The Human Curse
Chapter Two
SADIE
Rain greets me the moment I step onto the deck. Wonderful. It hits my face like tiny needles and instantly soaks through the shoulders of my jacket, freezing me to the bone. I was hoping the storm would abate overnight, but no such luck.
Today is going to be a long day.
I swipe my hand over my face, shoving back my hair.
It’s too windy to leave it loose. I hesitate for only a second before pulling back my hood and tying a messy braid.
My hair is long, and I bounce from foot to foot as I work my way down the back of my head.
I tie off at my ribcage, my fingers already stiff from the cold.
I shiver as I yank my hood back over my head. Better.
The sky is a bleak gray, the horizon swallowed by thick clouds rolling in from the west.
Perfect crabbing weather.
Crabs move during storms, leaving their hiding spots and traveling along the seafloor in search of food. I’m hoping the rough water kicks up dead fish and spreads the scent trails from our bait.
My gaze drifts toward the stern as I wiggle a pair of rubber gloves up my hands. Tipper is already there, wrestling a bait barrel into place. Dad stands beside him with a clipboard, barking instructions over the rising wind.
And Kyros… Kyros is hauling a crab pot across the deck like it weighs nothing.
I pause. Where the fuck did Dad find this guy? That trap must weigh at least eighty pounds empty, and he moves it with an easy kind of strength that catches me off guard. The metal scrapes against the deck as he drags it into position beside the rail.
The rain slicks his dark hair against his head, and his shirt is already soaked through. It clings to his shoulders and chest.
I try exceptionally hard not to stare.
I fail.
Clearing my throat, I head toward the bait station.
“Good morning,” I chirp, offering Kyros my best attempt at a friendly smile. “How’d you sleep? I hope the storm didn’t keep you awake.”
Kyros glances at me briefly, then returns his focus to his crab pot. Charming. After his merman comment last night, I was hoping to see some personality from him today.
I grab a knife and stab it into the lid of the bait bucket.
The smell hits immediately: rotten fish and squid. It’s a nauseating combination, and I take a second to recover from the onslaught of it. Even after years of this, the bait bucket still haunts me. I suspect it always will.
“Such a glamorous life,” I joke, raising my voice so it travels over the wind and rain.
Kyros steps beside me just as I pry the lid open. He casts a shadow over the bucket, and when he leans slightly over me, his presence begins to feel a little overwhelming.
“You’ll get used to it,” I add. I’m trying to be welcoming.
Kyros hums. “I doubt that.”
His voice sounds different than it did last night. Lower, somehow. I have to shout to be heard over the wind, but Kyros’s voice carries. I’m jealous. My voice is going to be hoarse by the end of the day.
I adjust my gloves, then scoop a handful of bait into a wire pouch and shove it into the center of the trap.
Kyros mirrors the motion beside me.
I watch him from the corner of my eye, waiting for a mistake, but he makes none. Kyros is surprisingly efficient. Has he done this before? He’s not working the way I’d expect a new crabber to work, but Dad surely would’ve mentioned any prior experience.
Most new hires struggle with the pots on their first day. They fumble with the bait cages or drop things overboard. Kyros doesn’t. He works quickly, tying off the bait pouch with a knot so clean, it rivals mine.
“Have you done this before?” I ask.
“No.”
I snort. “Sure.”
Kyros glances at me, his eyes narrowing. “I haven’t.”
Up close, I can see the details of the red shimmer in his eyes. The specks catch the light, vibrant against the hazel. I’ve never seen eyes like his, but I’m hesitant to ask about them. What if it’s a health issue? I’d hate to draw attention to something he’s potentially unhappy about.
I toss another chunk of fish into a trap.
“Well,” I say, “you’re a natural.”
Kyros doesn’t respond. He continues working as if he hasn’t heard me, and, despite myself, my frustration bubbles over. I’m being on my best behavior, avoiding any lewd or sensitive topics.
Still, nothing.
