Page 20 of Wicked Tides #1

“Oh, I’d rather have a nice little chat now that we’ve all gotten our fill of killing for a few hours. I’m going to take your precious sister with me and if you try anything, I’ll cut her open so fast she won’t even be able to scream.”

“You don’t know where your ship is,” she retorted.

My smirk turned to a grin. “You know the tides,” I said. “I know the wind. I’ll find them well enough.”

. . .

Damn Gus and his incessant songs. I found myself humming one of his tunes as I rowed off in the boat toward the sunrise.

Without the cover of night and the sea mist, I could see the faint peaks of Grissom Island in the distance and I knew my crew was smart enough to use it as a landmark if they were making a sweep of the area.

I wasn’t worried about finding them. I did, however, find myself looking over the edge of the boat from time to time wondering if I’d see something stalking beneath.

No doubt something was down there, too deep for my eyes to find.

I kept humming and shaking my head at the insanity of it all.

I was in the middle of the ocean on a dinghy with my greatest enemy tied up and unconscious only a couple strides away from me.

I’d discovered another menace in the waters and somehow, I was still alive.

I laughed out loud at the whole thing. How many times could I survive impossible situations before death decided he was bored with our game?

When a wave caught the boat just right to make a loud knock against the side and jostle us a bit, I glanced at Dahlia’s body secured on the other end of the boat.

In the daylight, I could see much more of her than I had previously.

Her ashen white skin was so smooth save for the marks that littered it.

Scars and new injuries mingled on the planes of her body.

I’d adjusted her binds so her wrists were tightly bound with crude rope to the furthest seat in the boat.

That scar on her cheek stood out among all the other blemishes, even the thin mark that spanned the front of her throat.

It was clean, but prominent, marring an otherwise striking face.

She was thin, but not soft by any means.

Lean muscle tone made her into something lethal.

On her exposed legs, I saw multiple cuts, but one was quite deep and spanned the length of her outer thigh as if the xhoth had meant to maim her. They hadn’t cut any chunks away, so either they hadn’t started eating or they had other plans.

When another wave rocked the boat hard enough for Dahlia to roll a little, she sucked in a ragged breath and coughed wetly.

Her whole face tensed as she began choking up blood.

Turning over, she let what looked like a whole lungful of watery blood out onto the floor.

I stopped rowing and fixed the oars on the sides of the boat, watching her.

She was about to realize what was going on and whatever she did was going to determine what I did next.

Dahlia turned her head toward the brightening sky and squinted, groaning through her discomfort before she slowly realized her bound wrists.

She tugged on the restraints, testing them, and then her eyes wandered toward me.

They shot wide, but not out of fear. It was fury and hatred burning in those eyes like she’d rather get to me than escape.

“Stop your struggling,” I said calmly.

She let out a low, animalistic growl, showing her fangs, and struggled to her feet.

I furrowed my brows, watching her ignore the deep gash in her thigh as she braced her foot on the seat.

The boat rocked violently and with a grumble, I gripped the sides trying to steady it.

She was like a wolf caught in a bear trap.

I half expected her to start gnawing off her arms to get away.

“Stop,” I demanded.

She yanked on her binds, using her foot to add to the strength of her effort. Once. Twice. On the third, the seat splintered a bit.

“Stop!” I roared.

She yanked again. She was fucking strong.

I leaped to my feet and marched forward, pulling out that old blade from my belt.

Dahlia whipped her head toward me with another snarl, her wrists bleeding from the friction.

And, as I would with any wild beast that was out of control, I sought to restrain her.

She glimpsed my bronze blade and tugged again, making the seat’s middle bend and crack. Then she started trying to capsize us.

“Christ!” I exclaimed, grabbing her by her slender neck and knocking her to the floor.

She writhed beneath me as I straddled her, trying to renew her binds. She attempted to slam her head against mine, but that time I dodged it. I pressed my blade under her chin and still, she struggled and bucked.

It was really hard to threaten someone with death when they didn’t fear it.

I should know…

So, since she didn’t care whether my blade slipped and severed her artery, I stopped using it to persuade her.

Instead, I tossed it out of reach and started to reinforce the ropes holding her in the boat.

I tied her arms. Her legs. It was like wrestling a wild stallion, but eventually, I got her wrapped up enough for the boat’s rocking to ease.

She ended up against the front of the boat tangled in ropes and knots.

I sat back on my bench out of breath, sweeping my hair back from my face as I stared at her .

“Are you done?” I asked, perching my elbows on my knees. She parted her lips as if about to answer, but didn’t. “So, you don’t really talk when you’re the one bound, huh?”

Her lips snapped shut in defiance before she scanned the waters around us.

“They down there?” I asked. “Can you all sense each other like that?”

No answer. I groaned and took the oars, rowing leisurely toward Grissom Island. Again, I skimmed the long gash on her thigh. It was no longer bleeding, but it was significant. She saw me looking and her eyes flicked toward it briefly before locking with mine again.

“It’ll be a while before I find my men,” I said. “Might as well have a chat, Dahlia . ”

She raised her chin defiantly. So, I did what any sleep-deprived ship captain with a killer siren in his boat would do.

I started humming again. When my arms got tired, I stopped rowing and leaned back, hands behind my head, to enjoy the warmth of the morning sun.

I switched songs at some point and eventually started rowing again, but Dhalia never moved.

I could feel the hate radiating off of her like heat off a piece of red coal.

When I took a rest again from rowing, I decided to rekindle the one-sided conversation.

“So, you found the Cornwallis first. No one else slaughters men quite like your kind.” Her eyes flitted toward me. “So? Why spare the kids?”

The corner of her lips lifted. “Was saving them for later,” she said.

I raised my brows at the sound of her voice. “Right. You mentioned something about dessert. And what were you going to do with them? Pick them off one by one for a few days?”

“Where are my sisters?”

“You know better than me, I’m sure.”

“We can’t sense each other. Where are they?”

I shrugged. “Wherever they decided to go after I took you.”

“Why didn’t you kill me? ”

“Because your sister said something about a ‘skryll’ of you stalking my ship and you are going to call them off.”

She laughed breathily. “There’s no one to call off. There were only four of us and Voel is dead. If anything is stalking your ship, I can’t call them off, nor would I want to.”

I groaned as I adjusted my sore body. “I figured as much, but I’m still a bit curious.”

“So, why’d you take me alive?”

“Because you’re going to tell me everything you know about those things that attacked you.”