Heart of the Deep

by Tiffany Roberts

  Chapter 6

  Larkin closed her bag and slung it over her shoulder. Night had fallen, and her father and his men had finished their questioning long ago. Her stomach clenched as the conversation from the night before replayed in her mind. Had her father followed through with his plans?

  She held onto a shred of hope that she had changed his mind, but it was a foolish hope; she didn’t think he was so far gone as to be beyond reason, but his pride was still strong enough to crush his conscience. He’d always avoided displaying weakness in front of his rangers, and men like Brock, Sanson, and Altez seemed to think mercy was a weakness.

  She hated that her father cared more about his pride than his humanity.

  Larkin left her room, closing the door quietly behind her, and made her way up to the deck. Strong gusts of wind battered the ship, rustling the partially raised sails and whistling through the rigging. She swept loose strands of hair out of her face, wishing she’d braided it, and shivered against the biting chill.

  The deck was empty save for a few men from The Watch, a goggled lookout at each end of the ship, and Lance Oliver, who stood guard at the entrance to the brig. The young ranger’s half-lidded eyes and slouching stance suggested he was close to falling asleep.

  He stood at attention as Larkin approached. “Ranger Laster. You’re out late tonight.”

  “I couldn’t sleep. I keep thinking about Randall and his men, and how close we are to finding them.”

  “We’ll find them.” Lance offered a kind smile. The genuineness of the gesture caught Larkin off guard.

  “Thank you, Lance,” she said, stepping closer to peck a kiss on his cheek. It was low of her, using such tactics. “I’ll be right back up after I’m done questioning them.”

  He stared at her, wide-eyed, as he blushed; even his ears turned red. “Be careful, Larkin.”

  Below deck, she retrieved the hanging lantern and carried it into the brig. She squeezed her eyes shut as the scent of blood mixed with the other ship smells. The little girl inside her feared what she might find and refused to believe that her father was capable of such brutality as he’d threatened.

  Steeling herself, she walked to Dracchus’s cell and placed the lantern on the floor.

  His slitted amber eyes rose to meet her gaze, but she shifted her attention to his dark skin, searching for the lacerations and stab wounds she expected to find. Despite his slow, labored breathing, the only open wounds she could see were on his face.

  “Did they use weapons today?” she asked, barely keeping her voice from trembling.

  “No,” Dracchus grunted.

  She grasped the bars of his cell to prevent herself from collapsing in relief.

  He didn’t do it.

  It was a small, bitter victory; the kraken had been beaten badly enough that a human suffering the same punishment would’ve been recovering for weeks, but at least their flesh hadn’t been sliced up.

  “Would you like some water?” She slid her bag off her shoulder and set it down beside the lantern.

  “For them first.” Dracchus flicked his gaze toward the kraken behind her.

  She splashed each of them twice, starting with the gray kraken. The water was tinted red with their blood as it streamed down their skin. The brown kraken’s angry eyes followed her throughout.

  After Larkin was finished, she replaced the bucket, closed the barrel, and crouched beside her pack. She took out her tools and set to work on the lock. Within a minute, it clicked open.

  “What are you doing?” Dracchus asked.

  “What I can,” she replied, swinging the door open as she stood up. She collected her bag, stuffed her tools inside, and was stepping through the entry when she halted abruptly. “May I approach you?”

  He spread his webbed fingers slowly, displaying open palms over the thick shackles around his wrists. “I have little choice in that.”

  “I’m giving you the choice.”

  He frowned, studying her with quizzical eyes, and finally nodded.

  She stepped closer, moving her gaze from his tentacles, which were tightly bound in netting, to the defined muscles of his abdomen. Sculpted muscle filled out his chest and arms. He was bigger than any man she’d ever seen.

  Kneeling beside him, she set her pack down and removed a jar of salve. “I’m going to put this on your wrists and around your neck. It might sting.”

