Chapter 17
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Sunrise quickly approaches, and the edges of the sky lighten overhead as we step out of the portal onto the beach.
I hadn’t expected the shift to last all night, and exhaustion hits me like a wave as we trudge through the sand.
The mud has hardened on my skin and clothes, and I’ve done nothing but fantasize about the shower and scrubbing myself clean during our entire walk back.
Eyes trained on my boots as I stumble along the jagged rock, I almost slam into Sig’s back as she stops abruptly in front of me.
“Oh gods,” she groans, throwing her hands to her head.
“Oh gods, indeed,” Stassia says, her voice lilting and very different from Sig’s inflection.
I peek between them, following the line of their gaze to see what is causing the pause. My jaw slackens as I take in the scene on deck.
A few torches burn, a flickering glow casting shadows near the mainmast, but that isn’t what catches my attention.
Skin.
Weston’s glistening, bare skin, to be exact.
His hands grip the mast as he hangs above the deck. His forearms are taut, his biceps bulging as he rhythmically raises and lowers his chest to the beam. The muscles in his broad back and shoulders ripple, and I can’t stop my eyes from taking in every inch of them. My mouth goes dry at the sight.
Stassia throws her arms out to the sides wildly, blocking anyone from passing her.
“Can we stay here just for a few minutes?”
Flutters fill my low stomach as we stand in silence watching. Hatred for him aside, anyone would be distracted by his hard curves, the way his body moves, and the feelings that stir at the sight of it. I know it isn’t just me, even though I hate the way I respond to him.
Stop it, Lennox.
Stassia makes a low grunt of appreciation and Auralie lets out a tiny giggle.
“This is going to be bad,” Sig says with a sigh. “He was supposed to be asleep.”
She pushes past Stassia’s arm, causing her face to fall into an exaggerated frown. He hasn’t seen us approach yet, his back still to us as we follow Sig, closing the distance to the gangway.
“How do you know?” I say, clearing my throat after my voice cracks on the last word.
“He only does this when he’s stressed,” Sig says.
“The last time was when you showed up,” Stassia says, a wistful smile on her lips. “Ah, that was a fun day to be on deck.”
Stassia’s comment is confusing. What about me showing up would make him stressed, and how did he even know?
I was with Dane all day, and there was no way he was following me already.
Dane and I hadn’t really talked about the possibility of us yet, so there would be no reason to capture me to use against him that early on.
“I’m sure it will be fine,” Auralie says. “We’re all back.”
“He can’t be mad that the island attacked us,” I say. “He’s always pissed at me, anyway. I’m not afraid of him. I’ve dealt with worse.”
“I warned you,” Sig says, her shoulders pulling back in anticipation of facing whatever mood Weston is in.
As we climb the gangway, I try to keep my eyes off of Weston.
I fail.
His rhythmic movements haven’t stopped or slowed, and the closer we get, the more clear his body becomes.
Sweat covers every exposed inch of his skin, the light from the torches making him glisten.
Soft grunts and heavy breaths with every pull break the silence, and I ignore the flicker of flame that ignites in me at the sound.
He must hear our footsteps, because in the next moment he’s dropping to the deck, the boom of his landing followed by a snort and loud yawn.
Just next to where Weston hung a moment ago, Jorn sits on the mast, rubbing his face with both hands.
They must have kept each other company, like Sig suggested when we left.
“Signee,” Weston growls, and my gaze falls back to him. He barrels toward us, his eyes flying over our group, taking in the mess from our shift.
“Everyone is fine,” Sig says, her hands raised slightly like she is trying to calm a wild animal.
I see now why she warned us. Weston has worn many emotions since I met him, but this is anger like I haven’t seen, not even when he was yelling at me in the infirmary. Outrage burns in his eyes, his jaw clenching and unclenching as he glowers at her.
“You said you had this under control,” he grinds out, brushing past her and weaving through the group.
Straight to me.
She spins to follow him. “I did. We’re all back in one piece. Just a little dirty.”
His eyes meet mine, the fire in them still blazing and I am caught up in the intensity.
I can’t look away, can’t think, can’t even process what is happening as his hands are in my hair, working through the thick, dry mud until his fingertips reach my scalp.
They roam over me, sliding down the back of my neck and over the curve of my shoulders.
A shiver runs down my spine that has nothing to do with the cool breeze coming off the water.
My throat bobs with a hard swallow as my focus falls away from his stare down to the glistening bare skin in front of me, so close I could barely move and reach out to touch it.
A bead of sweat trickles between the muscles of his chest, heading toward the defined bulges of his abdomen, toward the scar Dane gave him.
I’m too stunned to do anything but gape at him, everything happening so quickly but also feeling like it is in slow motion.
