Chapter 9 Crimson Blades
Crimson Blades
CASPIAN
Flattening my chest against the wooden deck, I narrowly missed Syoran’s swing.
The wind that followed behind his precision kissed my nape, a warning of his willingness to ensure he drew blood.
It was something I’d requested from him, a ruthlessness I required my crew to have and act with, even if it were a mere sparring session.
Those who stood in opposition wouldn’t hesitate to kill, and I demanded the same from the men I led.
It was why most of those on my ship bore their scars with honor, unspoken stories of their dance with Elaros and their faithfulness to me.
There was a reason they referred to me as The Marked One, though the name carried a far heavier weight than my crew had come to realize.
Every match had been bloody in its own right, but no one had ever landed a hit on Syoran or me.
We’d spilled the guts of our crew, and often requested that the deckhands clean up after our slaughter.
Ultimately, if a man hadn’t reacted quickly enough to an attack, it no longer became our responsibility.
Their souls landed in the hands of the God of Death, their pre-determined fate carried out just the way he’d intended it to.
Not a single mark on our bodies had been gifted by any of those sailing alongside us. When it came to us with each other? That was an entirely different story.
Preparing myself for the attack I knew was bound to come, I tensed just as Syoran’s booted foot slammed into my stomach, sending a roar of affliction up my side from my still-healing wound.
The force behind it propelled me to the opposite side of the ship, and I lost my grip on my sword; its clatter warned me of its position a few feet away.
My back collided with the gunwale, oxygen vanishing on impact, only for a grunted hiss to escape me as my body curled inward.
But my mind knew better.
With a quick roll, I dodged the downward arc of his blade, pushing myself to standing once more.
Burrowing into the wood, a fourth of it sliced through the railing, adding more personality to the ship I happily commanded.
A curse fled Syoran’s lips as he yanked, the steel refusing to come free, even against his strength.
My fingers coiled around the two hilts at my sides, and I freed my preferred weapons: twinned curved sabers forged by Sapphira.
She designed the golden pommels to look like serpent skulls, their sculpted jaws forming the “r” shaped guards.
Detailing the vertebrae along the upper portion of the hilt, lines of crimson swept to color the back of the handle—a painted shade of red that was once a pooling and free-flowing lineage.
Etched with carefully crafted scales, each grip nuzzled into my palms with an attentive focus that ensured only I would be able to comfortably wield them.
The leading edges of each of the blades curved in a fine sweep, their arrowed points coming to rest an inch from the talon-shaped blood diamonds that she’d attached to each guard.
Matching the fluidity of an “s,” the upper portion of the steel had been refined with the same intentional honing that’d been used to craft its belly.
Just below the shined metal sat a hooked end with serrated teeth, its purpose to loop around intestines and spool them free from any poor bastard’s stomach. The four-inch swoops ended in another sharpened edge, merging to form the tips.
As I freed them both, the sharp shing of steel erupted across the rain-soaked deck, a sing-song promise of death coaxing the anguish from his kick that’d threatened to consume me.
Spinning each hilt between my fingers with ease, I secured my grip and swung with the merciless intention I wielded any weapon with.
Even so, these two were special in their own right.
Syoran pivoted just in time and caught the wrist of the hand headed toward his throat, electing to take the blow aimed for his sweat-sheened abdomen. Jutting his hips back, he escaped the intended depth of the laceration, only the tip of the blade carving through his skin.
“Gods, you’re fucking annoying!” he shouted, charging me once the sharpened steel had completed its path.
His body slammed into mine with unrelenting force, sending the two of us tumbling across the planks. Shirtless myself, the worn wood carved into my scar-littered back. Slivers jutted into my skin, earning a slew of curses, which only had Syoran smiling as he climbed over me.
Pinning my equipped hands over my head, he leaned down until our noses came to rest mere inches from each other. “I believe this would be a killing blow, Captain.”
“Yeah? Would it?” I quipped, cocking an amused brow. “Because last I checked, you need all ten fingers to keep me pinned. Unable to wield a blade equates to an inability to carry out an execution. Unless you’ve got another arm I should know about—”
The pristine point of a sword came to rest against my throat, a shadow falling over me.
Laced boots came into view first, followed by fitted breeches and a free-flowing blouse that the wind picked up with ease.
I settled my glare on her; she craned her head down and smirked, her hat blocking out the encroaching sun.
“Ever heard of two on one, Captain?”
“Gods, you two are annoying,” I spat, shifting my gaze from Saph to Syoran. “This is what I call bullshit.”
“Is it?” he crooned, his tongue trailing across his lips. “Because last I checked, the probability of unexpected opponents in battle is something you have warned our men about.”
“Many times,” Saph added, pressing the sword tighter against my jugular.
My hooded stare fell to her, a humorless chuckle leaving me. “That’s beside the point.”
Her grin deepened as she hummed, “I don’t believe it is. One wrong move and you’d be dead—”
Slapping my palm around her blade, I bit down on my tongue to keep the cry of agony from escaping as the steel carved through my flesh. With one shove and a refusal to release her weapon, she stumbled, and I leveraged the unexpected shift.