“That was a compliment, you know,” I say. “It wouldn’t kill you to say, ‘Thank you.’”
Wind howls across the deck as another wave slams against the hull.
The boat rocks hard enough to jerk me sideways, and I grab the edge of the rail with a nervous exhale.
The swells aren’t so high that we need to abandon the run, but I’m not built like Dad and Tipper.
They’re big, damn near impossible to knock over.
Years of hauling crab pots have given me strong shoulders and thighs skilled at balancing on a moving deck. I’m not delicate, but I don’t have the same natural steadiness as the men on this boat.
Kyros barely moves. Again.
I peer up at him. “How tall are you?”
“Why?”
“Just wondering.”
Kyros shrugs. “I don’t know. Six-four, maybe.”
He definitely knows. I’ve never met a man who doesn’t know exactly—down to the millimeter—how tall he is. Kyros pretending otherwise is just annoying.
His gaze travels over me, his lips opening slightly. Is he finally going to take the initiative of starting a conversation? After a second, he shakes his head and turns away. Guess not.
We finish baiting the pots in silence. Rain pours down harder, turning the deck into a slick sheet of steel. I walk slowly, careful not to slip, but Kyros stomps around the deck like he owns the damned thing.
Tipper shouts something from the wheelhouse. I can’t make it out over the wind.
Dad answers, then the engine rumbles as the boat shifts direction. Turning away from the storm? I’m not worried. I trust Dad’s instincts. He’s never steered us wrong, and he’s not afraid to turn back if things become dangerous.
Kyros reaches for a trap at the same moment I do.
My hand lands first, with Kyros’s coming down immediately after. His fingers instinctively wrap around mine. For a second, neither of us moves. His skin is warm even through the rubber gloves.
My stomach flips as he pulls away.
“Sorry,” he mutters.
“It’s fine.”
I drag the trap toward the rail before my brain can overthink the moment. Kyros is a walking wet dream, but it’s abundantly clear that our personalities don’t mesh. He’s too quiet, and he’s obviously not interested in an illicit boat affair.
It would be pretty damned hot, though.
Kyros silently helps me lift the first pot and toss it overboard. The rope hisses through the pulley, and I lean over the railing to watch the trap disappear beneath the dark water.
One done. Only one hundred and nineteen left to go.
Another swell rocks the boat, and lightning flashes between the dark clouds. I look up, eyeing the storm, but Kyros looks toward the water. He pulls his bottom lip between his teeth, his brow furrowed as he glares at the choppy waves.
“You worried about the storm?” I ask.
“No.”
“You should be.”
We toss over another pot, then another. I’m not sure how I feel about Kyros, but I have to admit he’s damned good at this. We work side by side in a steady rhythm.
Bait. Tie. Lift. Drop.
Every inch of me is soaking wet by the time we finish the last trap. My gloves are slippery with fish oil, and a few loose strands of hair are plastered to my face. I’m glad I braided it back.
I roll my shoulders, stretching the tight muscles, before facing Kyros.
He doesn’t look tired, which is mildly irritating.
A joke about his stamina is on the tip of my tongue, but I don’t let it escape. He won’t appreciate it.
I spin around instead, ready for a headcount. Dad is no longer on the deck. He’s made himself comfortable in the safety of the wheelhouse, dry as a bone. When I shoot him a dirty look, he laughs and offers a thumbs-up.
Tipper grumbles something about food and disappears inside.
The storm rolls closer, dark clouds quickly closing in. I pull off my gloves, eyeing them. Maybe we—
A massive shape explodes out of the ocean, way too close for comfort.
I jump back, practically falling onto my ass in the process.
“What the—”
A whale jumps less than fifty yards from the boat, water erupting as its enormous body crashes back into the sea.
My heart pounds, and I’m faintly aware of my gloves dropping to the ground. Holy fucking shit. I open and shut my mouth, searching for words. None come. I fear I’ve forgotten how to speak.
“Did you see that?” I eventually blurt out.
Kyros is already staring at the spot where the whale disappeared.