When his fingertips brush my palms, turning my hands over to inspect them, it’s like I’m doused with cold water. The movement feels more intimate than any of the others, and I suddenly remember who he is and what he’s doing.
I take a step back and slap his hands away.
“Excuse me? Get your hands off me,” I snap.
Who does he think he is, just walking over and putting his hands on me, treating me like an asset he has to inspect to make sure it still holds its value?
It’s obvious, now more than ever, why he is so overbearing with me.
He knows Dane won’t agree to a bargain if I’m harmed.
That’s why he didn’t want me leaving the ship. That’s why he wanted me to eat.
I’m just a means to an end.
He steps back like I’ve burned him, lifting his hands away and pinning his arms to his sides. The fury is gone in an instant, but he looks away, keeping me from seeing what replaces it.
“I apologize, princess,” he mumbles and runs a hand through his sweaty hair, mussing it even more than it already was, before turning on his heel toward the rest of the group. “Is everyone alright?”
“Yep,” Stassia says, a smile on her face and her voice as cheerful as ever. She’s probably still enjoying the view that she wanted so badly.
“Yes Captain, we’re alright,” Auralie says.
His head turns back toward me, but his eyes stay averted, falling to the ground next to me.
“I’m fine,” I say flatly, and his chin dips in acknowledgement.
“Like I said,” Sig says, “all under control.”
“What happened?” he says, his voice calmer, but still hard.
“We ran into Dane,” Sig says.
“What?” Weston barks, the calm gone in an instant as his head snaps toward Sig.
“He and Storm were out walking. We hid in the marsh. Once they were gone, we started to sink. Stass and Auralie pulled us out.” Sig glances around at us with a hint of apology in her expression.
We all agreed not to say what happened tonight in order to protect her, but that was before Weston caught us the moment we stepped onto the ship.
There was no way of keeping what happened tonight from him now.
“Did you see what they were doing?” he asks.
She shakes her head. “They were just walking.”
There’s no mention of the conversation they were having, and I can’t be the only one that heard it. Is she going to keep that from Weston? Or does it not matter for whatever he has planned?
He nods and places his hands on his hips, the motion drawing attention to the carved out muscles that dip below his belt. This time I’m the one averting my gaze.
“We won’t stop the searches,” he says finally. “But make sure that everyone is aware of what happened and on high alert. Smaller search areas, back well before sunrise. We don’t need any more run-ins.”
“Aye, Cap,” Sig says with a nod.
“Go get some sleep, all of you,” Weston says, dismissing us but not moving a muscle.
Sig walks to the mast, shaking Jorn’s foot to wake him before he hops down to the deck.
Auralie and Stassia head toward the steps, Stassia stealing one last look at shirtless Weston before raising her eyebrows at me with a smirk.
I fight to not roll my eyes before following behind them.
“I’ll stay out of the room so you can get cleaned up,” Weston says just as I am about to walk past.
“I’m more comfortable using the crew’s showers, thank you,” I say, without even a hitch in my step. I won’t take his offer as considerate in any way, not after he manhandled me only moments ago. He didn’t consider how I felt about it then, apology or no apology.
He doesn’t respond and I almost make it to the stairs before I whir back around, facing him. I want to call him out, let him know I know his plan, his motives, even if it tips my hand that I’m still not completely on his side.
“Am I just a bargaining chip to use against Dane? Is that why you were following me around the island?”
Surprise flashes on his face, probably at divulging I know he followed me.
“That’s what you think?” he asks, his face stoic and his voice even once more.
I raise an eyebrow and fold my arms across my chest. “Tell me I’m wrong.”
“No, princess. You aren’t just a bargaining chip.” His throat bobs as he swallows whatever else he was going to say, and silence stretches between us.
“How do I know you’re not lying to me?”
“You don’t,” he says, cocking his head to the side. “You’re just going to have to trust me.”
I huff and turn back around.
Trust goes both ways.
I’ll never be able to trust him, not after everything that has happened, every Voyager he has stolen. But despite my mind screaming that he’s lying to me, manipulating me and trying to keep me unsuspecting, something deep down feels like his words are genuine.
I only make it one step before I hear him speak again behind me.
“Give it back, princess.”
I drop my head back with an aggravated sigh before turning back toward him to find he hasn’t moved. “Give what back?”
He drifts across the deck, stopping a few steps from me.
“Do you think I forgot?” His eyebrows raise in a challenge, and I keep my face trained.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“The dagger,” he says and extends his hand toward me. I glance down at it, the same hand that was tangled in my hair minutes ago, before looking back up at him.
Narrowing my eyes with a scowl, I reach behind me and yank the scabbard out of my waistband, chucking it as hard as I can at his chest before stomping down the stairs.
Tonight may have been valuable for my relationship with the girls, but it definitely wasn’t enough time away from Weston.
So much for trust.