Rain Dancer (Vanderbrook Champions Book 2)

by Edmund Hughes

  She was against him in an instant, before he could say what he wanted, before he could say anything. Hachia kissed him with enough passion for two women put together. Zak felt himself hardening as he shifted, dropping down onto the sand with her.

  They’d known each other for three years, and spent the better part of the first two flirting and testing each other, letting the tension build until it had finally spilled over during an argument about whose shift it was, the two fucking it out instead of fighting.

  Zak ran his hand under the bottom hem of Hachia’s shirt, pulling it off her and tossing it away. Her breasts were nicely sized, with large, cute nipples. He leaned forward and kissed each one, feeling Hachia slowly pawing at his crotch, working the tie of his trousers loose.

  Relationships among deck families were uncommon and typically frowned upon. The Arkaian Ocean was no place for children, or love, for that matter. The storms took a yearly toll in blood, and losing a deck brother or sister was already price enough to pay, let alone a lover, or someone even closer.

  Hachia stared at Zak’s hard cock as he moved to finish undressing her. She always insisted on wearing the tightest pants she could, and he smiled at the cute wiggles she was forced to do in order to get herself out of them.

  He slid in between her newly naked thighs, both of them stripped bare, and let his erection press into her tight, wet hole. Zak felt the same familiar thrill as he began to move. They could be discovered by Demetro and Bartrand as easily as one of them deciding to come and check out the island. It was always like that, him and Hachia sneaking around to find time to get each other off, and sometimes he wondered if that, more than any real attraction, was what brought them together.

  “We have to… be quick,” Hachia whispered, cupping her hand against his cheek. Zak pushed deeper into her, hearing a tiny squeal in return and feeling delighted by the girlishness of it.

  He pumped into her hard, luxuriating in the passion of the moment. If Hachia wanted a different life, she could find one for herself, leveraging her looks, fertility, and heritage to get off the Sand Angel. But here she was, with him, at least for the moment.

  Zak felt primal emotions surge through his chest as he pushed forward, enjoying the sensation of her soft body and modest breasts. Hachia was always a tease right up until the action began. Her body melded into his, submissive, eager, and quivering in response to his movements.

  It was a struggle to stay quiet, with the pleasure as raw and vivid as it was. The noises they did make sounded lewd and illicit, even against the naturally romantic background of the noise of the ocean and waves. They were eager and young, full of passion, hormones, and lustful needs.

  Zak let himself enjoy the sensation of her tightness and warmth. He slowed his movements until Hachia began to arch her hips up toward him, desperate for what he had to offer. He pushed into her, kissing her neck and only barely resisting the urge to whisper dirty things into her ear.

  “Oh… Zak!” Hachia tensed up, her legs wrapping around him. Zak thrust deep into her, only remembering at the last second to pull back and find his release somewhere that would keep their lives simple and uncomplicated into the future.

  She cuddled against him for a minute or two, resting her head against his chest and saying nothing. Zak ran his hand through her sandy blonde hair and emptied his mind of thoughts and worry.

  “Zakarias…” whispered Hachia.

  He frowned. She only ever used his full name when she was being serious.

  “Yeah?”

  She hesitated for a long moment before continuing.

  “Demetro is still smitten with me,” she said.

  Zak did his best to shrug with her still pressed tight against his side.

  “So what?” he asked. “Are you saying we should be open about… this?”

  Hachia found his hand with hers and gave it a squeeze.

  “I have to think of my family,” she whispered. “And of their future.”

  …And Demetro is one of the Under Princes. Not exactly high on the social hierarchy compared to the Malnians, but above almost any Arkaian. Above me…

  He didn’t say anything, and it was clear enough that Hachia took that to be a response in itself.

  “This was just fun, Zak,” she said, softly.

  “I know.” He took a deep breath, forcing out words even as he feared betrayal from the emotion in his tone. “Of course. I knew that.”

