Chapter 10 Storms and Fury
STORMS AND FURY
VALE
Wind and water crashed against Vale, drenching him. The salt spray of the ocean stung his bitten lips as it roared over the sides of the ship, splashing the deck.
"Hold!" Vale called to Tharen, whose arms were raised at the stern of the ship, swirls of wispy air curling from his palms and shooting upward toward the sails as he used his Aer magic to propel them.
Their speed decreased from Vale’s command, and he used the momentum from the slowing ship to turn the ship’s wheel at a sharp angle, narrowly avoiding a jagged outcropping of rocks that jutted from the icy, dark depths of the water.
He had steered them away from his den, out the narrow passages carved into the water, leading to the open sea. Chaos greeted them as an old friend.
Storms and fury.
The air ripped past, clouds so dark and ominous that even the King felt a twinge of fear. What if…
No.
That type of thinking would lead to their demise. Vale led them all; he steered them all. And he would not be the reason for them to go to a watery grave.
Vale’s dragon was lazily resting. Contentment swirled within his chest, making a grumble threaten to tear free and expose how much he had loved seeing his Vincire in his den, among his furs, leaving her sweet berry scent on everything.
The only sense of feeling he could grasp from his dragon was an overwhelming sort of quiet possession.
Rain pelted against Vale, obscuring his vision. He wanted to raise an arm to wipe his face, but could not let go of the wheel. It groaned and creaked beneath his white-knuckled fists, and his muscles strained as he fought to keep it on course.
The crashing waves made his ears ring, salty air burning the back of his throat as he inhaled raggedly.
"Steady!" Tharen roared. The mage’s raised arms did not tremble as he directed his magic to steer them, combating the natural course of the wind that wanted to see the ship battered against the rocks they were trying to escape.
Vale’s eyes flicked up to the masts, finding Graves untangling ropes with deft accuracy, reducing the sails to the bare minimum so the ship wouldn’t become overwhelmed.
The rain blurred his form into a streaky blot of darkness.
Azgorath’s bare chest was slick with water, dark curls matted to his forehead as he threw buckets of water overboard.
The deck was slippery with pools of icy wetness, and the demon’s strength allowed him to lift two, three, even four buckets at once, arms bulging as he tilted the dark wooden buckets over the side.
Fighting against the sea was battling nature itself.
Every emptied bucket was quickly replaced. But he did not stop.
Luella’s fear that traveled through their bond made Vale’s hands tighten on the wheel. She was making it worse.
He wanted to send a thought to Bastian, to ask how she was, but he couldn’t afford to be distracted.
The rocks closed in on them from every side, almost. Lightning streaked down in jagged lines, brief flashes that offered bleak illumination.
Behind the blackened storm clouds, the sky was green and purple, like fresh bruises atop healing ones.
Wind whipped in swirling cycles, thin spouts beating down upon the waves, sending a salted spray of water up onto the deck.
The grip of the grey, jagged rocks relented as Vale steered them away.
Tharen continued to force his Aer magic into the sails at an angle to work against the waves that threatened to splinter the wooden ship into broken, sorrowful pieces.
Vale would not let that happen.
It could have been hours, it could have been mere moments, but Vale did not release the wheel.
Tharen did not relent in directing them.
Graves did not stop winding and unwinding the ropes, hopping from one mast to the other, or bracing on the deck, booted feet slipping in water as he tugged on the thick, coarse ropes.
Azgorath did not cease bailing the water, strong body a fluid instrument, never tiring—or if he did, he did not show it.
He worked to keep safe the one who tugged on their souls with waves of salty fear and roaring anxiety.
When the rocks released them from their sharp embrace and grew scarce, his den a distant blot behind them, and his dragon rumbling low with the desire to carry Luella back where he knew she would be most safe, Vale felt a terrible rumble below deck as the entire ship groaned and jolted, a wave battering against the side.
He wavered, fingers almost slipping on the wheel, as he squinted out into the furious storm beating down on the sea and their ship.
Godsdamn it all to the Below—
Fear.
It pulsed in waves down their bond—the thread that connected them, fragile and smoldering.
Through the thick sheets of rain, Vale locked eyes with Graves, who had slid down a pole and was winding rope around a bundle of loose cargo, securing it.
The male’s eyes were wild.
"Go to her!" Vale yelled.
Graves didn’t wait; he finished securing the ropes and slipped across the wet deck to the latched door, disappearing below, to Luella.
Tharen’s voice wavered from the wind. "I can’t… leave. Fuck!"
He couldn’t. Neither could Vale. They were trapped, working to bring them all to safety.
The bucket slipped from Azgorath’s grip, and he bent over, hands on his knees, hair stuck to his face, determination etched in his brow.
Vale nodded—just once.
And the demon slipped away, following after Graves. The King knew that the demon would not risk being gone for long. They had to see this through—if there was even an end to the storms. What if, wherever they brought her, she took vengeance with her?
As Azgorath and Graves disappeared below, the feelings flowing down their bond changed—shifting to a softly burning flame of desire.