Page 32 of The Unbound Witch

Torryn snorted, a large hand landing heavily on the captain’s shoulder. “Best leave the wraith alone before you’re killed where you sleep, Crow.”

“Good plan.” I glared.

Navigating down the mountain with the drunk shipmaster was, unfortunately, a lot smoother than I’d hoped. Much to my dismay, he only fell once and from that point forward, Torryn and Atlas flanked him while Bastian, in Grey’s form, kept to Raven’s side. It seemed going down the mountain was a lot faster than hiking up.

“Crow’s secured us a covered wagon and driver for the rest of the trip to the coast,” Torryn said, glancing toward Raven.

“Didn’t want my lady to be seen,” the captain declared, sharing a wink with Eden.

Confused at Eden’s apparent attraction to the zealous man, I had to remind myself that other than him, she’d probably been locked away in that cottage for years and years with only a rotating guard of shifters. And if all shifters were as obnoxious as Atlas, I could hardly blame her for seeking the attention of a drunkard, who likely had zero boundaries and fewer cares in the world.

The others thanked the driver, and we climbed into the wagon in pitch black, save my subtle blue glow when I was allowed to be visible. I’d forgotten to hide when the human captain had stormed in and, though his reaction was quite surprising, I wished he’d been slightly more sober.

Hunched men smushed together as the wagoner carried his cargo of magical people back toward our home. He was clueless, of course, but I still had to fight a foreign desire to pop up next to him, just to see how he would react.

“A little closer, Atty. You haven’t quite taken my virginity yet,” Bastian said, in a very Grey sort of way. Though I supposed he was Grey, so it made sense.

“Calm down, Bash. If I wanted to grope you, you’d know.”

“I kind of want to grope you, Atty,” Crow said, a sloppy smile on his face.

“Nope, nope. Eden, switch places with me. I can’t be molested by this guy the night before I die in the ocean.”

The wagon swayed as if wild animals had been set loose inside. Eden traded places with Atlas, so he now anchored down next to Raven.

“Do you really think we’ll die?” she asked, picking at her nails, her signature move when she was worried.

“Stormy seas make strong sailors, and I’ve grown up traveling the waters of this world. Be not afraid, lass.”

“Who talks like that?” I asked, though I couldn’t help my smile at Torryn’s wide grin.

He’d been so helpful to Eden, carrying her bag down the mountain, fading into the town with the captain to signal our driver. Unlike the wolf, he hung back, shyer, but always observant. Always roving toward the person he thought needed his help.

“Captain Crowen Gold,” the captain said, flinging his hand awkwardly into the middle of the space. “At your service.”

“Yes.” I nodded, eyes wide as if patronizing a child. “We’ve met.”

“Right.” he saluted, unscrewing the cap to his flask.

“Isn’t that thing about empty?” Bastian asked, jutting his chin toward the captain’s liquor as he rested his head against the canvas covering behind him.

“Let’s not speak of sad things,” the drunk man answered. He licked his index finger before sticking it straight up in the air. The wagon fell silent as we waited for an explanation. He took a long swig of his drink before pinning Bastian with a serious stare. “She’s not going to be an easy sail, King. There’s pepper in the air.”

“You mean salt?” Atlas asked, wiggling as if it would help him find a bit more room.

“No, laddy. Salt is always in the air. This is the sea.”

Eden giggled beside me, still watching the man until he shared a wink with her. Her smile was sweet and genuine, if not odd. I tilted my head this way and that, searching for anything redeeming or attractive about him. If you squinted your eyes until he was blurry and moved your head slightly, the rugged look wasn’t too bad. And clearly, he made her laugh. I’d venture to guess his eccentricity was partly for her amusement alone.

Torryn groaned. “Atlas, if you don’t stop squirming, I’m going to cut you from nose to navel.”

“Let’s make it down my back in an intricate pattern. Scars tell stories. I can make something up.”

“Like the one on your face?” Raven asked. “How did you get that one?”

The air in the crowded space changed to something like static, and I couldn’t help but lean closer, eager to hear his tale.

“The gash in my eyebrow came from a tussle with Bash on the summit run. But this one,” he pointed to his mark above, the deeper scar in his forehead. “Witches.”