27. Captivating （Host）age
Captivating (Host)age
Thunder cracked.
Icy rain slammed down in gray sheets as Tarantula flung my bone dagger through the storm. It barreled toward my face, traveling too fast to duck but just slow enough to inspire abject fear. This is going to hurt.
I flinched.
Thud.
A body dropped dead. Lightning flashed, illuminating the pirate who’d been sneaking up behind me, now sprawled on the ground with my knife protruding from his skull. I hadn’t heard him coming.
Whipping my head around, I raised my weapons. More bodies stepped out of the shadows.
We were surrounded, again.
The pirates had seemingly multiplied and were trailing out of buildings, coming from everywhere. There was no end in sight to their numbers. They brandished machetes and long swords in their tattooed hands.
ROAR.
Golden scales shimmered as the tarp covering the colossal ship’s deck was flung away, revealing Plague.
She was covered in thick leather straps that were attached to the ship.
She shook her head, sitting as if waiting for instructions.
That’s how their ships traverse the Moor Ocean.
The fairy tales must be right; dragons really can fly over three hundred miles per hour.
Up on the deck, men shouted to each other, and the oversized sails slowly rose up the towering masts.
The Emperor has Mom.
Is she on that vessel?
Plague tipped her head back, her fire billowing into the rainy sky.
I will complete my quest.
I must complete my quest.
Failure is not an option.
Steel slammed against steel as I spun, ducking and shoving with all my might, dislodging the machete locked with mine.
Tarantula dismounted and threw gusts of wind at the pirates, fighting to get to me. I swung my blade, focusing on only injuring as I battled my way toward the ship, rain flying off my braid.
The pirates seemed to be endless, dozens of bodies swarming around us, blocking me from getting to the dock.
“Zora,” Tarantula bellowed, fear in his voice.
“Mom!” I screamed.
Silver exploded from his hands, and he flung a dozen pirates high into the air. They slammed down against the stone wall. Bones cracked. Silver-streaked waves lashed over the barrier, pulling the screaming men out to sea.
I took the opening, incapacitating man after man as I inched closer to the ship. A pirate rose from the ground. In stretched-out seconds, I turned, but I was too slow.
A heavy object cracked against my temple.
Nausea hit instantly. Swearing, head screaming with pain, I staggered back from my attacker, blinded.
When the dark spots faded, I was on my knees, and men were closing in all around with weapons raised.
“ZORA!”
Ten feet away, Tarantula lifted his hand, and a metallic wave exploded from it, filling the world with violent magic.
Crack. Crack. Crack.
The men around me snapped backward. Blood sprayed as their spines burst out of their abdomens. They collapsed with horrified screams.
Squire shrieked, wings flapping as he hovered in front of my face with his talons raised defensively.
Another wave of magic shot from Tarantula.
More pirates screamed as they dropped. Eerie silence descended. There was no one to fight because every single person had been massacred. Instantly.
Clutching the lump on my head, trying not to throw up, I fell to my side. The dial tumbled out of my pocket in slow motion, and the edge caught on a cobblestone. No. It turned all the way up.
Electricity sizzled hotter than ever, amplified by the rain and salt water. Tarantula dropped to his knees.
I passed out.
* * *
The world rocked as salt, brine, and copper filled my nostrils.
FLAP—whoosh—FLAP—whoosh.
A strange cadence filled the air. Sluggish awareness pounded through my aching head as pain mixed with debilitating grogginess.
Tacky eyelids pulled open as I forced them apart. I was soaked to the bone, and shivers racked me. The wooden floors, walls, and ceiling were moving. Fishing nets rocked above as everything pitched back and forth. Something heavy and warm covered my back.
Waves roared outside, and my glowing fingers hummed with awareness.
I’m on a ship.
“Mom . . . Squire . . . Ella . . . Axel?” I said hoarsely, my tongue sandpaper, throat rough as I shuddered miserably. Shallow wounds covered my body, but the physical pain was nothing compared to the dawning realization of silence. No one had responded.
The emptiness of the world stretched, anxiety a dense weight in my stomach. Unfathomable panic mounted.
You’re by yourself, Zora.
Desolation hollowed out my chest.
There’s no one left.
I trembled harder, my skin clammy.
“Squire,” I cried out in misery. “My sweet darling.”
My heart grew heavier.
A tiny head filled my vision, and disheveled feathers stuck out in every direction. “Zora love me?” Squire hooted sleepily, silver wafting from his beak. Wide yellow eyes peered into mine as he cocked his little head to the side and studied me with his perpetually nervous expression.
I tried to lift my hands, but crushing lethargy made it impossible to move. Wetness dripped down my face. “Of course, dear. You’re still with me,” I half sobbed as he rubbed his cheek against mine.
