Chapter 43 Nerina
Nerina
The Black Marrow, Port Ymirskald
“Nerina!”
Garen barreled toward me, grin wide as a sail in full wind. Before I could protest, his arms swept me up and the world spun in a dizzy blur of sea and sky as he lifted me clean off the deck. I laughed—startled, breathless, the sound ripped free before I could stop it.
He set me down, still grinning, hands on my shoulders to make sure I was real. “Gods below, you’re a sight for sore eyes!”
And from the corner of my eye, I saw Alaric watching. Silent. There was no humor in his eyes. Only measuring.
Garen had always been kind to me, even when he didn’t understand what I was. Even when he feared it. His kindness never wavered. Not once.
And for a moment, wrapped in his familiar scent of smoke and iron, I felt like… maybe I belonged somewhere.
I leaned against the railing beside him. The sea stretched endless before us, dark and icy—the kind of sight that always made me feel both small and infinite.
“So,” he said, resting his forearms on the rail, voice low and easy, “what was it like up there, then? In the mountains? Cold as they say?”
A smile slipped. “Cold enough to bite your bones." I hesitated, then let the truth land. “Beautiful, too. There’s something in it that… stays with you.”
He gave a low whistle. “Gods, listen t’ye. Talkin’ like a poet.”
I elbowed him lightly. “I didn’t think I’d like it. But I do. Eira makes it easier. She…” I hesitated, then smiled faintly. “She makes it feel less lonely.”
Garen shot me a sly look, grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Aye, an’ what’d our dear cap’n think o’ that, hm? Snow princess stealin’ his siren away? Man’ll brood himself into an early grave.”
Heat crept to my cheeks. “That’s not what I meant, and you know it.”
“Course I do,” he said with a chuckle. “But don’t tell me it wouldn’t amuse ye', just a little, seein’ him glowerin’ jealous over nothin’. Lad’s half storm cloud already.”
I laughed, shaking my head. “You’re impossible.”
“Aye,” he said cheerfully. “But I’m good company.” His grin softened, turning earnest. “Ye’ve changed a bit since ye’ left. Got somethin’ steadier in yer eyes. Like ye found a piece o’ yerself up there.”
My throat tightened. “Maybe I did.”
He glanced sideways at me, then nodded. “World’ll try t’take enough from ye'—best ye' claim what pieces ye' can.”
I looked at him then. “Thank you.” For always being so kind to me."
Garen shrugged. “Yer part o’ the crew.” Then his grin returned, broad and boyish. “Besides, ye’re a damn sight better company than half the men on this ship.”
Standing on the deck again felt like stepping into a memory I hadn’t earned—or one I’d tried too hard to forget.
I’d visited Garen a few times since the ship’s arrival in Ymirskald. Short visits. Careful ones. Alaric watched me with a restraint that made my chest ache. Like something in him was straining at a leash.
I leaned against the doorframe of the captain’s quarters, folding my arms. “You know,” I said lightly, “my combat skills have gotten a little rusty since being in Ymirskald.”
His head lifted, just slightly.
I tilted my chin, letting a smile tug at my lips. “Maybe you could help with that… unless you’re afraid you’ll lose.”
That earned me the faintest twitch at the corner of his mouth.
“Afraid?” he drawled. “The last time we sparred, you ended up flat on your back.”
I arched my brow. “And the time before that?”
He leaned back in his chair, smirking—wicked and slow. “You still ended up flat on your back. Though for very different reasons. I was hoping you’d remember it a little more fondly.”
Heat rushed to my cheeks before I could stop it.
I snatched the dagger off the map table and twirled it through my fingers. His brows arched, the smirk never wavering.
“Careful,” he murmured, circling now, the predator in him awake.
I lunged. He blocked with infuriating ease, catching my wrist and spinning me until my back hit his chest. The warmth of him brushed my ear—warm, taunting.
“Slow,” he whispered.
I twisted, shoving back with my elbow hard enough to break free. The dagger clattered to the floor. I spun to face him, chest tight, pulse hammering. “Lucky,” I shot back.
His grin widened—devilish—before he lunged this time. Our bodies collided, a mess of grappling hands and half-laughed insults. He caught my hip; I hooked my leg around his to throw him off balance. We slammed against the edge of the table, maps scattering.
He swept my leg out from under me. I yelped, twisting at the last second, and we crashed to the floor in a tangle of limbs. He landed above me, one hand braced beside my head, the other pinning my wrist to the boards. His weight pressed me down—unyielding—but I didn’t flinch.
He held it longer than necessary.
I grinned at him, breathless. “You’re heavy.”
“You’re weak.”