  Hachia stood up, walking naked across the sand to collect her clothes. Zak looked away from her, sensing somehow that it could quite possibly be the last time he’d ever see her naked. He dressed alongside her, neither of them saying anything else, and then swam back to the ship alongside her. They were greeted by a grinning Bartrand, leaning over the railing.

  “You two were gone for a while,” bellowed the big man. “Strange. Any sign of more?”

  Zak ignored the insinuation. He gripped the rope ladder hanging over the side of the ship in one hand and started up it.

  “No, that’s it,” he said, with a sigh. “But still, this is a better haul than any we’ve had in weeks. My extra five percent alone will be enough to feed me for a month.”

  “Hachia gets the finder’s fee,” said Demetro. The youngest of the seven Under Princes of the Arkaian Isles slowly walked onto deck, eying Zak and Hachia with more confusion than suspicion. His clothes were only marginally less ragged than anyone else’s on the ship, but there was something in the way he walked and the look on his face that suggested authority.

  “What?” shouted Zak. “I spotted them. The finder’s fee is mine, by right.”

  “Let it go, Zak,” muttered Hachia. “I’ll split it with you.”

  “You’ll do no such thing,” said Demetro. “I want you to have it for yourself, Hachia.”

  And this is how it begins. Or rather ends, for me and Hachia.

  Demetro flashed a perfect smile and leaned back against the wall of the middeck cabin. Zak gritted his teeth and tried to contain his scorn, still hanging from the top edge of the ladder. Demetro’s royal blood was only worth enough to grant him rights to the Sand Angel and one of the uninhabited outer Arkaian Isles that the rest of his brothers had left unclaimed.

  Even Lord Richtor, the Under King of the Arkaian Isles, was a man of limited authority. The Arkaians had been vassals to the Malnians for almost a century. Many of the nobles of the Emperor’s court and even some of the more influential songstresses held more political power than the entirety of the province.

  “Let it go, Zak,” said Bartrand. “We’ll all eat well tonight, and five percent is nothing to be splitting the sinking mood over.”

  “Oh, blood and thunder, Bartrand,” said Zak. “I’d sink more than the mood if that’s what it takes to get my—”

  Hachia was behind him on the ladder and announced her presence by giving him a hard slap on the butt.

  “Knock off the language,” she said. “You’re in the presence of a lady.”

  “You’re about as much a lady as I am a qyss,” said Zak. Hachia made a face at him, and he made one back.

  He pulled himself over the railing, and then with Bartrand’s help and Hachia lifting from below, began to pull up the bundle of prism fish. Demetro watched them, stepping in to take Hachia’s hand and help her up the last few ladder rungs.

  “She is a lady, and a beautiful one at that,” he said, smiling.

  He’s clueless. And I’m an oceanfoot, with as much say and sway as one of these fish.

  Under Prince Demetro had taken command of the Sand Angel three months ago, after the death of their last captain, old man Dagon. Zak still had fond memories of him, even if he’d been drunk most of the time, and had finished himself off on a batch of bad ale.

  “Thank you, Demetro,” said Hachia. “It’s nice to know that someone still understands what it means to have good manners.”

  Zak groaned, splitting off from the group instead of speaking his mind and saying something he would probably regret. He
made his way up the main mast, climbing the old hardwood slats up to where the flag hung high above the deck. He switched out Demetro’s family banner for the fresh catch flag, which would alert any nearby and interested ships to their haul.

  Bartrand whistled, drawing Zak’s attention while he still stood in the crow’s nest. He looked down at the deck to see the big man waving up at him, a mischievous grin splayed across his face.

  “Give us your best dive, Zak!” he shouted. “Show us the one that won you the diving contest at the First Season Festival!”

  Zak leaned his head to the side and smiled. He remembered the festival well enough. He’d spent a bit of time each day during the lead up practicing different flips on land, and different diving angles off the Palmian cliffs while they were in dock.

  Hachia said something to Demetro that Zak couldn’t hear from his perch. Demetro made a boisterous gesture and immediately began taking his shirt off. He’d been there for the diving contest, too. A twisted ankle had kept him from participating, but Zak had seen his form before, and it wasn’t half bad.

