I smirk. “It was a really funny joke,” I say, acid dripping off my tongue.
“But then that little boy of yours had to threaten me. Now, I really just want to see if he’ll live up to it. Does he have the balls?”
I smile. “He’d kill you, if he got the chance. But he won’t.” I say, head tilting to the side. I pull my hat off, letting my hair flow freely. Magic tingles in my fingers.
Thomas’s eyebrow’s pull up, a grin twisting in his face. Eyes intent with desire. “You’re right about that.”
“Go, Georgie,” I say without taking my eyes off my victim. He doesn’t need to see this.
“But... I—”
“Go,” I say, more harshly than I intended, with a hint of magic. Georgie blinks twice, then flees.
“And now we’re alone,” Thomas says with a smile, licking his lips. I resist the urge to lick my own. I cannot wait to teach him a lesson. One he won’t even get the opportunity to learn from.
My heart races, blood throbbing through my veins. Magic seeping out before I even intend it to.
“Bluff won’t kill you,” I tell him again.
“You’re right about that.”
I smile. “Because by the time he gets here. You’ll already be dead.”
Bluff
I hear a female voice down the hall from the galley. I feel her magic.
In a rush of panic, I drop my bread and sprint to meet her.
“Stop, Whitley!” I say, as I turn the corner and find her facing Thomas. He’s still smiling, but I can see that glossy look in his eyes. She’s already hypnotized him.
“Why?” she spits.
Thomas blinks, and the haze from his eyes fades. He charges at Whitley who’s now focused on me. I leap forward, the dagger from my boot in my hand in an instant. My blade is in his heart before he reaches her.
He screams in agony and grips my throat with his beefy hand. His blood is flowing over my arm and I know he’ll die before he chokes me, but the pressure releases too quickly and his body crashes to the ground. I’m too dizzy to see exactly how it happens, but suddenly Whitley is on him. She sinks her fangs into his neck, and I cringe.
“Whitley,” I say with a broken, barely audible voices as my body runs cold. I resist the urge to turn away. I don’t want to see this. I don’t need the reminder.
His body convulses, and then drops to the floor in a lifeless heap.
“What did you do?” I whisper to her, as I drop the bloody knife. She stands and wipes the blood from her mouth. I swallow.
“Me?” she asks, her mouth agape. “He was going to kill you.”
“No,” I shake my head, but arguing that is pointless. I’m more worried about why she was down here to start with. “You know not to come below deck.” Already several sets of feet are stomping down the hall toward us.
“I was looking for you!” she says.
The hall is quickly packed with spectators. And I turn to face them. Ready to take the brunt of their anger. Better me than her.
“What the—”
Shouts begin, and a few crew push forward to reach Thomas. “What the hell did you do to him?”
Neither of us speaks. There’s nothing to be said.
“Kill him,” someone says from the back of the crowd, pointing straight at me. “Murderer!”
Soon the captain is there, staring at the two of us. His eyes linger on the smear of blood on Whitley’s cheek. “To my quarters. Now.”
I FOLLOW THE CAPTAIN’S instructions and head into his quarters and shut the door. He stayed behind to deal with the mess, so, for the moment, we’re alone. “What were you thinking?” I say, sinking onto the chair at the captain’s desk.
“He attacked me. What do you think I was going to do?”
She’s not sorry. Not even a little bit. I shake my head. “You knew what would happen. You wanted it to happen. I could see it,” I spit the words, acid filling my veins. “You couldn’t wait.” I say, shaking my head. “Hours. We have hours until we dock. Now...” My stomach twists again.
She doesn’t respond for a long while. Silence fills the room.
“What will happen now?” she whispers eventually.
“Depends on the crew. If they vilify us—which is likely—we’ll either have to kill them all. Or flee.”
She narrows her eyes. “I wouldn’t need to kill them.”
I tilt my head. “What then?”
“One song could put them all to sleep.”
I stand, clenching my hands into fists. “That same song would expose you to the sirens. They don’t seem to know which direction we headed, and we want to keep it that way.”
Footsteps outside the cabin quiet our conversation, and we both hold our breath.
The captain pulls open the door, takes a deep breath before stepping through the threshold.
“Tell me the truth,” the captain says with a shaky breath. “Before the crew comes storming to get you. Because they’re on the brink.”
I turn to Whitley, unsure what our story should be. Neither of us speaks.
“I assume he attacked you,” the captain begins. “But how did you...” He shakes his head. “There appeared to be...bite marks on his neck and shoulder.”
I shiver.
“What are you?” he says finally.
We still don’t respond.
“No defense? No story?” he asks, disbelief written across his face. “I can’t stop them. They’re going to come. You have minutes.”
“We could kill you all,” Whitley says, with a cool voice.
His eyes widen. “Then tell me something,” he says breathlessly. “Give me something.”
“We’re not going to hurt anyone,” I say quickly, holding my hands up, energy seeping from my body. I transform back into my true self. The captain gasps. “Give us enough time to get to a longboat. We’ll row away.”
He sways on the spot. “I...” He hesitates. “I’ll try.”
