Chapter 47
“Amaya . . .”
Graven’s low growl struck fear into Amaya’s bones. Her eyes snapped open, pulse jumping from a steady thump to a gallop in milliseconds. Alastor Graven stood over her bed, Nightmare’s blue light bearing down on her.
She opened her mouth to scream, but no sound came out. Her voice was gone, and her limbs were frozen. Graven watched her try to squirm and let out a derisive laugh.
“We’re going on a little adventure, you and I,” he snarled. “The stage is set, and you, my dear, are the leading lady.”
The Sky Lord ripped her out of bed, and all of Amaya’s silent screams and pleas went unheard.
The next thing she knew, she was in a cage surrounded by leering pirates.
The cage was too small to stand in, so she crouched on her knees, cold metal bars pressing into her shins.
The pirates swarmed her like vultures, reaching between the bars to pull at her hair and her dress while making all manner of filthy comments.
Amaya still couldn’t speak. She folded over herself, shaking hands covering her head as she gasped for air. Hot, angry tears rolled down her cheeks.
“You don’t usually keep your prisoners clothed, Captain,” one of the pirates said. “Why make Lexington’s little bird the exception?” A hand snapped at her shoulder, tearing her dress. Amaya yelped, a sound finally escaping her throat as she lurched away.
“Now, now, boys. This is no way to treat a lady,” came Graven’s distinct timbre.
The horde of pirates sprung away from the cage as their leader approached, his footsteps like thunder.
He knelt before Amaya and reached through the bars, grabbing her arm with his metal hand.
She yelped again, but her lips refused to form words as an unnatural electric current jerked through her body.
“I’ll leave it up to you, darling girl. Would you like out?” Graven asked.
Amaya whimpered, scanning the rabid pirates behind Graven. She disliked being caged, but at the moment, her prison protected her from a much worse fate.
“N-no,” she said, finally able to force out the single syllable.
A terrible grin spread across Graven’s face as he stood, tossing a set of keys to a man that looked an awful lot like Vesper Corsair.
“Don’t damage her.”
“No!” Amaya cried.
Corsair bent down and twisted the key in the lock, eyeing her wolfishly. He yanked open the cage and reached for her, gripping her ankle and dragging her out. Amaya kicked and screamed. “No, stop! Graven!”
“Stop!”
Amaya bolted upright in bed, panting. It was dark, too dark to see where she was.
Frantically, she grabbed at her blankets to confirm her surroundings.
The only things touching her skin were soft sheets and a silk nightgown.
No cage. No hands. Sixth Sense was on her finger, and she was alone in her bed.
No—not her bed. Will’s bed. She hadn’t slept in her own cabin for two days now.
Hand over her heart, she took deep breaths and tried to pinpoint the inaccuracies in her dream.
Corsair had both hands in it. None of the other pirates had discernable faces. Graven’s smile, while similarly grotesque, was wrong. The list of her subconscious’s mistakes went on.
Logic, however, meant very little in the face of pure terror.
Shoving her blankets aside, Amaya grabbed an oil lamp on the desk and struck a match, letting the warm orange glow illuminate the space and chase away her fear.
The clock indicated it was well after midnight, but Will wasn’t here yet.
That wasn’t a surprise. He’d been spending late nights in the training room, working on sharpening his reflexes without Sixth Sense.
She hated that he felt the need to do that, but he wouldn’t take the ring back no matter how many times she tried to shove it into his hands.
Footsteps outside the door made her jump, still holding the lamp.
A key twisted in the lock—Will kept the door locked now, after Sebastian’s intrusion—and even though Amaya knew the rhythm of Will’s footfalls, her heart still pounded as he opened the door.
It wasn’t until he stepped into the light that she let out a breath of relief.
Will looked haggard; his skin lacked its typical sunshine-soaked glow, and the dark circles under his eyes were more pronounced than usual. Amaya didn’t imagine she looked much better, with her sweaty hair sticking to her forehead and dried-up tears streaking her face.
He ran a hand through his hair as he shuffled inside, his forehead creasing when he saw her.
“Hey. What are you doing up?”
“Nothing. Just couldn’t sleep.”
He stared at her, and Amaya could tell he knew she was lying. He approached and pressed the back of his hand to her forehead.
“You’re warm. Tell me what’s wrong.”
Amaya placed the lamp back on his desk and sat on the edge of the bed, looking down and tearing the skin around her nails. She felt so stupid letting a nightmare affect her like this. It wasn’t real.
But the fears were. And she’d been so busy with Will and her own training with Deadeye over the last few days, she’d barely given herself time to process their recent revelation. That if they failed to either destroy the doorway or kill Graven, her life would be over.
And not because she died.
“I had a dream,” she said. “I dreamed Graven came for me, here. He put me in this tiny cage and everyone was grabbing at me, then he let me out so they could . . .”
She flinched at the memory, unable to finish the sentence. Tears stung her eyes, so Amaya closed them and took several deep, steadying breaths. She didn’t want to cry in front of Will. Didn’t want him to think she was as weak and silly as she felt.