I bucked hard, catching him off guard just enough to roll us. Suddenly I was on top, knees pinning his arms, hair falling into my face. His smirk didn’t falter—it deepened.
“Predictable,” he drawled, voice low, taunting.
He surged upward, nearly throwing me off, and we grappled again. Hands slipped, caught, wrestled. My shoulder slammed against the edge of the bed. His laugh rumbled low in his chest—dark, infuriatingly amused.
“Admit it,” he said, the warmth of him grazing my jaw. “You missed this.”
I shoved him with all the strength I had.
Stars help me—I was laughing, wild and unrestrained, even as my pulse skittered with something far more dangerous than play.
I lunged again, aiming for his shoulder, but he caught me mid-swing and spun me until my back slammed—gently—against the wall.
His fingers closed around my wrists. Not painfully, but with an absolute certainty that sent a jolt straight down my spine. “There it is,” he murmured, his voice a rough scrape in the quiet room. “That fire.”
It wasn’t a fight for dominance, not anymore. It was a dance we’d been moving toward.
“Get off,” I said, laughing under my breath.
“Make me.”
My knee came up, aiming for his side. He caught my thigh with shocking ease, his hand splayed over the muscle, fingers pressing in. A gasp escaped me. It was pure sensation—the strength in his grip, the warmth seeping through the leather of my breeches.
Pinned. The full, exhilarating reality of it slammed into me. His body covered mine, one of his legs slotting between both of mine, a firm, unyielding pressure against the apex of my thighs. The ache there was sudden, blinding.
His free hand came up, not to strike, but to cradle my jaw. His thumb stroked over my lower lip. His focus dropped to my mouth. “All that defiance… where is it now?”
I surged up, capturing his thumb between my teeth.
Not biting down, just holding, a warning and an invitation.
A low, rough sound vibrated in his chest. It wasn’t a growl.
It was something older, more possessive.
The hand on my thigh slid inward, up, his palm grinding against the seam of my trousers where I was already growing damp, hot, impossibly sensitive.
“There,” I whispered against his thumb, releasing it. My head fell back against the wall.
“Nerina,” he whispered, my name a raw sound.
That was all it took. The last thread of my restraint snapped.
I surged forward, capturing his mouth with mine.
It wasn’t a gentle kiss. It was a clash—hungry, desperate, tasting of salt and want. He met me with equal fervor, a low growl rumbling from his chest into mine. His arms banded around me, crushing me against him. The careful control he wore like a mask was gone, shredded by the force of this.
His tongue swept into my mouth, claiming, exploring. My hands fisting in the dark linen of his shirt. I needed to feel him. All of him.
He broke the kiss, his face close enough to warm my cheek. “These are in the way,” he rasped, his fingers tugging at the laces of my trousers.
“Then do something about it.”
His laugh was a dark, thrilling thing. With brutal efficiency, he yanked the laces loose. The fabric gave way, and his hand slipped inside, past the waistband, past the thin barrier of my underthings. His fingers, cool at first against my feverish skin.
My eyes screwed shut. A ragged moan tore from my lips, swallowed by the creak of the ship and the distant roar of the sea.
His finger slid through my folds, a slow, torturous exploration that had my hips jerking against his hand.
“Alaric,” I managed, arching into his touch. "Please"
“Please what?” He leaned over me, his body caging mine, his mouth hovering above mine again. He pressed a finger inside me, slow, deep, making my vision blur.
“More.”
He teased. A single fingertip circling, light, maddening passes that made my thighs tremble. I clutched at his shoulders, nails digging into his skin. The controlled pirate captain was gone. In his place was a man unraveling, his voice rough and uneven against my neck.
“Tell me what you want.” His voice was gravel.
“You know.”
“I want to hear it.”
I opened my eyes, meeting his stormy eyes. The restraint in them was a thin veneer, cracking with the same desperate need I felt. “I want you.”
A shudder went through him. He kissed me again, deep and drowning, as he finally, finally, pushed two fingers into me.
A perfect, burning fullness. I cried out into his mouth.
He swallowed the sound, his own groan vibrating against my tongue.
He began to move, a slow, deep rhythm that matched the roll of the ship.
In. Out. The heel of his palm pressed against my pearl with every thrust, building a coil of tension so tight, so bright, I thought I might break apart against the wall.
His other arm wrapped around my waist, hauling me even tighter against him. Our bodies were fused, sweat-slicked, moving together. The friction of our clothes, the solid strength of him surrounding me, the relentless, perfect drive of his fingers—it was too much. It was everything.
“Alaric,” I gasped, breaking the kiss, my forehead falling against his shoulder.