Whitley
We rush from the room. I try to focus on the now, the need to get off the ship before more drastic measures are necessary, but my heart is aching.
We aren’t alone on the main deck. A crowd of quiet sailors stares at us, and the captain freezes. The crew seems to recognize the terror on his face because they don’t react. No one moves.
“They’re leaving. Now,” he says.
The largest man in the crowd steps forward. His beard is nearly as large as the man I just ripped apart, but lighter in color. His soft brown eyes are harsh. “Not before I get justice.”
I narrow my eyes. “You already did. That monster is dead.”
Bluff grabs my upper arm in warning. I don’t react. My eyes stay pinned to the man threatening us. They will not touch me. Or him. I won’t let them.
The man snarls. “You’re the monster.”
I give him a smirk. “Yes,” I whisper. “I am.”
The captain steps forward. “They’re getting off this ship before more people die. Trust me, this is the best way.”
The man grips a blade I hadn’t noticed before. Three men step forward beside him, each holding a weapon of his own. My heart races, but not in fear. I need to remember myself. Control my instincts.
Instincts that are screaming: kill them all.
“Marty!” Captain shouts. “Ready the longboat. Now.”
Three young boys leap into action, breaking from the crowd and crossing the ship. I don’t know which is Marty, but apparently, they all agree with the captain here. That or they just want an excuse to get away from the brawl they think is coming.
There won’t be a brawl.
Several yards away, the young sailors begin lowering the small boat.
I turn my attention back to the four men who still have not acted. Their chests are puffed out in a menacing manor but their muscles are frozen. Their stillness is their only evidence of fear.
But I can taste it.
“Come and get me,” I say with a hiss.
Bluff groa
ns in anger, or pain. I can’t tell which. Then his body morphs into a massive pirate, muscles bulging. Every sailor’s eyes widen. A few mouths fall open.
“I told you they were devils,” the man in the front says in awe. Then his eyes jump back to me, muscles tensed.
I open my mouth, but Bluff slaps an arm on my shoulder. “No,” he says with a panicked voice.
I pause, unsure if he’s afraid I’ll sing or rip the sailors apart. My stomach clenches again. He too thinks I’m a monster. That shouldn’t be a surprise, but it still tears at my heart.
I continue with my plan despite the discomfort in his reaction, and my teeth extend into fangs. “We will kill you all,” I say. “Unless you let us off this ship. Now.”
The sailors are no longer able to hide their fear. Their eyes are wide, mouths hanging open stupidly, muscles frozen. That’s better. I grab Bluff’s hand, and we back away towards the longboat, now ready for us. They don’t move as we creep back, slowly, eyes never leaving theirs and then quickly hop into the boat hanging off the side of the ship.
The young sailors begin lowering the boat towards the rushing water. It’s going to be a rocky drop, no matter what, but then there are hollers on the ship above us. We can see a few limbs flying and more yelling. Then a knife flies towards the ropes holding us up, “Hold on tight!” Georgie yells as he slams a blade into the rope holding us.
I suck in a breath. Georgie. I’d nearly forgotten about him. I hope he’ll be all right after this, after siding with me. With us. The boat tips forward, now uneven. Bluff quickly cuts the other tether, and we free fall into the rocky water.
I yelp as we crash down, the boat nearly tipping. Our tiny hull slams into the ship and bounces back, rocking to a tipping point, then finally slamming back down.
The ship sails on without us, leaving us behind quickly as our boat evens out, rocking gently in the remnants of the ship’s waves.
Bluff puts his head on his knees, and I just stare out at the coast. I’m relieved we’re all right and that I haven’t sent out a beacon to the sirens. But my whole body is tense. My stomach uneasy.
I don’t even want to look at him. I don’t want to see the disgust on his face. The pain.
I’m not sorry for what I did. I won’t be.
I would not stand there and let him be choked to death, whether he thinks he had it under control or not.
After a moment of silence, stillness, Bluff sits up, sniffs, then grabs the paddles and begins rowing. The banks are visible on both sides, but they’re still so far. Besides, from what I can see, it’s all forest. No buildings in sight.
Bluff doesn’t appear to be headed in the direction of the shore.
“What now?” I whisper. As much as I don’t want to talk to him—not with the way he’s looking at me—I don’t even know what the plan is now. If I’d been more patient, I realize we could have at least gotten closer to the port before murdering the scum bag. But it feels wrong for that to be my fault. Contrary to what Bluff thinks, I did not go below in hopes of confronting Thomas.
“Are we going to row the whole way there?”
Bluff takes in a breath. “Perhaps.” He won’t meet my eye.
“How long will that take.”
“Two or three days, probably.”
I roll my eyes. “You’re going to row this stupid boat for three days straight?”
He shrugs.
“There has to be another option.”
“A ship may come by willing to pick us up. Or we could swim.”
“Really?” I ask. “Swimming is an option?” My pulse picks up speed. I want to get into that water. My skin longs for it.
“There are still no signs of sirens nearby. It’ll get us there much faster and we need to enter the water at some point anyway.”
“So, let’s do it.”
He shakes his head. “Not yet.” His voice trembles.
“Why?” I whisper.