Will didn’t reply, but he moved to sit beside her and rubbed a hand up and down her back in a soothing, repetitive motion.
“I’m scared,” Amaya admitted, her voice cracking as she knowingly injured her own pride. “I’m really, really scared. We don’t know what will happen in the storm, and he’s going to come for me again. It could be any second.”
“Amaya . . .” Will put his arm around her shoulder. “You’re safe, I promise. Come here.”
He pulled her to his chest and held her there. His fingers combed through her hair, brushing it out of her face while she shook her head.
“You can’t promise that.”
Will stiffened, and Amaya thought perhaps she’d struck a nerve. He nudged her back up and smoothed his hands over her hair—gentle, but firm.
“Listen to me,” he said, settling somewhere between his normal voice and his authoritative tone.
“Yes, you’re at the heart of all of this, and yes, our paths will cross with Graven’s again.
But here’s what I’ve learned about you. You’re resilient.
Clever. Resourceful. You’re stupidly brave, even with all the odds stacked against you.
You’re braver than any Sky Lord I’ve ever met. And I’ve met them all.”
“Clearly you haven’t met yourself.”
He paused, and Amaya knew he was thinking about running from Graven the other night. She wished she could make him understand he wasn’t less of a man or less of a Sky Lord for running, but he wouldn’t talk about it.
“No,” he said finally, shaking his head. “I’m not brave, I’m just desperate half the time, and arrogant the other half. It’s not the same.”
“That’s not true. And I’m . . . I’m terrified. All the time.”
Will sighed and settled his arm around her again so she could lean on him. “And yet, you do what needs to be done. Bravery can’t exist without fear.”
Amaya contemplated that. By definition, he was right, but the fact remained that she didn’t feel very brave most of the time. She was scared of a nightmare, for goodness’ sake.
“You know I have nightmares, too?” Will’s question made Amaya lift her head.
“You do?”
“Almost every night. It’s why I don’t sleep much. Well, it’s one reason.”
Amaya sat up the rest of the way. Will stared at the flickering lamp on the desk, his expression vacant.
“What do you dream about?”
“Usually the Baroness. Sometimes my parents. And, lately, you.”
“Me?” She blinked. “What am I doing? In your dreams?”
“It doesn’t matter.” Will took her hands and squeezed them tight. “Because I won’t let anything happen to you. Understand?” He ran a finger over Sixth Sense. “That’s why I gave you this. It’s insurance. If I fail to protect you, it will.”
Will’s dedication to protecting her was both reassuring and terrifying. Amaya leaned against his chest, allowing the steady beat of his heart to lull her into a sense of fragile calm.
“You’re sweaty,” she said, and he huffed a laugh.
“Let me wash up, and I’ll join you.” He kissed her head and stood. “Try and rest. Big day tomorrow.”
Right. They’d reach the Aether Storm tomorrow.
Amaya moved to sit back against the headboard, but she didn’t sleep. She was too anxious to sleep. They’d done everything they could to prepare, but what if it wasn’t enough? What if Graven was there waiting for them?
There was nothing they could do but move forward and try to get to the doorway first, but it still felt like they were sailing into a trap.
She had a suspicion Will knew it, too. That was why Edmund’s new relic was so crucial.
What if it all went wrong, and tonight was their last night together?
Will exited the washroom in a cloud of steam, streaks of dark blond hair hanging over his eyes and water droplets glistening on his chest. He had a towel strung dangerously low around his hips, and the utter perfection of him made the room feel ten degrees hotter.
He glanced up and smirked when he saw her staring.
“You’re supposed to be sleeping.”
“That’s hypocritical.”
“Fair point.” Will opened one of his dresser drawers to fish out a pair of loose pants.
Amaya watched the muscles ripple under his skin while he moved, and decided for the hundredth time he was too beautiful to be real.
Heat coiled inside her, an ache she couldn’t ignore spreading throughout her body.
“Wait. Don’t get dressed.”
Will cocked a brow as Amaya slid forward and crawled to the edge of the bed, extending her hand. A strap on her nightgown slipped from her shoulder, revealing the deep valley between her breasts. She didn’t fix it. Satisfaction warmed her from head to toe as hunger gleamed in his widening pupils.
“That’s not fair,” he grumbled, inadvertently widening Amaya’s smile. She knew he couldn’t resist, and she didn’t want him to try. “This is called manipulation.”
“Is it working?”
“Hell yes.” Will tore off the towel and traded it for her hand.
He bent to kiss her, deeply and without reservation, before pressing her onto her back.
Amaya hummed in delight as her senses were flooded with him—the dampness of his skin, the fresh, clean scent of his soap, the confidence of his hands putting her exactly where he wanted her. She’d never get sick of this.
Amaya only hoped that after tomorrow, she could still have it.
His fingers danced up the soft skin of her inner thighs to separate them and her breath caught, making her forget all about the fact that they could both die tomorrow.