Chapter 13 - Alaric
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
ALARIC
Curse this woman. She was slipping into my heart like seawater through the cracks of a ship—and it was driving me mad.
I told myself I wouldn’t kiss her again. Once was enough.
I laid her gently in bed and pulled the blanket over her. She looked so peaceful, so soft, it made my chest ache.
This is ridiculous. I was a whaler, forged by storms and salt and solitude. Not someone who sat on settees and whispered sea tales to a woman he shouldn’t want.
But I couldn’t help it.
When she told me about the rumors, the way people treated her, especially what happened with her sister, I saw her clearly for the first time.
Malia was lonely. Deeply, achingly lonely.
And something inside me tugged like a net caught on coral.
Whaling could be lonely too, sure. But at least we had each other out there.
She had no one. Even Noni kept her distance.
Her only real friend here seemed to be Prince Elias, and that made me jealous with rage.
I sank back into the cushions and shut my eyes, jaw tight. I needed to leave. Sooner rather than later.
As soon as she’s well again, I told myself, almost smirking at the turn of the tide.
She once cared for me. Now I could return the favor.
The next morning, I awoke to a cold cottage. Normally Malia woke before me and started the fire. The house would smell like a heavenly breakfast only she could make, and the windows would let in morning sunlight.
But it was quiet. I frowned, then bolted off the settee.
“Malia?” I barged into her room. The bed was empty and unmade, and the washroom door was open. A brief wave of panic came over me. Did someone kidnap her? Did the twins come here last night, without me knowing?
I looked in the kitchen and then burst out the front door. That’s when I found her, by the well, hunched over, hugging her arms.
“What are you doing?” Anger coated my voice. I didn’t mean to sound so mad, but why was she out here?
“I was getting some water to prepare breakfast, but then realized I’m just too tired…” Her braid had become loose and her teeth chattered against each other.
“Come here.”
“I’m fine.” But her frame trembled like a ship shuddering after a storm.
“You’re freezing.”
Before she could argue, I scooped her in my arms and took her inside, holding her body against mine. She stiffened at first, then relaxed.
“I don’t know how to be gentle,” I admitted, wanting to stroke her back or do something… but I felt awkward. Not used to this. Not used to holding a woman in my arms.
“You’re doing fine.” Her head rested on my chest.
My grip tightened and I rested my chin lightly on her hair, trying not to enjoy her vanilla scent too much.
“That’s the problem, Malia. I don’t want to be gentle with you.” Or anyone. The only reason I succeeded in my business was because of my cruelty. The whales. My men… Everyone bowed to me. Did what I asked. There was no gentleness in my life.
Until Malia.
Her fingers found my cheek, where she stroked it, as if to show her appreciation. It wasn’t anything huge, but it rocked my insides like a storm. Her hand moved down to the whale bone necklace hanging from my neck.
“Once I’m healed, you’ll go back, won’t you?” she asked softly.
“That was the plan.”
She nodded, but something in her face–even when she wasn’t looking at me–made my chest tighten.
“And then what?”
I hesitated. No one had ever asked me that before.
Then what? Then I continued building my empire…
What’s left to build? I was the wealthiest man in all the kingdoms, with fleets under my command and power and influence that rulers would dream of.
So then what? Maybe I hadn’t even asked myself that before. After one obtained everything they worked for, where did they go from there?
I let out a quiet breath before saying, “I built a life most men would envy. Wealth. Ships. Power. But… I don’t know.”
“You’re allowed to want more.”
Her words pierced me to the core. More? What was more?
Did she mean a life with her? Settling down?
Raising a family? Perhaps part of me never wanted more of that because of my parents.
My father–also a whaler, albeit a weak one–drowned at sea, leaving my mother behind to raise us.
It was hard enough on a whaler’s income, but alone?
I watched her sink in her sorrows and the stress of providing for me and my siblings.