“The water is still too salty. The farther inland we go, the less salt, the less risk. And I want to make sure...”
I tilt my head, waiting for him to finish the thought.
“Want to make sure you can handle it.”
My eyebrows pull down. “What does that mean?”
“It means—” he pauses to rub his eyes tensely. “You just used your siren magic on a sailor. I don’t know how much more of your instinct you can indulge in without losing yourself.”
My stomach sinks. Always back to this. I’m too siren already. I’ve done a pretty damn good job, if you ask me, of holding it back. But he never notices any of that. I kill one man—who attacked me—and now I’m a monster again.
Just like the last time.
“I don’t want you to forget me, Whitley,” he whispers.
My eyes fly to read his expression. Honest. Pained. Afraid.
What if I want to?
I blink, shocked at the thought. Of course, I don’t want to forget him.
I tap my fingers on my knee absently, gaze drifting to the rippling water.
An ache reverberates through my chest. Magic inside me swirls like the water under our boat, calling to me. I wrinkle my nose.
I take in a long breath. Perhaps he’s right—though I’d never admit it. Perhaps I’m not prepared to test my restraint just yet.
Bluff
I row in silence for a long while. There are no ships in sight.
A full hour goes by, and I feel as though we haven’t moved at all. My mind remains blank—a defense mechanism. I don’t know what to think about what happened. I don’t know if my anger is justified. I just know it drives me insane to think of Whitley indulging her siren instincts. I love her, even as a siren. But I cannot look at the blood on her fangs and not think of Azalea. It’s not possible for those images to leave my mind.
The fear of Whitley being the same as those who’ve marred my life with pain—even if she’s done plenty enough to prove otherwise— is still paralyzing.
“Are you mad at me?” she asks finally, with just enough acid in her tone to tell me she’s angry in return.
I meet her fierce stare, my face blank. “Yes.” It’s true, fair or not.
“Why?” her voice breaks.
I heave in a long breath. “Because now I must row this damned longboat all the way to New Orleans.” I say. It’s a stupid response, but it’s at least a little true.
“So you’re only mad that I didn’t wait?” she says slowly, looking down at her hands. “If I’d have killed him while we were docking the ship...”
I swallow. I’d still have been mad. She takes my lack of response as an answer.
“I thought as much.”
I continue rowing, muscles burning, back aching, but I push through the pain. If anything, it feels good right now. “You didn’t have to kill him,” I say, through my teeth, and I pull the paddles back with immense effort, pushing harder. “The fact that you did...scares me.”
“Why?”
“Because part of me thinks you liked it.”
She grits her teeth. “I could have killed every soul on that ship if I wanted to.” She pauses. “But I wouldn’t have. I could have killed the men in the navy on my way here, or let Rosemera and Knick kill all of the sailors when we escaped New York on a fishing vessel. I don’t have any desire to kill men for sport, if that’s what you’re afraid of.”
That’s exactly what I’m afraid of. Or that one slip could pull her under again. Using her powers makes her forget, that’s what we discovered. So which ones? When? How? I could lose her at any moment.
“You shoved a blade into his heart. You killed him as much as I did. Why is it different?”
I swallow. It’s not, is it?
I don’t respond, but her words weight on my chest. Guilt and confusion swirl. Nearly another hour passes and my rowing begins to slow.
“Do you want me to help?” she offers, but I shake my head, and look past her.
“No need,” I say.
She turns arou
nd to see a ship heading our direction. “Finally.”
Whitley
The ship stops for us, bless them. And we board without much fanfare, Bluff in a new form—an average looking sailor with a golden earring in his right ear. They ask a few questions about our state—there is still blood smeared on my clothing— to which we simply reply: “Pirates,” and they let the subject drop.
With a major port only a few hours away, no one seems to think twice about having us on board. We don’t need a place to sleep, or food to eat.
I refuse to hide my hair this time and instead let it fly in the wind, wild and free as I watch the ship sail through this massive river. We pass hours and hours of forest and swamps.
Bluff stands beside me, but we don’t speak.
I try not to think about what he’s thinking—what he thinks of me right now. I focus on my now. I focus on the interesting new world I’m entering as we approach New Orleans, a city of near legend.
I stand at the bow as we pull into the bustling harbor. The air is warm and thick, hanging over us like a suffocating blanket. The water is dark, with a greenish hue. Not quite like the beautiful water of the Caribbean, but interesting and lovely in its own way. From what I can see of the city from the harbor, it is full of high energy and joy. There are nearly a hundred ships at the docks, even more than in New York. There are working men everywhere, but even they seem to be affected by the exuberance of the place, and their laughter reverberates through the harbor.
Once docked, we waste no time exiting the ship and marching down the pier hoping we don’t come across any of the crew from our last voyage. They will have docked only a few hours before us.
At the end of the pier we stop, surveying our surroundings.
People bustle and laugh. Some of their accents are so thick I almost can’t understand them. French, Spanish, English, and some other languages I couldn’t name, all mixed and mingling together.
The faint hum of brass instruments drifts from beyond the town square. So much more exciting than the dim New York harbor.
Treacherous Love Page 9
