Chapter 20
A shout from somewhere else in the tavern tore through the air and Emer did not need to speak the native language to know that the throaty call was a command to fight. The moments that followed felt as if they happened underwater, slow and quiet. Emer’s eyes snagged onto Calder’s. Her limbs felt heavy as she moved to reach for him. Her fingers had just brushed his when suddenly everything was happening too fast. A wave of brawlers tore them apart and swallowed them into a sea of churning bodies.
There was no rhyme or reason to the violence, just men eagerly seizing the opportunity to draw blood from whoever was unfortunate enough to find themselves in the path of their blow. Those who did not intend to fight quickly fled to the door to avoid being caught in the madness. The tavern became a blur of flying limbs, drinks, and chairs.
Emer struggled to stay on her feet as she ricocheted off the other patrons. The cloak she had worn for her protection instantly became a hazard, the excess length becoming trapped beneath the brawlers’ boots. She dug her fingers into the hood’s fabric, fighting fiercely to keep it in place. Another large body pinned the cloak to the ground and the clasp dug into the sensitive skin of her throat as it ripped her back. Emer twisted but only managed to crack her hip against the corner of a table before crashing to the ground. White hot pain flashed across her knuckles as they grated against the rough floor, causing her grip on the knife to falter. She watched helplessly as it was kicked out of sight by the stampeding boots. Realizing that she would meet the same fate if she remained on the floor, she ignored the pain and scrambled to her feet.
Emer did not call for Calder, knowing her pleas would be lost amongst the fleshy sound of fists colliding with faces and the sea of profanity, and instead, began to carve through the crowd in search of him.
A blur from the corner of her eye had her turning just in time to see a chair being brought down over her. As she braced for impact, a tall, cloaked body appeared, and the chair splintered against his back. Of the two of them, however, it was Emer who flinched. The man merely cracked his head to the side in annoyance and, noticing her attention on him, turned.
While his features were partially hidden beneath his dark hood, she saw how his lips parted as if surprised, and it was unclear if it was because he had expected someone else or if it was because he had not expected someone like her.
“Merrow!”
The word roared from somewhere in the mass of limbs. The wariness she felt at turning from the stranger became moot when he calmly strode passed her. Seemingly bored of the bedlam unfolding around them, he disappeared into the crowd.
Emer set her focus on finding Calder and began scouring the tavern, only to find an equally familiar pair of eyes come back to haunt her. The shouts, the thundering of the pounding boots, and the cracking of the wooden chairs brought it all back.
It brought him back.
“Lachlan?” The word left her as a whisper, scarcely audible over the chaos .
His eyes were still filled with the terror she had seen aboard the ship as it burned around them. The same desperation as when the arrow pierced his back. Emer felt as if her body was cast back into the sea and her veins bathed in ice. She had grown instantly numb. Even her fear could not reach her in the strange place of unreality that she was suspended in. Perhaps the lack of fear was the most unambiguous indication that she had gone mad. When she blinked, the insanity that gripped her momentarily eased. No ghost remained, only monsters.
The crowd had lessened, but the bodies that littered the floor confirmed that those who stood were the exact ones she needed to avoid. Another body crashed against her, driving her onto a table. Its rough edge dug into her stomach, and she blindly kicked out her legs. Her foot connected with a shin. The weight of a large hand was the only warning before he gripped her shoulder like a vice and spun her. Her back bent over the table as he pushed her down and pinned her with his forearm over her throat, sealing off her air. The man loomed over her, his smile sharp as he eased from her throat, and instead, pressed his arm over her chest, ensuring she remained pinned.
In the struggle, it took Emer a moment to register the cool press of his blade against her jaw, and she gritted her teeth as she ceased struggling.
“What do we have here?” he asked, reeking of drink and perpetual disappointment.
Any remnants of fear were quickly incinerated by the rage that burned through her. She snarled every curse she had ever heard from Finn, stringing them together like the jewels of the vilest necklace. Even her assailant paused before smiling at her.
“Such a mouth you have,” he chuckled as he leaned closer and took in a deep breath.
“I have no fucking idea where she gets it from,” the cold calm in Calder’s voice caused both Emer and her assailant to still .
He righted one of the toppled chairs and dragged it to the table, unconcerned with the brawl raging around them.
Emer watched her assailant's eyes track Calder as he eased himself into the chair at the side of the table where her head lay.
Elbow on the table, Calder assessed the man who seemed to think he could escape the Raven’s sight through stillness. Calder dropped his hand to the side of Emer’s head, lazily twirling loose strands of her hair in his fingers.
“It’s rude to play with your food, Merrow.”
Calder’s calm and confident demeanor empowered Emer who lifted her chin, no longer fearful of the knife at her throat.
The man stared down at her, horrified, realizing he was woefully ill-equipped for the game he had become an unwilling participant in—a Raven’s toy and a Merrow’s snack.
Calder drove a knife into the table next to Emer’s head, and while she did not flinch, her assailant did. Even though the chaos around them continued, the three occupied each other’s space so thoroughly that she could taste Calder’s whiskey-rich scent. The man’s forearm remained pressing her down, but his knife trembled, and he leaned away from her and her threatening shadow.
Calder brought his lips to her ear and whispered, “All you have to do is ask.” An offering to reduce the man before her to ribbons or support her doing it herself.
The man's eyes widened with fear.
Emer shook her head slightly, her skin hot where it touched Calder’s lips.
Calder hummed.
“Make him bleed, sweetheart.”
