Chapter 44
The pelt was soft and cool beneath Yves’s hands, and he had to force the demon part of him to let it go, to tuck it in the safe behind the painting in his parlor.
He ran his fingers over it one last time, the human part of him feeling something akin to guilt as he caressed the skin of a creature that was not Rowan.
It shimmered over his fingers and the walls of the safe.
More mesmerizing than gold or jewels. It was just as the demon remembered from days long past.
The demon’s thoughts dominated their consciousness more and more.
It remembered more than Yves’s human mind could hold.
It had dredged up a language they’d never spoken with this human mouth before.
That same mouth salivated at the thought of devouring this Selkie, as it had so many of her ancestors.
They hadn’t tasted Selkie flesh in so long, not since they had ruled beneath the sea. Not since the betrayal.
The door clicking open forced the demon’s thoughts deeper into the recesses of their mind, and Yves found Rowan at his side.
“Yves…” His voice was stern. “Please tell me you convinced Nia. Please tell me you did not steal her pelt.” But he wasn’t looking at Yves; his eyes were fixed on the pelt’s shimmer. He reached out as if to caress it, but grabbed Yves’s hand and drew it away instead.
“I convinced her,” Yves answered truthfully.
For once he’d been able to speak earnestly with someone other than Rowan, though he’d fought the demon’s instincts the whole way.
More than ever, the demon pressed on the inside of his skin like it was trying to get out.
He knew the Selkie was terrified of him, some ancient animal instinct steering her on the path to survival.
He locked the safe and replaced the painting over it.
Some frivolous seascape, but it was better than the portrait of the late commander of this ship.
Now that he and Rowan were reunited, he’d have to convince the painter to take up their portrait again.
Yves tucked the key into its hidden compartment behind the carvings adorning the mantel.
A place only he and Rowan and the first mates knew.
“You will give it back,” Rowan said, half order, half hopeful.
Yves reached out to comb his fingers through Rowan’s fine blond hair. “As you command.”
Rowan’s eye roll was interrupted by a knock on the door. At their call, the cook from the Monsoon entered, carrying a tray of food.
“Was told you eat privately,” he said, placing the food on the dining table.
Rowan smiled as the scent of warm spices wafted through the room. “It smells divine. If you ever tire of Zanta’s crew, we’d be happy to have you on the Siren.”
“Ah, well. I usually don’t say no to a handsome face, but I owe a great deal of loyalty to my captain. So I’ll have to turn you down.”
Yves’s jealousy flared like a ravenous beast, barely feeling the placating hand Rowan rested on his wrist without even looking.
Rowan squeezed once, as if to say be good, then crossed the room toward the food.
“You haven’t been cooking for the whole crew all by yourself, right?
You have help?” Yves’s own cooks were quite good, but nothing compared to this man’s art.
The cook paused on the threshold. “The Kraken’s cooks have been quite accommodating, and I enlisted another young man to assist as well. Would be a handsome fellow if his attitude wasn’t so sour. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to get back.”
Rowan nodded, and the cook slipped out the door.
The two captains ate and drank their fill, and soon, no morsel was left on the plates.
Yves stood from the table and drew Rowan over to the armchairs in front of the unlit fireplace, above which hung the boring seascape and its concealed treasure.
He lowered himself into one of the chairs and drew Rowan into his lap.
Before Rowan could protest, Yves tugged the tie from his hair, letting the white-gold strands fall around his ears.
“Undressing me already?” Rowan mumbled, amused.
Yves combed his long fingers through his husband’s hair. “I just like touching you.”
Rowan winced as Yves’s fingers caught a knot. He moved on from combing to rubbing small circles into the base of Rowan’s skull with his thumb. He’d observed how stiffly Rowan was moving and wanted to soothe his aches away.
“You realize we still have to interrogate Colonel Baird tonight,” Rowan grumbled.
“No use being tense before you even enter the room. Let me take care of you for an hour, at least,” Yves cajoled him. “Take your shirt off.”
“I hardly think it’s time for…” Rowan’s words trailed off when faced with an elegantly arched brow. He rolled his eye and lifted the shirt up around his shoulders to expose his back. “This is as much as you’re getting, you heathen.”
“Turn.”
Sighing, Rowan settled with his back to Yves’s chest, then let out a moan as Yves’s fingers pinched the muscle between his shoulder and neck. Since losing his eye, Rowan had a bad habit of tilting his head to regain equilibrium, and Yves knew it wreaked havoc on his neck and shoulders.
Yves kept his fingers moving, digging knots out of his husband’s muscles, and relishing the half-agonized moans each stroke elicited from that delicious mouth.
Later. He had to at least wait to seduce till Rowan was no longer suffering.
The wound in Yves’s arm twinged with each movement, but it only served as a reminder day after day that he needed to be better, for Rowan.
“You shouldn’t let it get this bad,” Yves complained after a particularly stubborn knot broke under his thumbs.
Rowan glanced at Yves out of the corner of his eye. “As if you’d allow anyone else to touch me like this.”
