Chapter 13 – Serena
The clap of the cast iron hitting the burner grate on the stove top jarred me from sleep. I laid still, heart pounding. Someone was here.
It can’t be....
He never came in the morning. Our only encounters had been at night, and last night, as always, he kept himself shrouded in shadows.
But who else would be here? Dorothea was likely out with her chickens and goats at this godforsaken hour.
Evangelia was on a shrimping rotation, which I’d not been invited to attend.
No, if it wasn’t my villainous host, I was screwed. My pulse pounded in my throat. The nightmares lingered on the edge of my consciousness, driving me to consider the worst was happening at the other end of the cottage.
Taking the knife that I kept between the wall and bed, I crept from the covers out toward the kitchen.
It is him. My host was here in the new light of day.
The sun glittered in the fresh, wholesome space that was the kitchen. The whitewashed walls gleamed. The fresh flowers I placed on the table glowed with pops of pink and blue and green.
And then...there was the pirate. There was no other way to describe him.
Jet black hair was pushed off his face, long enough for fingers to run through.
To tug. A loose linen shirt was draped over his broad frame, and pants made of the same material hung from his hips, stopping at mid-calf.
The bare feet were a surprise, but they fit the picture.
Ink decorated what skin was visible on his forearms and biceps.
I inched closer, eager to see. Intricate shapes decorated his arms in swirls of deep blue, grey shading, and menacing black.
But they couldn’t hide the raised skin and mottled flesh.
Dear mother of god, what happened to him?
Many of my brother's soldiers bore scars. Dante, his enforcer, had a nasty, jagged cut that ran along his back, and some artist turned it into a dragon.
But this?
Those arms looked like they'd been taken apart and stitched back together by Dr. Frankenstein. How else would they be so misshapen?
“You’re here,” I said, feeling formal and unsure how exactly to take this change. “Aren’t you afraid the sun will turn you to ash, vampire?”
Ah, crap. That was not a kind thing to say.
But how else was I supposed to act? His presence here was a surprise enough, but to see him, to soak in the visual details, was even more astounding. The man kept himself hidden. He worked at night. Most of the village didn’t see him in person.
And here he stood—in the kitchen, cooking us breakfast as if it was the most normal thing in the world.
“It’s my house, you’re my guest, what’s strange about that?” he asked casually.
Only that he kidnapped me, and now my hand in marriage was being negotiated without my consent. My jaw tightened. But before an answer formed on my tongue, Markos tensed. The motion was a series of small muscles tightening. A deep breath filled his lungs, and then he turned.
There was a split second where I took in the whole picture. The man was a living embodiment of a child’s nightmare—a real monster.
What happened to you?
I forced myself to stare only in his eyes, ignoring the gnarled scar on the left side of his face.
That bright gaze was guarded. Uncertainty lurked deep in those cerulean depths.
He wouldn’t see disgust or fear from me.
Pity wasn’t something I could feel for this man, so he wouldn’t see that either.
“You’re burning the toast,” I commented.
His lip twitched, but I didn’t drop my gaze to look. “I’ll eat that piece, prinkípissa.”
I held his gaze a beat longer before breaking the contact and moving into the room.
“Give me that.” I snapped the tongs from his hands. “The heat’s too high.”
Flipping the charred pieces out of the crackling inch of olive oil, I shook my head. An inch! Way too much oil. The stench of incinerated food and burning oil danced through the air.
“If you don’t know how to make toast on the stove, buy a toaster,” I muttered.
“Believe it or not, but I’m only good at cooking fish.” He moved about behind me. I resisted the urge to sneak a peek, not wanting to be caught gawking.
“Oh, I believe it,” I said with a short laugh. “But then again, it seems you’re on the water with your pirate ships more than you're on land.”
Markos rested his hand beside me on the counter. “Evangelia’s been talking too much.”
Warning bells pealed in my mind. I did not like the way he spoke about that girl. I rounded on him, meeting that piercing blue stare with a glare of my own. “For your information, she’s barely said a word. She’s scared of you—as are the majority of the villagers.”
“Fear creates a healthy balance,” he said flippantly.
“Says who?” I responded a touch too loudly.
Markos shrugged. “Some famous person. Fear creates a better environment than love.”
Machiavelli. Freaking Machiavelli! Of all the ways I thought I would be spending my precious vacation, hearing the man who accidentally kidnapped me misquote my personal hero as he burnt toast was not one of them.
My voice came out tight and strained. “Not quite.”
Markos crossed his arms, kicked a leg over the other, and stared. “If you know so much about it, enlighten me.”
With the skillet off the stove, I began to scoop the burning oil into a glass. “The saying is about a leader having the equal love and fear—respect—of his people. But it doesn’t take a gossiping girl to see that the villagers, while they admire your strength, are freaking terrified.”
“And you? Are you scared of me, Serena?”
His direct question made me wince inwardly. Whatever I said next needed to be said very carefully. I swiped the pan with a cloth before setting it back on the burner at a much lower temperature and drizzling fresh olive oil around the bottom. I answered him as I reached for the bread.
“Scared? No, there are just a few things I truly fear.”
“That’s...very strange,” he murmured, but he seemed to believe me.