“I don’t even know what more means,” I said. Then, quieter, “But I swore I’d never be like my father. Family’s not in the cards for me.”
Malia tensed, then sighed. “Me either, I think.”
“Why not?”
Had she been married? Could she not have children?
As if she heard the question in my silence, she said softly, “I think I’ll always be alone. I’ve made it this far on my own. Why would anyone stay for me?”
Guilt flooded me, thick and heavy, like rotting seawater in the brig.
I shut my eyes. The battle inside me surged like a storm tide.
I wouldn’t become my father. I couldn’t risk breaking someone the way he broke us. I’d accepted that when I chose this life at sea.
Which meant I had to leave Malia.
But she deserved more than loneliness. She deserved joy.
“You’re allowed to want more too,” I said.
She blinked, opened her mouth… but said nothing.
We sat in the quiet, both of us weighed down by the ache of unspoken hopes and fears.
And that silence? That was the hardest part.
I made a lousy meal—fish, rice, and steamed vegetables—the best I knew how. Malia had rested most of the day, but by evening, color had returned to her cheeks. She was sitting up on the settee now, freshly washed and composed.
Even sick, she was beautiful. That warm brown in her eyes. The sweep of her lashes. The soft fall of her hair.
It was wildly unfair.
We ate in silence until Malia smiled at me. I could feel her gaze, even if it wasn’t quite steady.
“What?” I asked.
A blush colored her cheeks. “This is delicious. Thank you, Alaric.”
“It’s nothing,” I muttered, embarrassed. “Especially compared to your cooking.”
Mine was hardtack. Hers was soft biscuits. No comparison.
She laughed, and something inside me sparked. I’d never made her laugh before.
I wanted to do it again.
“This is the kind of meal whalers eat,” I said. “Sometimes worse.”
“I’m not a fan of seafood,” she admitted.
Shame prickled. I hadn’t even asked. I’d just assumed.
“But if you make it,” she added, “I think I’d be happy to try it.”
“You don’t want my food.” I grinned, still embarrassed. “If we were ever together, I’d have to learn from you.”
The words slipped out too easily. What was I thinking?
But she only smiled. “Then I’d love to teach you.”
She took the dishes from my hands, carried them to the kitchen. I followed, my heart pounding.
She turned, standing close. For a breath, I thought she might kiss me.
“Here,” she said instead. “This’ll get the fishy taste out of your mouth.”
She held out a fork with a slice of mango. I took a bite, oddly thrilled when she used the same fork to eat her own.
Just a fork. A shared fork. But still.
“Mmm. This one’s really sweet,” she said, offering me another. She was already starting to act like herself again. I was glad.
And also not.
Once she’s better, I’m gone.
That was the plan. Always had been.
But then—
What if…
I blinked, watching her hum as she cleaned, sneaking mango slices into her mouth and mine.
The question surfaced before I could stop it.
“You could come with me,” I said, voice low, uncertain.
She froze and turned to me. “You know I can’t…”
My jaw clenched. “Why not? I will protect you. Keep you safe. You would be well-provided for, and would never have to worry about finances or being alone.”
I stepped forward. It was killing me to fight this…
“Why can’t you come, Malia? What are you hiding?”
Her face drained of color, her voice barely a whisper. “If I told you, you’d hate me.”
“Why?”
“I did something terrible…”
“When? To who?” I took another step. Found her hand. Our fingers interlaced, our hearts beating.
“Alaric. You just don’t understand. I can’t go to Moanalei. I can’t go anywhere… if I do, she’ll find me, or the witch hunters will find me.”
“Who is she?”
Instead of answering, Malia said, “I’m only safe here.”
“This place is falling apart. You’re miserable hiding,” I said, plain and simple, and the hurt reached her eyes. “What are you hiding from? Why won’t you tell me?” Frustration welled up inside of me.
She squeezed my hand, but didn’t move close to me. Instead, she inhaled and said, “You deserve your life of freedom, Alaric. You don’t want to be chained to me, in this dark place with my dark past.”