  “I’ll throw a dive,” Zak shouted, grinning down at Bartrand. “Under the condition that I get my finder’s fee.”

  “You throw a better dive than me, and it’s a deal,” shouted Demetro. “Hachia will judge.”

  “Hachia and Bartrand,” said Zak.

  Demetro shook his head.

  “Just Hachia.” He smiled at her, and Zak felt a sudden intense urge to vomit down onto deck.

  The diving path from the crow’s nest of the Sand Angel down to the water was at a far less than ideal angle. Zak had thrown plenty of dives from the top of the mast before, and while it was doable, the forward momentum required to avoid slamming into the edge of the deck limited his acrobatic potential.

  Demetro was already on his way up the mast by the time Zak had stripped his shirt off. He tossed it down to the deck below, and felt oddly pleased to see Hachia reaching out to catch it for him.

  “Don’t get it dirty,” said Zak. “It’s the only clean one I have left.”

  Hachia stuck her tongue out at him and waved the shirt around her head, as though considering whether or not to throw it into the ocean. Zak cracked one of his knuckles in her direction, a gesture which by Malnian standards would have merited a prayer to the Worldmaker on behalf of anyone unlucky enough to be watching.

  He stepped up onto the crow’s nest outer railing. The wood was thin and ill-suited to bearing the weight of a person. Zak only needed a single step, however, and he began prepping for it while plotting his path into the cerulean waters below.

  Hesitation had never been a hurdle for Zak when it came to diving. He felt the fear in his chest, even only twentyish feet up, but it was the same fear he felt at the top of the highest Arkaian diving cliffs, with a hundred feet of open air beneath him. It was nothing he couldn’t handle.

  Diving, like many things in life, was all about that first step. Once over the edge, all of the potential outcomes and possibilities narrowed down into a single strand, a single thread to hold onto and follow to the end.

  Zak launched into a confident, twisting dive. His knees pulled up toward his chest, committing his entire body into several flips. He saw blurs of the sun, Krexellious, and Methrakia as he twisted upside down, and then the water as he came around.

  One, two rotations, and then he untucked for the final stretch. The edge of the ship’s hull was only a few feet away from him as he sped by toward the water. There was good reason for why so few island divers ever attempted complicated tricks from the crow’s nest.

  Zak hit the water smoothly, sinking down a dozen feet and taking a moment before doing anything to feel the last of the adrenaline pumping through his veins. The rush of a high level dive, at least to him, was better than being drunk off ale, or spirits. It was better than sex.

  He took his time surfacing, even though his lungs ached for oxygen, his fast-beating heart running through the supply in double the normal time. When he finally took that first breath, the air tasted salty and sweet, and the sun felt good on his face.

  Zak slicked back his hair and saw Demetro motioning for him to swim to the side and clear space for his landing. He did, not seeing any sense in being a poor sport. Demetro went through the same motions that Zak had, his eyes scanning the water and the air intensely. There was a certain pride in his posture that transcended ego, and Zak couldn’t help but smile at it, even as competitive as he was.

  Demetro set his foot and launched forward. His foot slipped as he entered the air, but he was a little taller than Zak, and apparently much more effective at leveraging his body into a jump. He flipped once, twice, three times, and landed feet first after clearing the edge of the boat by more than twice the margin of Zak.

  He’s good. At least as good as me. Maybe even better…

  “Not bad,” said Zak, addressing the empty patch of ocean where Demetro had entered the water. “Not bad at all.”

  Demetro surfaced a moment later. He locked eyes with Zak, raising his head into a nod that was neither friendly nor aggressive.

  “Yours was a little short,” said Demetro.

  “You landed feet first,” said Zak.

  He couldn’t hold back a smile, feeling an unwanted fondness for his crewmate and captain. Despite everything, he’d come to know Demetro as a friend and a deck brother over the past few months. He wasn’t a bad person, just a little spoiled by his upbringing. The two of them looked up at Hachia, who was standing at the railing’s edge, arms crossed.