  His eyes narrowed infinitesimally, dipping briefly to the jar. He didn’t voice whatever suspicion he harbored; instead, he tilted his head back as far as the collar around his neck allowed, offering her his throat. In a primal sense, it was a submissive gesture, but she knew that understanding didn’t apply now. This wasn’t his submission, it was a modicum of trust.

  She stared at his neck for a moment; it had to be as thick as her thigh.

  Unscrewing the lid, she dipped her fingers into the jar, gathered a glob of salve, and dabbed it along the raw flesh beneath his collar. The cords of his neck twitched, but he made no sound.

  “Tilt your head down,” she said.

  When he complied, she leaned closer, slipping an arm behind his head. She frowned at how tightly the collar fit; no wonder he could barely move his head.

  Larkin paused when his warm breath disturbed the loose hair hanging before her chest, tickling the skin left exposed by her shirt.

  Dracchus inhaled, slow and deep.

  Was he…smelling her?

  To her shock, gooseflesh broke out over her skin and her nipples hardened.

  He made a strange, low sound in his chest, somewhere between a hum and a grunt.

  She drew back quickly and scooped more salve from the jar, shifting to either side to apply it to his wrists. When she was done, she removed a wax paper bundle from her bag and unfolded it. The aroma of cooked fish rose above the room’s other scents.

  “I know it’s not much,” she said, breaking off a piece and holding it to Dracchus’s lips, “but it’s more than you’ve had in the last couple of days.”

  “I cannot.”

  “Why? It’s not poisoned. I’ll take a bite if you need me to.”

  “I will not eat if they do not,” he said, looking at the other kraken, “and I do not think they will accept your food.”

  “You need your strength, why would you refuse to eat?” Furrowing her brow, she looked at the others. “I brought plenty.”

  “I will eat,” the gray one said.

  Larkin looked at the brown kraken. His eyes bore into her own, and the corners of his lips curved up into a grin comprised of pointed teeth and maliciousness.

  She would deal with him when the time came.

  Larkin returned her attention to Dracchus. “Eat. I will help them after.”

  He shook his head again. “They must eat first.”

  She opened her mouth to explain again that there was enough food, but she released a long, slow sigh instead. He was putting his companions before himself. She could respect that.

  Larkin rewrapped the fish and moved her bag into the walkway. She made quick work of the lock on the gray kraken’s cell and brought her supplies inside.

  She’d just finished applying the salve when he spoke.

  “My name is Vasil.”

  Larkin sat back on her heels as Vasil lifted his head to meet her gaze. His eyes were gray, like his skin, and bore a weary gleam. Guilt constricted her chest.

  “Thank you for telling me,” she said.

  He nodded. “Thank you for the reprieve.”

  She wished she could do more.

  They lapsed into silence as she fed him one of the fillets she’d taken from the galley. When it was gone, she folded the paper, stood, and exited his cell, closing the door quietly behind her.

  She moved to the brown kraken’s cell and stared down at him. Dark eyes burned.

  “Are you not coming in?” he asked.

  Refusing to be intimidated, she picked his lock, opened his cell door wide, and entered.

  “May I approach?
” she asked.

  “Come,” he said, too eagerly.

  Larkin had taken two steps into the small cell before her feet were suddenly swept out from beneath her. She hit the floor hard, taking the impact on her shoulder and hip. Pain pulsed through her body. Gritting her teeth, she lifted her head, and the brown kraken struck her across the face with his bound tentacles. Though his restraints prevented him from producing much force, the sheer weight of his limbs was enough to daze her briefly.

  She tasted blood; the inside of her lip had been smashed against her teeth.

  He drew his tentacles back for another blow, but this time Larkin was ready.

  Growling, Dracchus clenched his fists, straining fruitlessly against his bonds.

  This female was his enemy, part of a group that had caged and beaten Dracchus and two of his kind. Seeing her brought low should’ve brought him some satisfaction. Instead, the fires of rage erupted in his gut, their heat an intensity growing with each passing moment. The target for his fury was not Larkin.

  He understood why Neo had attacked her. If there’d been no legitimate reason for his hatred of humans before, Neo had one now. That did not lessen Dracchus’s anger toward him.

