Kai #2
Mira is just waking as I step back into the room.
She stretches, arms rising above her head, and her shirt lifts with the motion, just enough to reveal a sliver of skin.
A faded birthmark curves along her right side, sweeping across her ribs like it’s been painted there by the ocean itself.
I haven’t noticed it before. Subtle, but striking.
Like a secret only the sea has known until now.
She catches me staring. Her eyes meet mine, sharp green, aglow with the golden morning light streaming through the windows. She looks ethereal.
“Morning, treasure,” I say softly, the words leaving me warmer than I mean them to. I want to break the tension we’ve had since yesterday. I need her to be on board with the plan to go pay a visit to Veyra.
She tries to suppress a smile but it slips through, soft and unguarded. “When did you get up?” she asks, no edge to her voice, just quiet curiosity. That alone stuns me.
“A while ago,” I say, moving closer.
She throws the blankets off, revealing smooth, bare legs, her skin kissed by sunlight and sea air. It’s the first time I’ve seen her like this. Unshielded. Bare. But still every inch in control. My pulse thuds. Every instinct screams to crawl back into that bed and devour her whole.
She catches the look in my eye, one brow lifting with amusement. “You’re staring.”
I don’t deny it. “And?” I murmur, letting a small smile slip. Her cheeks flush instantly, that soft smile tugging at her lips, radiant in a way that knocks the air from my lungs. She looks like she belongs here, like the sun has always been meant to rise on her in my bed, in my life.
Without a word, she slips into her pants, keeping the white long-sleeved shirt she wears to sleep. It slides off one shoulder, just enough to tempt. My restraint is wearing thin.
“We’re headed to Pike,” I say, pulling myself together.
She pauses mid-movement, brows lifting slightly. “Pike?” Her voice tightens. “That’s where Veyra lives.” A beat. “Is that who you wish to see?”
If anyone else questioned me like that, they wouldn’t have a tongue left to do it again.
But her voice? Her words hit like honey and steel.
Sweet, sharp, and utterly disarming. “Yes.” I nod.
“She’s our best shot at information. Veyra knows and sees everything that moves across land and sea.
Risky, sure. But I have a feeling she’ll speak to us. Might even help us find our way.”
She falls quiet. Too quiet, for Mira. The silence stretches between us.
I watch her closely. “Thoughts?” I ask. I can practically hear her thinking, feel the weight of her hesitation pushing against the air.
Whatever she says next, it’s going to matter.
However, I refuse to ever invade her mind again.
“She’s dangerous,” she says, voice steady. “Kills more than she helps.” Her eyes meet mine, unflinching.
“I have a feeling she won’t kill us,” I say.
“Why?”
“Because someone as pure as you,” I murmur, stepping closer, “she wouldn’t dare touch.”
A faint smile tugs at her lips. “And you? You’re not very pure.” Her voice drags over the last word like ruffled silk. My gaze darkens at the accusation.
“That you know of.” The space between us tightens. Veyra doesn’t kill without reason, she never has. If she wants something from us, she’ll take it.
Mira is quiet, calculating. I watch her pace across the room, sunlight slicing through the window and catching on her every step.
It spills between her legs, tracing the motion like it can’t help but follow her.
“I think it’s worth the risk. We need information.
She’s the best source.” She stops pacing and looks up at me.
“How close are we?” Mira’s voice cuts through the quiet, her calm acceptance catching me off guard. I expected more hesitation.
“A few hours out,” I answer, though my thoughts are tangled elsewhere. All I can think about is her voice, how it softened, how she didn’t question the danger, how she’s choosing to walk into the storm with me.
She reaches for her corset, looping it around her waist with practiced ease. The strings fall behind her in loose, winding ribbons. Her fingers brush them once, twice. She doesn’t even flinch when I step closer, close enough to feel the heat of her skin.
“May I?” My voice is low, almost a murmur, as I reach out.
My fingers graze the back of her shoulder, then drift down the length of her spine, slow and deliberate, tracing the soft curve until they find the cords of her corset.
Her skin answers before she does, goosebumps rising like the tide returning to shore.
“Yes,” she breathes. Just one word. Barely audible, but laced with certainty. Need. Surrender. It betrays more than she meant it to.
Then her scent hits me, sweet vanilla. It’s so familiar it unsteadies me, like I’ve stood in this exact moment before in another lifetime. The air feels thinner now. Her presence pulls me under like a riptide, dizzying and unstoppable. And I know I’m already lost.
As I take the strings into my hands, she lifts her hair, a slow, graceful motion, like an offering.
The top of her back and shoulders come into view, freckled skin kissed by the sun, each mark scattered like constellations across a night sky only I get to see.
I ache to trace them, to memorize her in the quiet places no one else knows.
To make constellations I’d gladly sail toward, again and again.
Gently, I pull the corset snug around her frame, careful, slow, unwilling to break the spell between us.
“Too tight?” I whisper, my breath brushing the curve of her neck.
She shivers but doesn’t move away. Instead, she turns her head just enough for our eyes to meet over her shoulder.
Emerald green. “That… works,” she says softly.
And just like that, I’m drowning in her.
Not in her beauty, though gods, that would be enough, but in the way she looks at me. Like I might be worth unraveling.
Oh, this is bad. The slightest brush of her skin is enough to drown me.
I’m sinking into her emerald sea, deeper with every breath.
I want her. Gods, I want to close the distance between us, to cross the line that’s been fraying since the moment I saw her.
My chest tightens. The air grows thick. I tie the strings with a steady hand, but it’s not enough to anchor the chaos rising in me.
When I finally step back, I give her space, space to finish getting ready, space I need before I lose control.
I should’ve stayed composed. But something in me is coming undone, unraveling in her presence like a tether slipping loose.
“Thank you, Captain Kai,” she says, her voice laced with something I can’t quite place. A challenge? Or just playful teasing? Either way, she’s testing me, measuring how far she can push. My heart stumbles, but I cover it with a grin and raise a hand in mock surrender.
“Just Kai will do, treasure,” I reply, voice low, controlled. The heat running through me is impossible to hide.
Her lips curve into a faint smile, the kind that hides more than it reveals. “Kai it is, then,” she says, softer now.
I watch her move, slow and unhurried, fastening only her cutlass.
A part of me relaxes. She must feel safe enough to let her guard down, at least a little.
No full arsenal strapped to her thighs or her belt glinting at her hip.
Just calm, collected Mira. The storm inside me is a jarring contrast. She passes me, and our hands brush, just for a breath, a second.
But the air crackles. She doesn’t speak.
Just walks out to the waiting crew, and I’m left staring after her, pulse pounding, lungs burning, still trying to catch my breath while breathing in her sweet vanilla scent.
I stay where I am, pulse pounding, lungs burning, trying to steady the ache that follows her out the door. Because Pike waits on the horizon—and with it, Veyra. And if my instincts are right, one of us won’t leave that island the same.
I’ve faced monsters, curses, and the wrath of the sea itself, but none of it feels as dangerous as Mira. If I lose control now, of her, of myself, I won’t just lose this fight. I’ll lose everything.