Once the slices were in the skillet, I faced him again. We remained that way, staring at one another, daring each other to reveal the thoughts swirling in our minds, but neither of us spoke. The toast, needing to be flipped, broke the spell.
“At least you didn’t burn the eggs,” I commented, poking at where they warmed in the smaller skillet.
“They’re like fish.”
“Hardly,” I snorted. “So...what do you fish for, pirate?”
Markos rattled off a string of names, of which I only recognized a handful.
“Would you like to go out with me today?” he offered at the end of the slimy, swimming-creature list.
“Out? On the water?” My voice rose an octave. “On the ocean!”
He cocked his head. “You have been on a boat before.”
“Yeah, once on a small lake in Wisconsin. It was a speedboat. And a month ago, we cruised around Lake Michigan on a yacht, but beside those two times, I’m content to be beside the water.”
“Twice, huh.”
“Mhmm.”
Plating the food, I set the table. Markos took his seat. His spine was straight; his body was stiff. The effort to have this meal with me must be costing him.
The smallest of pangs tugged at my chest. The desire to put him at ease surprised me, but I dismissed it just as quickly. There wasn’t anything I could say to make him believe his scarred visage didn’t bother me.
“So what happens now?” I demanded, gesturing between us. “I refused Iosif. Who else will be thrown at me until whatever terrible alternative becomes my fate?”
Eggs fell from his suspended fork. “You’re safe, Serena.”
I wanted to believe him. The look in his eye, the tone of his voice—the combination was deceptive.
“I know what you are, Markos,” I whispered before I could stop myself.
His gaze narrowed. “What’s that?”
Shit! My knowledge about the presence of the Greek mob was still a secret. This couldn’t backfire on Evangelia. “You’re someone who’s not afraid of the law.”
“And yet you’re not afraid of me.” He leaned back, but not enough to touch the wooden slats of his chair, as if his back was sore. “You’re either a liar or you bumped your head.”
“Neither,” I stated simply.
“Prove it.”
Prove it? Prove that I wasn’t scared of this mobster? Only one idea came to mind. My body thrummed to life at the thought, desire coiling low in my belly. I pushed away from the table and rose. My fingers splayed over his face, eyes pinning him in place.
Slowly, I bent forward, tipping his head ever so slightly to the side, and only right before I stole the kiss did I close my eyes.
The collision was electric. He tasted of smoke and spice, with a hint of sweetness that lingered on my lips. As we kissed, the heat from his mouth spread through my body, igniting a fire within me. It was an intense and electrifying sensation, like taking a shot of strong liquor.
For a moment, he went utterly still, and I thought I’d made a terrible mistake.
Then his hand shot up, fingers threading through my hair, gripping tight enough to make me gasp against his mouth.
He used the opportunity to deepen the kiss, claiming me with a hunger that matched the fire he'd ignited.
When we broke apart, his eyes had darkened to the color of the midnight sky, pupils blown wide. The careful distance he’d maintained vanished as he leaned forward, elbows on the table.
"That doesn't prove you're not afraid," he said, voice rough. "Only that you're reckless. You’re tempting fate."
“Is that such a bad thing?” I countered, giving the strands of his hair a hard tug before releasing my hold on him and returning to my seat.
“It’s...interesting.”
I settled back into my chair, heart hammering against my ribs. “Fearful people run away . I just ran toward you.”
A smile curled at the corner of his mouth—dangerous, appreciative.
“So you did.” He studied me with new interest, like I was a puzzle he hadn’t figured out. “And don’t worry about the marriage. That business is done. No one will force you to do anything you don’t want.”
“Then—” I shook my head. “What?”
“You’re free to continue living in my cottage and working as one of the villagers.” Markos stabbed his eggs.
“Oh,” I breathed. My gaze shifted to the window, looking at the flowers planted in the box beyond.
“What are you thinking?” he asked softly.
A long sigh escaped my lips. “That it took becoming a prisoner for me to be bold enough to take what I want.”
His voice dropped to a deadly baritone. “And what do you want, prinkípissa?”
Smiling, I flicked a glance in his direction. “Everything.”
A heartbeat passed, and then heat flickered between us. I inhaled slowly, inching toward him. Dammit, I wanted his mouth again. The desire I felt flashed in his eyes.
The back door flew open with a bang.
“Oh, so you are alive, fuck face!” Iosif barked. “Glad you know how to use a cell.”
“Get out.”
At Markos’s icy tone, the younger man stilled. I looked back at my captor only to do the same. There was a gun in his hand, and it was pointed at Iosif.
“Markos!” I cried out, snapping my finger in the air. “Don’t you dare! He’s your cousin.”
That volatile blue gaze slid to me.
“Look, I wouldn’t be interrupting whatever the fuck this is, but we have a situation with Iakovos’s ship. We’ve been summoned to the docks. They didn’t give us more details than those,” Iosif growled. “And no one can reach you. So I said I would pick you up on the way.”
“Put the gun away,” I murmured, reaching out but pausing to hover my hands over his.
Markos dropped his gaze. “You can touch me, you know.”
There it was. That raw vulnerability.
“I’m not in the habit of touching mad dogs with fangs,” I said with a small smile.
If the joke got through to him, it was impossible to tell. Markos rose and left quickly. I dropped my head to the table, wondering what on earth I was doing.
And why I liked it so much.