Before the man could retreat, she gripped the hand that wielded the knife at the wrist and, with her other, retrieved Calder’s from the table. Beads of blood seeped from the slash she made across the man’s cheek, running in a jagged diagonal line from his temple to the top of his lip. He stumbled but did not retreat. Neither did Emer, choosing to close the space between them instead.
The man snarled.
Emer dipped beneath the man’s meaty fist as he swung it at her and used her new position to drive her heel into the back of his knee. He collapsed, and before he could recover, she rounded to his front. Grabbing his head, she drove it down as she brought her knee up. She released his greasy hair with a curse, allowing his now limp body to fall to the floor.
Looking over her shoulder, she found Calder standing, poised to step in. It wasn’t until that moment that she looked at him properly. His thick black curls were disheveled and drawn across his forehead. His weapons were sheathed, but his knuckles were bloody, and he had a bruise forming on his cheek.
Stepping forward, Calder curled his arm around Emer’s waist and shielded her as he led her away.
“Am I allowed to say that was ridiculously attractive?” His voice was an amused whisper amongst the chaos.
“Not the time,” she groaned.
“Later then.”
They held tightly to each other as they continued to push their way through the crowd, Calder using his elbows to carve out a path. Soon, they tumbled out of the Alder Barrel, along with a handful of others who did not share in the bloodlust intoxicating the crowd. It was unclear when her body had become molded to his, but as they escaped, Emer did not attempt to move away.
“I lost my knife,” she announced somberly.
A line appeared between Calder’s brow as he looked down at her tucked under his arm. His eyes narrowed on how her bottom lip was pushed out on the tail end of her mournful admission.
“Yeah, well. I almost lost my mind. So, let’s just plan to not do that again, okay?” he grunted, urging her forward.
She pulled her hand from his to correct the hood she realized was still down, but he snatched it back a moment later as if, without it, she would slip from under his arm like smoke. There was no doubt that someone had seen Emer and Calder eyed the crowd intently as they continued down the road. His features were not frantic but feral.
Once they had gained some distance from the rowdy crowd, he directed them down an alley. Emer closed her eyes, resting her head against the wall of a nearby structure. She brought her hand to her throat, testing the tender skin.
“Let me check you.”
Her eyes flew open to find Calder already reaching for her cloak and she batted his hand away. “I rather think I can tell where I’m injured without your confirmation. Thanks.”
He rolled his eyes like she was the unreasonable one.
“Is it really that scandalous to let me touch you?” he asked.
She brought her hand up to his chest to push him back, but the man was as solid as the wall behind her. “Despite the example set by your many companions, I do not make it a habit of letting men indiscriminately remove my clothes.”
He grinned, trailing a finger down the inside of one of the cloak panels before placing his other hand against the wall and leaning closer.
“But it’s so much fun,” he taunted.
Emer slapped his hand. “Don’t make me stab you.”
Her threat only made his grin grow wider. He dipped his head, bringing them eye-to-eye. “With what knife?”
“Everything alright, miss?” The question came from an older man watching nervously from the mouth of the alley.
While the passerby had misconstrued the situation, it warmed Emer’s heart that he was concerned for her, and she could not help but have a fondness for him. Giving Calder a withering glare out of the side of her eyes, she bit back a smile.
“As a matter of fact?—”
Before she could finish, Calder pushed off the wall and straightened to his full height. The man took a startled step back, and whatever he saw in the Sea Raven’s expression had him averting his gaze.
“Beg your pardon,” he stuttered as he scurried away.
“Coward,” she spat under her breath.
Calder turned his attention back to her with a raised brow. Her muscles tensed as she felt the heat of his body draw closer and the weight of his head as he dropped it to the crook of her neck.
“Tell me, little Merrow, do you need rescuing?”
She didn’t realize he had unclasped her cloak until he was pulling it open and inspecting her bruise.
“Bastar—”
He hushed her curse.
“Endearments will get you nowhere” he said as his thumb moved under her jaw and gently tilted her head back.
Although he had warned her of the dangers of the Isle, there was something markedly different about seeing those dangers brought to life on her skin. Evidence that despite her strength and despite his efforts, she was crushable. She was killable. She could be taken.
With one hand holding her head still, he used his other to brush loose strands of hair from her face. “How many men did you scar tonight?” he asked as he cleaned her.
“Just the one,” she said sulkily. “And you? Oh, great and violent Morvran?”
“Eight,” he answered.
As he brushed his thumb over her cheek and watched the drops of blood smear over her once uncorrupted skin, he suddenly questioned the restraint he had shown. If those men wanted to paint things red, he was more than willing to oblige.
“Why haven’t you asked me to go with you?” he asked.
Emer shifted, attempting to turn out of his hold, but he gripped her tighter. “Merrow,” he said softly. “Ask me.”
Swallowing hard, Emer spoke the words she had allowed to sour within her for fear he would deny her. “Come with me,” she said in a polite command rather than a question.
Calder grinned down at her.
“As if this would have gone any other way.”
“Yeah?” she asked.
The thick black thread of anxiety loosened.
He hummed in acknowledgment.
“Besides, who would tend to your battle wounds if not me?”
“I strongly recall telling you that I did not need you for that,” she returned, her own grin forming.
“For other things then,” he remarked suggestively.
Emer shook her head, turning away to hide the emotions pricking at her eyes and focusing instead on the growing number of people passing the alley.
Calder stepped back and tugged at her hand, “Let’s go get your Well, Merrow.”
As they made their way further into the alley, a shadowy figure stepped out in front of them.
Chaos, it seemed, had gotten a taste of Emer, and now it was addicted.