Yves’s thumbs pressed another bone-tingling line up the back of his neck, releasing a moan that went straight to Yves’s cock. “Not if you moan like that,” Yves whispered in his ear.
“Well, then there’s no help for it.”
A few more strokes drew pleased noises from Rowan’s lips. “Perhaps Robin,” Yves mused. “He is a doctor, and afraid enough not to cross me.”
Rowan snorted. “Yeah, I’ll let you pitch that idea. ‘Please rub my husband while I’m away.’ I’m sure that will go over well.”
Yves chuckled. With one last stroke of his thumbs, he left off massaging and wrapped his arms around Rowan’s chest instead, leaning in to kiss the side of his neck.
It didn’t elicit the reaction Yves had been hoping for. Instead, Rowan yawned.
“Tired, darling? Shall we retire to the bedroom? The interrogation can wait until tomorrow, I’m sure.” It was barely dark out, yet exhaustion crawled through Yves’s blood as well.
Rowan didn’t answer. Yves tilted Rowan’s face toward him with gentle fingers, and found him already deeply asleep.
Curious, even in exhaustion Rowan didn’t usually fall asleep right away.
But it had been an eventful few days, they could pick up where they’d left off in the morning when they were well rested.
He lifted Rowan into his arms, and managed a few steps. But his limbs felt sluggish. He couldn’t be that tired, could he? Another step. He stumbled over the edge of the rug and flopped heavily into the other armchair.
Something is wrong. The demon’s voice followed him into the deep waters of sleep.
The stars seemed different here. Fox couldn’t put his finger on why.
He tilted his head back as the Kraken’s deck lanterns went out one by one.
Everyone but the watchmen had retired below hours ago, and they didn’t want to draw the attention of whomever, or whatever, might be lurking in these unknown waters.
Fox wasn’t the superstitious sort, except when it suited him, but between the Storm Ring, the rock spires, and the mist that crept out of nowhere, even he had to admit there was an eerie feel about the place.
Not to mention that woman Nia was, in fact, a Selkie. And Rowan apparently had a magical eye.
They’d taken refuge outside a cove next to the tiny island they’d found Nia on.
A concave cliff with a small house carved into its light stone created the cove, but formations of those rock spires dotted the entrance and the sea as far as the eye could see.
A few of the Talvan and Nanadie crew members had been muttering about some legend about gates to the underworld since they’d emerged on the other side of the storms. The Demon had looked faintly amused by that, which to be honest made the whole thing more eerie.
But at the end of the day, the spot was as defensible a position as they were likely to find.
The last of the lanterns went out, the other watchmen—a few from each crew—whispering to each other nervously at their posts.
Fox yawned, waiting for his eyes to adjust to the pitch blackness.
The stars really were strange here. They weren’t brighter or rearranged or anything so obvious as that.
But more…significant? Like those familiar little specks of light could reach down and change the course of his life if they wanted.
He didn’t know whether to be unsettled or comforted.
“If you can hear me, get us out of this safe. Get me back to Gael,” Fox murmured quietly.
“Fox?”
At first, Fox couldn’t tell who it was in the dark, till he spotted Robin’s mop of blond hair and the canvas apron tied around his waist. His face was shadowed, but he held a cup and bowl in his hands.
“You didn’t eat dinner.” His voice sounded strange, but Fox couldn’t figure out why. Maybe it was the spooky atmosphere. Everything felt strange here.
“I’m not hungry,” Fox mumbled. He couldn’t see the other watchmen in the dark, but their whispers had all gone quiet.
“Still, you should eat.” Robin held the bowl and cup out, piled high with a mishmash of provisions from the three combined ships. Fox took them, and the faceless Robin nodded.
He retreated before Fox could say goodnight. Odd, but Robin had been so exhausted lately, taking care of everyone. He was probably eager to fall into bed.
The food wasn’t hot anymore, but Fox tucked in anyway, the unfamiliar spices tickling his tongue.
That cook from the Monsoon was a magician.
Fox had only intended to take a few bites, but soon enough he was shoving the last spoonful into his mouth and washing it down with watered-down ale.
He patted his tummy, satisfied, thinking it felt a bit squishier than usual now that he wasn’t getting regular exercise by pouncing on Gael at every opportunity.
Darkness tucked close around him, a warm blanket to lull him.
He wanted to sleep. He was as exhausted as the rest of them.
But he’d volunteered for watch instead. With Rowan and the Demon sharing a bed again, Fox hadn’t been sleeping well, even when he climbed in with Logan or created a blanket cocoon for himself right between Henri and Robin, like he was their kid.
Sitting up here with nothing to do but think wasn’t much better than anxiously tossing and turning, but at least he had a purpose. At least he could look at the stars.
Time slipped away, as it always did on watch.
Until he couldn’t tell whether it had been fifteen minutes or several hours.
His eyelids grew heavy, and he lay back against the base of the bowsprit, intent on figuring out the stars to keep himself awake.
After a while, he heard movement in the dark, no doubt another watchman shifting positions.
The time between blinks lengthened. The stars seemed to be dancing, so close it was like they had alighted on the crow’s nest and in the water, coming to dance with him.