Chapter 20
Rowan stepped unsteadily from the gangplank to the Kadling Kay docks, taking a moment to let his equilibrium adjust from the constant sway of the ship to the unfamiliar solidity of land.
When he’d been younger, letting his mind wander as the rocking of his navy-issued hammock aboard the M.W.S.
Wolf lulled him to sleep, he’d imagined that he was born for the sea.
A magical creature of the deep who’d mistakenly been born on land.
Though it was a decision born of selfishness, Rowan’s father had ultimately done him a favor in selling him into indenture to the navy, for now Rowan couldn’t imagine he would have ever found his true calling had he stayed on land.
But he was only a human. Despite such stories weaving through the very fabric of culture throughout the Islands, Rowan had quickly stopped believing in mythical sea creatures after a year or so at sea.
Now he had seen one, taken him to his bed and in marriage.
And that creature was as cruel and changeable as the sea itself.
And if Rowan wanted to keep him, he would have to learn the depths of his own inhumanity.
A faint breeze lifted Rowan’s hair off his neck.
The members of his crew that had been granted shore leave flowed around him toward the taverns and trinket shops that lined the streets just beyond the dockside warehouses.
The docks bustled with all manner of sailors, tradesmen, and the like.
Most spared the Siren and her disembarking crew a long enough glance to clock them as pirates and give them a wide berth as they passed by.
Though Rowan had done his best to maintain secrecy on the voyage along the Laslandish coast, up close there was no point in hiding what the Siren Song was.
She and her captain were famous after all.
But even for the Ghost Hawk, there were legitimate ports on most coasts that were—if not friendly—at least not openly hostile toward pirates, even the infamous ones, as long as those pirates spent their ill-gotten gains and caused no more trouble than the average sailor.
Kadling Kay had always been a good option for a short-term stay, even if the Siren crew had been run out of town because of a tavern brawl once or twice.
They’d lost sight of the Kraken in the last few days, and Rowan silently thanked the gods for it.
It was one thing to have the Ghost Hawk and his crew stop over in a town.
It was quite another for the Deep Water Demon to grace the mere mortals with his presence.
While Rowan might be second in reputation only to Yves, he did not strike fear into the public’s hearts quite the same.
Rowan had witnessed more than one hardened sailor piss themselves in fright just from seeing Yves with a sword in his hand.
Funny how no matter which direction Rowan’s thoughts blew, they always turned back to Yves, as if he was the north to which the compass of Rowan’s heart pointed. Even when they were fighting.
Shaking the man from his head, Rowan started down the dock.
He was here for a reason. To find any information he could about Warrick and Zanta.
They’d seen warships on the horizon once or twice on their way down the coast, though Rowan couldn’t tell what country they were from.
It was only a matter of time before Warrick tracked one of them down.
A fearful gasp from a woman near him had Rowan lifting his head, reassurances already on his lips that he wasn’t here to cause trouble. But it wasn’t his scarred and one-eyed countenance that had caused it. The woman wasn’t even looking at him, but out over the water.
By the utter fear in the woman’s eyes, Rowan knew what she saw before he followed her gaze.
Sure enough, the Kraken’s Fury was out beyond the harbor mouth, appearing suddenly like something out of a nightmare.
Yves had not even made an attempt to disguise it.
The deep blue sails hung taut with wind, displaying their well-known skull and tentacle insignia proudly.
Thankfully, Yves had the grace not to fly his flag, but neither had he chosen to fly the white flag of peace, as Rowan had done in an attempt to put the citizens at ease.
Rowan groaned. Would it kill Yves to have some care for once?
Some tact? Maybe it would. But it wasn’t as if he’d stay dead anyway.
He had to know the terror he was currently inflicting. Maybe he enjoyed it.
Others had seen the Kraken now too. Some had already fled, and some, like the woman beside him, seemed to be frozen. Rowan placed a gentle hand on her arm, and she nearly leapt out of her skin, wide eyes panicked.
“He won’t hurt you, ma’am,” Rowan tried to assure her, gentling his voice as much as possible. “I swear it.”
The woman seemed not to comprehend his words, but she was thawed now, and scuttled away from the docks as quickly as possible, clutching her shopping basket to her chest.
