Chapter 17 #3
I heave in air, my throat burning as I try to get hold of my breath again.
I feel Weston pulling away, and the movement jars me, forcing me to snap my eyes open and find him.
His hands fall from my face, pulling out of my sharp grip, but his eyes stay locked on mine, as if to say, “I’m not going anywhere. ”
He bends and picks my swords up off the deck, extending them out toward me. My fingers wrap around the hilts, squeezing until my knuckles turn white. He steps back and retrieves his own before straightening into position, our gaze still unbreakable.
His jaw ticks, and he gives me a firm nod.
“Let me have it, Lennox. Let it all out.”
So I do.
There’s no correcting or chiding; there’s no commenting on my form or focus. He lets me channel my rage into every strike, every slash. He meets me blow for blow, our synchronized steps moving us around the deck, and nothing else in the world exists.
The tears stop as I focus on the rage, pretending every blow isn’t one to the man that I love, but instead to the man that I loathe.
Weston doesn’t falter. He pushes me harder, the fierce look on his face comforting.
He understands. He holds hatred for Dane too, because Dane also took away his life, almost in the most literal and final sense.
But even with everything he did, every way he hurt me, my family, my friends, there’s a tiny sliver deep inside me that is grateful. If Dane hadn’t done it, I wouldn’t be here with Weston. There would be no us. I might never know what it feels like to be loved unconditionally.
The gratitude feels like a betrayal, but feeling it all is the only way I’ll ever be able to heal.
I grunt loudly as the sword I slam into Weston’s sends vibrations into my hand.
The moves feel as if they are happening on their own, like my body knows what to do, what it needs, to let this all go.
I swipe again, catching his blade at just the right angle.
I flick my wrist, winding my blade around his, the same way he’d done to me earlier today, and yank my weapon back.
The sword pulls out of his hand, and the metal clatters to the boards beneath us.
There’s a flash in Weston’s eyes, and I barely have time to register the emotion behind it before he’s reaching to his side and pulling a dagger.
He swipes it out in front of him, and my body reacts faster than my mind.
I let go of my swords and grab his hand, wrenching his wrist and sliding the hilt from his grasp before rapidly flipping it and stepping into him.
The exact way he taught me.
The dull training blade presses against his throat while my other hand fists his damp shirt and pulls my body flush against his.
And that’s when I see it again, the emotion in his gaze.
Pride.
Distant cheers ring out over the deck as we stand pressed into each other, our breaths heaving in rhythm. A grin breaks out on his face, and it snaps me back into my thoughts.
Holy shit. I just won.
“Yes!”
“She’s a fucking warrior!”
“Cap, you’re never gonna live this down!”
Their cheers and jeers finally resonate in my ears, and as I look up into Weston’s proud face, I can’t help but let myself smile.
“Yield, my queen,” Weston grumbles, and I lower the dagger from his neck. His other sword hits the deck, and then I’m in his arms, his lips crashing into mine as the toes of my boots drag across the floor.
Catcalls and whistles worse than anything Jorn has ever done erupt from the group as Weston kisses me unashamedly. He doesn’t let up for even a moment as the chatter and footsteps of the crew disappear down the stairs, leaving us alone on deck.
I pull my face back, my arms still firmly wrapped around his neck, and try to catch my breath.
“Did you let me win?”
He strokes his nose along the length of mine, his eyes lifting from where they are fixed on my mouth to catch my gaze.
“No, Lennox. That was all you.”
My face splits into a smile so large that my cheeks twinge in pain. Weston matches it, and despite how difficult it was to hear everything tonight, I feel lighter. Happier. Ready to move forward, and it’s all thanks to him.
He kisses me again, his tongue invading my mouth as his hand fists in my hair before he pulls away. His eyes darken, and one corner of his lips tips up in a smirk.
“Now it’s time to teach you a lesson for beating me in front of my crew.”
I squeal loudly as he flips me over his shoulder.
His palm swats at my ass, and my yelp is only met by a deep laugh before he spins us around and heads toward the steps.
Torches blaze around the deck, and it’s the first time I realize how late it is.
Time stopped while Weston and I battled, but now the suns have disappeared, and the dark purple sky is already deepening to a star-studded black.
“Shouldn’t we go to the mess? Aren’t you hungry?” I cry. I press my hands into his back, propping myself up so I can turn toward him. A low growl emanates from his chest as he looks back at me, his eyes trailing up my body until they land on my face.
“Starving.”
My cheeks heat and my thighs clench together as he takes the final strides toward the steps.
“If you really are hungry, I—”
A yell echoes from above us, and Weston jerks to a halt. My body tenses, because it isn’t just the sound that has me snapping my head back up toward the main deck.
“WESTON!”
No one ever calls him by his name.
He lowers me quickly to the floor, and my feet hit the deck with a loud thud as tension pulls at his shoulders.
“WESTON!” It’s louder this time, more urgent, and I know that voice.
Something’s wrong.
“Jorn,” I whisper, looking up at Weston, the same look of confusion mixed with panic I’m sure I have on my face reflected in his.
Weston’s head snaps to the mast, his neck craning back as far as it can as he peers into the darkness.
“WESTON, GET UP HERE NOW!”
We barely look at each other before we both take off, running straight for the mainmast.
What could have Jorn so out of sorts that he’s calling Weston by his name? I’ve never heard him use anything but Cap or the captain. But the sound of his voice, the repeated cries. This isn’t the Jorn I know.
We need to find out right fucking now.
Weston’s long legs carry him across the deck faster than mine.
He stops at the base of the mast, spinning and planting his feet.
The moment I’m in front of him, he wraps his hands around my waist, hoisting me over his head high enough that I can grab hold of the ropes and pull myself up.
He’s next to me in an instant, climbing faster than I’ve even seen Jorn move.
I follow behind, the ache from exertion all afternoon completely gone as worry and nerves take over.
I climb, keeping my focus trained on Weston’s back and my handholds so I don’t fall to my death.
“What the fuck is going on, Jorn?” Weston yells as we near the top.
Jorn’s face appears hanging over the edge of the crow’s nest. His skin is ashen, his eyes wide as he splutters. “I-I-I don’t know. I’ve never seen it before. I’m here all the time, you know that. All the time. It’s never…I never…”
I plant my feet on the last crossbeam next to where Weston balances and grab hold of his belt, stabilizing myself before I look up at them.
“What?” Weston snaps, and Jorn lifts his arm, pointing past us, toward the island.
Our heads turn almost in unison, and as I stare through the darkness out over the land, my breath stills in my chest. My knees threaten to give out from under me, and I grip Weston’s belt harder, my mouth falling open in complete disbelief.
I snap my head back to his, and his lips are parted, his eyes as wide as Jorn’s. The wind whips at us, threatening to knock us off the mast, but there’s no fear. His hand settles on the small of my back, holding me firmly against him, and his eyes finally break away from the sight.
That’s when I see it.
What I thought he lost is now shining brightly.
Shining as brightly as the golden glow settled deep in the pitch-black forest on the far side of the island.
Hope.
“Light always finds a way,” I mutter over the whistle of the wind around us.
“Even through the blackest woods,” Weston finishes.
“Edmond…” I say, my voice barely a whisper, and a breath huffs in Weston’s chest.
“He was trying to tell us how to get home,” he grumbles. “This whole fucking time, he was telling us how to get home.”