“Zora is me family,” he sang solemnly.
“And Squire is mine.” I rubbed against his face, savoring the familiar scent of magic and feathers as he pressed himself to me. We were still together.
On closer inspection, I lay sprawled on my back surrounded by something warm as Squire perched on my collarbone. Panic receded in a dizzying rush. It was astounding the difference a friend could make. Relaxing back into the splendid heat, I tipped my head with a tired sigh and looked up.
Pearlescent eyes met mine. I screamed; Squire shrieked in solidarity (helpful).
Tarantula stared down at me with his lips pressed into a frown. His cold gaze studied my face behind his blood-splattered mask.
Oh.
No.
I was draped across his chest as he cradled me with his hands spread possessively over my lower stomach. Long legs surrounded me, his thighs dwarfing my own, providing endless heat. He gently stroked wet hair off my temple and repositioned my braid. Then he pressed his wrist against my forehead.
“Ravenal, thou have a fever,” he said sharply. His tone dropped an octave in anger, but he held me gently.
“Zora, a sickly woman,” Squire sang mournfully.
“Yes.” Tarantula stiffened beneath me. “She is ill because she foolishly rode through a storm for hours. Then she fought pirates instead of retreating to safety. Her core body temperature is struggling to regulate itself. She has needlessly put herself in danger . . . again.”
Squire cawed defensively, “Zora me friend.”
“Zora is a danger to herself,” Tarantula argued. “Never has a woman been more threatened by the pernicious effects of her own hazardous decisions.”
“Me like seeds,” Squire hooted, clearly overwhelmed by the intensity of the conversation (understandable). He hopped down, curling up on my lap.
“She,” I said weakly, “is fine and doesn’t appreciate being discussed without—” A coughing fit interrupted my speech.
“Oh yes, thou art obviously fine. Thou have clearly proven me wrong once again,” Tarantula said meanly, but his right hand stroked my head tenderly and his left hand rubbed at my hip. “Insolent, disturbed woman.”
Sarcastic bastard thinks he’s so witty.
I made a face.
“Insufferable, rude harlot,” he grumbled.
“Happy to serve the cause—” More coughs racked me miserably.
Tarantula swore louder.
I delighted in my small victory of angering him.
He reached for an earthen pitcher that sat to the side. Long-broken chains rattled as they dragged across wood, cuffs glinting on his wrists like decorations.
He snapped them like they were nothing.
“Swallow,” he demanded as he gently brought a cup to my lips and tipped the water into my mouth. “Careful—tiny sips,” he warned as I gulped rapidly and choked.
When my lungs finished spasming, I leaned back against him limply, a warmth spreading through me that I refused to identify.
“Another sip—please.” He poured more water into my mouth.
I drank it down.
“Yes, just like that,” he said quietly, his voice taut with unidentifiable emotions. “Thou art doing great.”
Am I really?
“Thou art going to be the death of me,” he said almost wistfully as he put the cup to the side.
I nodded. “Correct.”
“Thou wish,” he muttered under his breath as he resumed rubbing my forehead and holding me tenderly. “Such lofty goals for a peasant.”
“There he is—the royal bastard.”
He smirked lazily and winked down at me like we were having fun. Are we? I couldn’t tell anymore.
ROAR. A dragon’s call echoed, and the flapping intensified. The ship pitched violently beneath us, rocking forward and back with intensity.
Plague is pulling the ship.
The memory of her golden scales and ferocious fangs sent chills down my spine. Tarantula squeezed me tighter, rubbing my arms for warmth. He seemed strangely content to just hold me, exuding the heat of a furnace.
Squire crooned quietly on my lap, swaying with the rocking ship, enjoying the seafaring adventure.
Tarantula shifted, dangerously alive, as he cradled me. I tried to sink deeper into my hunter’s mind, to remain cool and detached, but it was impossible in his embrace. Whenever Mom touched me, my mental defenses crumbled, and no one else’s presence had ever disarmed me. Until him.
Waves crashed against the side of the ship. People shouted above, something about a mast and starboard. Pirates?
Harsh reality broke through the warm, feverish haze. “Where is my mom?”
“They are bringing us to her,” Tarantula said.
“The pirates are taking us to Aleksander?” I repeated. “To make the trade?”
His hand stilled on my forehead, his thumb stroking back and forth in a way that was delightfully maddening as he breathed out roughly.
“Yes,” he said.
I waited.
He didn’t elaborate.
I huffed with annoyance.
“I mean—I assume so,” he said quietly, the subtle movement of his thumb still scrambling my senses. “I was too busy being electrocuted.”
“Ah,” I said. “Sounds like divine intervention.”
“Yes . . . ’Tis fate, syxzal.”