The water churns for a moment before settling.
Then the whale surfaces beside us. I’ve seen a few whales over the years, but this is easily the largest. He must be at least fifty feet long, maybe more. He’s big enough to make our boat feel like a toy.
A white scar cuts across his side. I lean over the rail to get a better look. The scar is jagged and poorly healed, stretching almost entirely across his ribcage. I’m surprised he survived the injury.
“It looks like propeller damage,” I say. “Poor guy.”
The whale exhales a massive plume of mist before sinking beneath the surface.
Kyros tightens his grip on the railing, his knuckles turning white.
“Boats,” he says.
“What?”
“Boats did that.”
I blink. “Well…yeah.”
“That’s what happens.” His voice is sharp, filled with audible anger. “Everything humans touch winds up dead.”
The rain keeps falling. Neither of us moves.
Rain pours down Kyros’s face, dripping off his nose and lips. For a split second, he looks dangerous. I take a step back, cautious even as he exhales and loosens his shoulders. His physical tension disappears, but the hatred in his eye remains.
He shakes his head. “Sorry.”
“It’s fine.” I blink. “I understand your anger.” I face the railing, peering down where the whale vanished. Nothing but waves remain. “We aren’t kind to the Earth, or the animals we share it with. It makes me angry, too.”
Kyros stands beside me, his elbow brushing against mine. There’s a tentative truce in our mutual silence, but it’s quickly broken by Dad’s shouting.
“Get inside before lightning hits, you idiots!”
Not a bad idea.
Kyros follows me toward the cabin door. My boots slip against the slick deck, and another massive wave slams against the hull just as I reach for the handle.
The deck tilts, and I go sideways.
“Shit!”
I grab for the railing, panic flashing as I realize it’s just out of reach. Kyros catches my arm before I eat shit, his hand closing around my bicep. He pulls me toward him, easily accepting my weight as I crash into him instead of the ground.
The boat levels out as I clutch his shirt, practically holding him for dear life.
We’re standing very close.
I pull away just as Kyros releases me.
“You okay?” he asks.
“Yeah.” I brush wet hair out of my face. “Thanks.”
He nods once, then reaches around me to open the cabin door. Warm—and most importantly, dry—air spills out from inside, and food smells drift from the galley. My mouth immediately begins to water.
I’m starving.
I walk the short hallway to the galley. Tipper is already sitting at the table, still wet from the rain as he shovels food into his mouth, and Dad is topping off his coffee mug. Both men offer us warm smiles.
Kyros hesitates in the doorway.
I tilt my chin toward Dad and Tipper. “We like to unwind after dropping the cages.”
Kyros still looks confused, his eyebrows furrowed and lips pursed. He rocks back on his heels, full of awkward energy.
“Cards,” I explain. “Music. Food. Tipper tells inappropriate stories.”
Tipper raises a hand. “Damn right I do.” He waves Kyros inside. “Come on. Join us.”
Kyros studies the room, his gaze darting from me to my father before settling on Tipper. His lack of visible excitement is dampening the mood, the atmosphere noticeably shifting as we wait for his response.
Rain drips from his hair to the ground.
“No,” he finally says. He steps past me into the cabin. “I prefer to be alone.”
Tipper snorts. “Then you joined the wrong crew.”
Kyros doesn’t respond. He disappears down the hallway toward the sleeping quarters, not once looking back. Why did he sign up for this job? He may be good at the work, but he clearly doesn’t enjoy it.
“Well,” I mutter, turning back to Dad and Tipper. “He’s a ray of sunshine.”
Tipper shoves another forkful of food into his mouth, already over it. Not much gets to him. It’s an admirable trait I can’t say I share.
Dad frowns. “The harbor office sent him my way. Said he was looking to join a small crew.” He blows out a breath. “Kid knew a hell of a lot about boats for someone without experience. Maybe he’s shy.”
I very highly doubt that.
Tipper shrugs. “I think he’s probably just an asshole.”
I couldn’t agree more.