My booted foot slammed into the deck, and I thrust my hips skyward, rolling Syoran before he had time to react. With momentum and the element of surprise on my side, I quickly pushed myself up, my sole driving into his stomach with a kick that mirrored what he’d inflicted on me.
He gasped, groaning as he briefly curled inward, and I utilized the lapse in judgment in my favor.
Tightening my grasp on the sword once more, I pulled with a force that doubled what I was able to achieve on the ground. Idiotically, Saph held on as I ripped her toward me, but as soon as that distance closed, I used her wrist as a lever and forced the hilt from her hand.
With a simple toss, it landed in my uninjured palm. Simultaneously, I stole one of her daggers, bringing its sharpened edge to rest against her throat. With her sword in my other hand, I pinned Syoran to the ground, its end sinking into the muscled flesh of his chest.
Resting flush against her backside, I craned my chin until my lips caressed her ear. “As much as I adore your confidence, Saph, its fusion with your ego will serve as your downfall if you aren’t careful. Especially with more experienced fighters.”
“Is that your attempt at a jab?”
The corners of my mouth curled, and I chuckled. “No, the jab was how easy it was to disarm you. As a forger, I expected more.”
She opened her mouth to reply, but I cut her off by nicking the sensitive skin on the side of her neck before returning her dagger to its home. With the same nonchalance, I slipped her sword back into its sheath and stepped back, looking between the two of them.
With my full smile on display, I offered the words I planned to leave them with as morning duties began.
“Let that be your reminder of why I’m the captain of this ship.
As well as your only warning that the next time you underestimate me, I will gut you both without hesitation.
I was tame today, and I can promise you don’t want to meet the monster buried beneath my self-restraint. ”
What the fuck am I doing here?
My eyes swept over her near-lifeless frame, curled on the small pile of hay in the corner.
Her vibrant crimson hair had lost its liveliness, a dimmed scarlet replacing its once vibrant hue.
What was once porcelain skin had become even more pale, her freckles seeming to pop more than they had when I’d spotted her in the sultry lighting of Seirdra’s Veil.
It’d been a week since our engagement in Darswyth, and she hadn’t woken up once.
Each time I’d been in the brig, she’d been in the same spot, unmoved but breathing.
Syoran reported the same; the two of us were the only ones permitted near here.
I was clear that anyone who was found even remotely close to her cell would be executed.
I was still trying to decipher the depth of her essence and why I felt so drawn to her.
“Rohen,” I called, waiting for a shift in movement, a groan, a stifled fucking breath, but nothing.
I knew I’d captured Malrik’s most esteemed assassin, a woman perfectly capable of executing anyone she came across.
Still, there was something in me that stirred whenever I was near her, something that warned of the unknown that came with Rohen Levitte.
It was an instinctual feeling, as if my soul understood something my mind hadn’t yet comprehended.
There was also a sharp ache in my chest whenever I was near her; it ignited my wrath in a way that felt uncontrollable, in a way that mirrored how I felt the night I nearly killed Alastair.
Hell, it was so potent that it made me want to wrap my hands around her throat and watch the light vanish from her eyes.
It made me desire for the darkest things to happen to her without so much as contemplating how hypocritical it made me.
I felt a mix of ire and yearning when I spotted her in Seirdra’s Veil, and the opposition of the two became another reason I wished to purchase her, alongside her ties to assassinhood.
But I knew my men could tame her in the ways my captivation wouldn’t allow, while I leveraged her talent to my advantage.
Perhaps it had to do with Arthur’s warning. He had been adamant and weary about Rohen carrying the aura of the Tide Eaters with her, and I found a portion of myself reeling at the possibilities just because of how enchanting, yet equally infuriating, she had become.
I hadn’t called her my little siren on a whim. No, it felt natural because of the lure she cast out to every man she crossed, testing their willingness to bite down on a hook that would undoubtedly result in their downfall.
Regardless, her unconsciousness had become a hindrance, and half of me was tempted to toss her overboard if she didn’t wake up by tomorrow.
It’d been a waiting game, one that tested the bandwidth of my patience as well as some fucking piece of my sanity.
Loosening a breath, I approached the bars, slamming my wrapped palm against them. The force rattled the metal, and the sound it created would’ve woken anyone truly sleeping.
But she didn’t budge.
I bit the inside of my cheek, grounding myself with the sharp tang of copper that flooded the back of my throat as well as the pulsating anguish that assaulted my palm.
Pain was a reminder that I remained human—a lever I often pulled whenever I felt myself slipping far too close to the edge.
Rohen fucking Levitte seemed to push me there even when unconscious.
As I ground my teeth together, I stepped away from her cell, backing up until the backs of my knees met the wooden bench. Lowering myself onto it, I folded my legs over each other, crossing my arms over my silken scarlet shirt.
Tracing my lips with my tongue, I lifted my gaze as my brows furrowed above it. With my glare in place, I exhaled heavily, attentively watching her sleeping frame with no plan on leaving until she woke up.
“Fine, if you want to play this game, little siren, I will happily oblige. But just know, when you wake up, I will be the furthest thing from fucking kind.” Combing my hands through my hair, I settled my elbows against my knees.
“Whoever, whatever you are, Rohen Levitte, I will figure it out and carve it from your fucking bones. I will drive you to the brink of insanity. And most of all, I will do it all with a fucking smile.”