  Helplessness tensed every muscle in Dracchus’s body as Neo swung his bundled tentacles at Larkin again.

  She rolled onto her back and spun around, bending her knees so they nearly touched her chest. Her boots caught Neo’s tentacles. She slid a handspan backward, braced herself against the side of the cage, and then heaved, extending her legs fully. Neo’s tentacles were forced into the bars on the opposite side, twisting his midsection awkwardly against his stationary upper body. The kraken hissed, wincing.

  Without a moment’s hesitation, Larkin swept up her bag and the bundle of food and rolled through the doorway. Grasping a crossbar with one hand, she pulled herself to her feet and gently closed the door.

  Hair a tangled mess, cheeks red, and hands white-knuckled, she stood in the walkway. Her shoulders rose and fell with three deep breaths. Finally, she walked back to Dracchus’s cell.

  “Guess he’s not hungry,” she said. “Are you?”

  Her voice betrayed none of the emotion she must have felt in that moment. Her collected reaction to Neo’s attack was impressive; not only had she handled a male who was larger and — despite his weakened state — much stronger than her, but she’d done so without further retaliation. Dracchus wouldn’t have blamed her if she’d rained blows upon Neo after regaining control.

  She was a huntress.

  And he wanted her. When he escaped this cell, this ship, she would be his. It didn’t matter that she was his enemy. She’d make a worthy mate.

  “I am,” he replied.

  She closed the distance between them, set her bag on the floor, and knelt in front of him. Opening her small bundle, she offered him a piece of fish. His lips brushed her fingertips as he accepted the food, granting him the tiniest taste of her.

  Though he’d not eaten in days, he barely noticed the food’s flavor; he devoted all his attention to her as he chewed.

  Larkin kept her gaze averted, eyes obscured by her tousled hair. She hadn’t looked at him since entering his cell. His fingers burned with the unfulfillable desire to brush the red strands away from her face. His nostrils picked out her scent from the myriad smells in the air — distinctly human, with hints of earth and the sweet vegetation he’d encountered during his foraging trips with Jax in the jungle.

  “Why did you come to the boats?” she asked after feeding him another bite.

  Though he longed to answer, he couldn’t reveal any information to her. His instinct said to trust her, but the possibility that she was simply using these small kindnesses to interrogate them couldn’t be dismissed.

  “Why did you come to sea?” he asked.

  “For my brother,” she answered without hesitation.

  The dedication and sorrow layered in her voice struck Dracchus harder than any blow from Brock, Altez, and Sanson. Harder than any he’d taken from one of his own kind. He clenched his jaw until his urge to console her eased.

  “How did you know we were there, Larkin?”

  She met his gaze when he spoke her name. Her bundle of food crinkled as she tightened her grip on it. “Tell me why you came to the boats, and I’ll tell you how we knew.”

  It seemed a favorable exchange of information — the knowledge he would gain was by far more valuable — but he paused to consider it. He’d told his companions to give the humans nothing. He had to hold himself to the same expectation.

  She nodded as though she’d heard his thoughts and offered him more food.

  Through hours of pain, he’d not felt the slightest urge to provide any information to the commander. Why was he so tempted to answer Larkin’s questions now?

  “Why are you doing this?” Dracchus asked.

  Larkin wiped her fingers on the empty wrapping, folded it up, and returned it to her bag. “Because you’re people.” She winced as she stood up. “No one deserves this.”

  She’d spoken not with passion, but practicality; it was a simple communication of something she viewed as an indisputable fact. That made her words more genuine to Dracchus than if she’d shouted them with fire in her eyes. She wasn’t trying to convince him.

  “We came to learn what your people intend to do with this ship,” he said.

  “And you found out,” she said, waving her hand to indicate the cages. Her frown deepened while her gaze lingered on the metal bars all around. Finally, after many moments of silence, she gathered her bag and exited his cell, closing the door softly.