“You don’t even want me to stay, do you?” I asked, and her breath caught.
“I…”
Silence.
“Say it, Malia. Please.”
“I can’t. I can’t ask that of you.” She shook her head then, then added, “What do you really want me to say, huntsman?”
“You’ve fallen for a whaler,” I whispered and she snapped back, yanking her hand free of mine.
“No, I’ve fallen for the huntsman, the one who leaves a trail of blood and horror, the one who cares so little for the life of something so large and beautiful, why would he care for the life of something so small and insignificant like me?”
I froze, realizing the weight of her words. “I do care about you. I would do anything for you.”
“Except walk away from whaling.” She frowned. “You are a whaler. Always have been, and always will be.”
Then she shook her head.
A silent moment passed.
She took a breath, as if searching for a change of topic. “Come, Alaric. I have to show you something.”
With the tension still thick in the air, she led me to her bedroom.
I froze.
What was she doing? But Malia searched under her bed.
Too dark. She couldn’t see anything.
“What does it look like?” I asked, kneeling next to her. My voice was gentler than it had ever been.
Even after she rejected me, I couldn’t find it in me to be angry at her.
Because I understood.
Understood that we came from two different worlds. With pasts that haunted us.
But couldn’t we work things out?
“It’s just a small wooden chest,” she said. I found it easily.
After opening the small chest, Malia pulled out a small, worn pouch and carefully untied it. From inside, she drew out a delicate necklace—a chip of whalebone, rough but polished, dipped in deep blue paint. At its center was a faded dark star-shaped marking.
My eyes narrowed the moment I saw it.
Every whaler knew that crew. “That’s the mark of the Black Star fleet.”
She looked up at me, surprised. “You know it?”
I nodded slowly, voice low. “Not many do anymore. That crew was notorious—drunken nights in every port, riotous living, brutal on their men and even worse to the whales. A cursed lot.”
Malia traced a finger along the chipped bone. “My mother never explained it to me. She just gave it to me one day and told me to keep it close.”
My jaw tightened. What had Malia’s mother kept from her?
If Malia’s mother was a noblewoman, what was she doing with a necklace from the lowest of all the whaling crews?
“That fleet was lost at sea long ago. My parents argued about my father wanting to join them. It was all I ever heard. Then the ship sank. They say a whale drove its head into the side of the ship, ending its life and the madness. It was good when that ship sank, because the arguments between my parents ended too.”
I held out my hand and Malia placed it inside. “Why would your mother give you this?” I asked. “Do you think she was in love with one of those whalers?”
Malia’s eyes flashed, a mix of hurt and indignation. “No, no. She was too noble—and vain—for that. And she loved my father–then my stepfather–as far as I know.”
She swallowed hard, her voice softening. “I think she remarried so quickly because she couldn’t bear the grief of losing my father. He was a good man. A kingly man.”
I remained silent. Something was not sitting right.
“But what if…” I pursed my lips before continuing. “What if you were the daughter of a whaler?”
Malia sighed and shook her head. “I’d be ashamed. To come from someone with blood on their hands. But… maybe I’ve always been the villain in my own story. Maybe my family’s full of dark hearts.”
I looked at her, steady and sure. “We’re not our parents. It doesn’t matter where you come from or what they’ve done. What matters is what you build with your own hands… and your own heart.”
I ran a rough hand through my hair, voice softening. “I built my empire from nothing. Nobody believed in me. They said I was reckless, cruel. But I did it anyway. You’ve got that same fire. Don’t ever doubt it.”
Her lips curled into a small, grateful smile. She shifted closer and gently rested her head on my shoulder as I looked at the necklace.
“Thanks for coming back,” she whispered. “Even if it’s just for a little while. I’m going to miss you.”
I placed my arm around her, feeling a sudden ache. “I’ll miss you too. More than you know.”