  “Tie,” she announced.

  “Sink it,” said Zak. “You say that knowing that I’m the clear-cut winner, Hachia!”

  “She’s trying to save your pride, Zakarias,” said Demetro. “You should let her.”

  Zak brought his hands in close to Demetro’s ear, and cracked his knuckles.

  CHAPTER 3

  History reads in such a way to make it seem inevitable that Lord Emperor Altreis the First conquered the outer islands. Tis a shame that there is almost nothing on the official record of the desperation precipitating those events. – Cadwin the Historian, Founding of an Empire

  ZAK

  The Sand Angel was on the far side of the Arkaian Isles, and while it was prime territory for harvesting the sea, it wasn’t nearly as trafficked as the trade corridors around the central island of Malnia. The only thing near them, other than the coast of the island of Palmia, was the Stormy Sea, an uncharted, dangerous expanse of water.

  More than anything, that was what caused Zak to do a double take when he finished climbing back onto the deck and saw the familiar blurred image of a ship approaching on the horizon so soon after the catch flag had been strung up. He raised an eyebrow and made his way over to the ship’s bow.

  “We’ve got a buyer,” he said, calling to the rest of the crew. “And an early one, at that.”

  Demetro was still on the ladder, and Hachia was sitting on the starboard railing, braiding her hair. It took the two of them a second to make out what Zak had seen.

  “That’s not a ship…” said Hachia. “What in the stones?”

  Zak frowned, staring more closely at the shape in the distance. It didn’t look like any ship he’d seen before. The hull was long and rounded, and a deep, natural shade of textured brown. It had multiple sails, dozens of them at least, hanging from strange, diagonally angled masts with odd, jointed vertices. Stranger still was the shape in the water at the front of it, massive and grey skinned and spurting up regular jets of water.

  Am I seeing what I think I’m seeing? This… is impossible.

  “It’s a treeship…” said Demetro. “By the Worldmaker… It’s the Luxians!”

  Heavy footsteps sounded from the middeck cabin as Bartrand’s huge frame thundered onto deck. His eyes were wide, and that gave Zak pause.

  Technically, Lux was still at war with Malnia. It had been over two decades since the last Malnian raid on their jungle peninsula, and the Luxians were by no means at n
aval parity with the Malnian Empire. The treeship was close enough for Zak to make out the details of the men on deck: at least a dozen of them, outnumbering the crew of the Sand Angel four to one.

  “Well,” he said, uneasily. “I guess we should trade with them?”

  “Are you out of your sinking mind?” snapped Demetro. “These people… They’re killers, and necromancers! I’ve heard stories of the kinds of things they do.”

  “I’ve seen what they do,” said Bartrand, who was older than anyone else on the ship by at least a score of years. “But it doesn’t seem like we have much of a choice, Captain.”

  Demetro frowned. Zak scanned his face, and then Hachia’s, feeling comforted by the fact that he wasn’t the only one wearing their uneasiness openly.

  “We’ll be fine,” said Zak. “They’re here because of our catch. We have fish to sell. Let’s just do what we do, and not overthink it!”

  More details came into view as the treeship neared the Sand Angel. The shape in the front was a full grown donphar, a massive, warm-blooded, intelligent sea beast, attached to the ship by some sort of vine harness. Zak almost couldn’t believe it, and began running over the hundreds of scenarios in which such an arrangement could go horribly wrong.

  The men and women on the treeship looked even stranger than what Zak had been expecting. Much of the information about the culture of the Luxians he’d assumed to be exaggerated, either by the Malnians for effect, or from being passed from one mouth to another for so long.

  Their shirts and jackets were deep green, and appeared to be made of thick leaves, each one wide enough to cover a person’s face, and glossy, as though some type of preservative had been layered over it. Their trousers were made of wool, and each pair was dyed a different color.

  The women wore low-cut blouses, revealing scandalous amounts of cleavage and almost dipping low enough to show more than just that. Zak tried not gape as he stared at him and failed miserably, the task compounded by how fit and lean all of their bodies were.