Yves wouldn’t attack. Though the legend of him ignored it, the Deep Water Demon never raided ports.
Like Rowan, he stuck to hunting other ships.
It just wasn’t challenging to go after a town, which could neither run nor chase, though they could fight back.
It was like slaughtering an animal already caught in a trap.
It might give you meat, but there was no sport in it.
Besides, Yves could only be here to hunt one thing and one thing only. Rowan.
Rowan sensed the moment Yves stepped foot on land.
It was as if the ground itself trembled beneath his feet.
He stopped in his tracks, letting the flow of the market continue around him.
No one else seemed to notice the trembling.
Was it all in Rowan’s head? Had Yves’s power expanded and reached out to Rowan across the distance?
Or was Rowan now so attuned to him that he could divine his nearness by the way the gravel crunched beneath his elegant, spurred boots?
Rowan resumed walking, even as anticipation mingled with fear raced up his spine.
No matter where he was, he knew Yves would find him like a lodestone.
Even without the ring on his finger, even fighting, they were irrevocably connected.
It was sickening really, how much Rowan still longed for him, even as anger still simmered in his guts.
Maybe after Yves rearranged them a few more times, the anger would dissipate.
He wove through the dockside market crowds toward more deserted streets as Nephele soared high overhead.
He didn’t know what Yves would do when he found him.
Maybe he’d finally apologize, maybe he’d fuck him into oblivion.
Whatever it was, Rowan had the feeling he’d rather not be around too many people when it happened.
A ripple coursed through the crowd behind him, gasps and shuffling footsteps, as if people were scrambling out of the way of something.
Rowan told himself not to look back. If he saw Yves now, there was no guarantee he wouldn’t run into his arms just to hasten their reunion.
He had to keep at least some of his dignity intact.
He’d almost reached the edge of the market before the breathless pressure of being Yves’s prey became too much. His gaze sliced to the shine of a mirror hanging in a trinket booth, catching a glimpse of his husband reflected within.
Yves prowled the crowded street, resplendent in a deep black coat with whorls of gold embroidery.
He made no secret that he was following Rowan.
His fathomless dark eyes were locked on him as he cut through the crowd like a shark through water, unconcerned with the wash of humanity all around him or the fear left in his wake.
They knew him; of course they did. No one else could be so beautiful yet terrifying. He oozed danger.
Danger and sex.
Yves’s focus remained solely on his prey. Solely on Rowan.
And he was still angry.
All the little hairs on Rowan’s body stood on end, and he dragged his gaze away from the mirror with difficulty, realizing he’d frozen in place as soon as he saw his husband.
He might be desperate to get his back blown out in another whirlwind of angry, brutal sex, but he couldn’t let Yves know just how desperate.
He resumed his walk, leaving the market and its inhabitants behind, and winding through the increasingly deserted maze of side streets and alleyways.
Rowan didn’t look back again. He could feel Yves following, the oppressive darkness of his anger like a storm cloud. He couldn’t help but add an extra swish to his hips, a slight arch to his back. Enticing.
He turned down a deserted alleyway. The stone and half-timbered walls on either side leaned precariously toward each other like two lovers across a chasm, until they almost touched overhead and blocked out most of the daylight.
A short flight of crooked stone steps led toward the other end of the alley, the greater light of the sun tinged green, as if a garden lay just beyond.
The scent of moss and other growing things met his nostrils, and he started forward, determined to discover what was down there.
A hand closed over his mouth, yanking him roughly off his feet and pressing his back to a firm chest. Rowan’s muscles tensed for just a moment before he recognized it was Yves. He would know those beautiful long-fingered hands anywhere. They’d touched every part of him.
Rowan’s cock twitched to life almost immediately.
So much for appearing not desperate. Yves didn’t say a word.
But his breath was hot against the chilled side of Rowan’s neck.
He forced Rowan against the cold stone wall in the gloom.
His wedding ring twisted around his finger, and the edge of the ruby cut shallowly across Rowan’s cheek as Yves’s hand dragged across his face.
Rowan gasped, back arching to press his ass to Yves’s already hard length, too hungry already.