  “We have spectra goggles. They’re old military tech, with multiple modes of enhanced vision. One of them uses some kind of energy field to scan for lifeforms in a limited range and converts the data into visual form. We knew you were tailing the boats for a while.”

  A year and a half ago, her explanation wouldn’t have meant anything to Dracchus. But Arkon and Randall had taken their time to explain the functionality of the diving suits often used by the Facility’s humans. What Larkin had described sounded similar to the masks on those suits; Randall had used their vision enhancements to great effect while hunting with Dracchus.

  But Randall, Aymee, and Macy hadn’t thought the other humans had access to such devices.

  If these hunters had goggles that could see the kraken despite their camouflage, even underwater, and bullets that could make a kraken sleep, what else would they use against Dracchus’s people?

  “It’s late.” Larkin glanced at Dracchus over her shoulder. “I…” She sighed and turned her face away. “Rest, if you can.”

  When she looked away, his gaze followed her red hair down from her shoulders, pausing on the curve of her backside as she bent to retrieve the lantern. Legs were still strange to Dracchus, but he suddenly understood some of their appeal. Were his tentacles free, he’d gladly run them over her body, scenting, tasting, discovering if the little brown spots on her skin felt any different than the rest of her.

  She exited the room, plunging it into darkness. There was a thump as something fell into place on the other side of the door, and then only the ship’s sounds remained — creaking wood, howling wind, lashing waves.

  “I should have known you would give in to the first human slit they dangled before your face,” Neo said, “just like your traitorous friends.”

  “When we return home, Neo, I will accept your challenge. And I will enjoy crushing you.”

  Neo growled, but said no more.

  Chapter 7

  A sudden impact woke Larkin; she’d landed hard on her side. Pain radiated through her already bruised hip. She twisted to look up at the bunk she’d been in a moment ago. Before she could comprehend what had happened, her stomach lurched, and the floor tilted wildly. She slid across the steeply angled floor, clawing wildly to slow herself, but her momentum was too great. She rolled into the far wall, hitting her head.

  “Fuck!” She pressed a ha
nd to her throbbing temple.

  Objects fell from the nearby table, scattering around her.

  The world tilted again, this time in the opposite direction. A crack of thunder shook the floorboards.

  She shoved herself to her feet and grabbed her boots, leaning against the wall for stability as she tugged them on. She stumbled to the door, threw it open, and hurried to the stairs. The wild motion of the ship battled her every step. Grasping the rail with both hands, she hauled herself up.

  When she lifted the latch at the top of the steps, the wind blasted the door open, nearly knocking her back down the stairs.

  Lightning streaked across the sky. Its illumination granted her a fleeting image of the chaos before her. Men shouted orders over the din, scrambling to secure the sails. Others were tying themselves down to keep from being swept overboard by the crashing waves that crested the siderails.

  Thunder boomed immediately after the bolt of lightning. The wood beneath her feet rumbled.

  Someone pushed Larkin from behind. She caught herself on the wall beside the door as men rushed from below deck to join the efforts.

  She hurried to a group of men struggling with the rigging. Taking hold of the thrashing rope, she leaned back with the others until her muscles strained and her ass nearly hit the deck. Rope fibers bit into her palms, scraping flesh as the rope slipped.

  “Heave!” one of the men yelled.

  Larkin gritted her teeth, planted her boots, and pulled.

  A gust of wind swept into the sail. Larkin cried out as the rope was yanked from her hands. She hit the planks hard enough to crack her teeth together. Men fell around her, a few partially atop her, cursing and sliding in the seawater on the deck.

  There was a blinding flash and a deafening boom. Slivers of wood exploded from the central mast.

  Turning her face away, Larkin threw up her arms for protection. The men nearby cried out in pain, their bodies taking the brunt of the splinters.

  “Look out!” someone shouted.

  Larkin looked up as the upper half of the mast pitched forward. Bright flames spread rapidly across the sails and crept along the rigging. She dragged herself from beneath the men, scrambled to her feet, and ran. The entire boat shuddered as the mast hit the deck. Larkin stumbled, catching herself against the wall near the stern.