn’t complete. I needed to go to the pier. To the docks where the missing villagers were last seen, from which they had returned, and where the water whispered its secrets.