Chapter 17
Ace closed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose and shaking his head in annoyance at Dominic, who refused to let him tend to his wounds.
He had no time to rest. The longer they were at sea, the greater risk they had of meeting their demise, like every other poor soul insane enough to sail across the Plagued Sea.
Besides, his magic would heal him . . . eventually.
He grimaced as Adara approached, glancing between him and his second. She lightly placed a hand on Ace’s shoulder, whispering something in his ear. Ace shot her a look of doubt but took his leave nonetheless.
“Would you rest for a moment and let me help you. You’ll do us all no good if you bleed out before we get back to Andreilia.” Adara scowled.
The sails shuddered under Dominic’s magic, unsteady and weak. His breathing grew heavy, and sweat beaded on his brow. “We need to get back as soon as possible. I’d prefer not to be stranded in the middle of the Plagued Sea and end up as lykren bait,” he grumbled through gritted teeth.
Rolling her eyes at him, Adara walked past him. Good. Hopefully, she’d go to her berth and sleep the rest of the way back. That way, he wouldn’t have to deal with her reprimanding him.
Something hit his ankle, sweeping it out from under him.
As he fell backward, Dominic reached out to grab anything that would catch him.
Both hands wrapped around Adara’s uninjured arm as her fingers wrapped around his throat.
His feet caught purchase on the wood, supporting the lower half of his weight.
But his upper half, bent back and halfway fallen to the deck, was at Adara’s mercy.
His grip on her arms bolstered his weight, and Adara’s grasp on his neck was firm enough to keep him from crashing to the floor.
“Let me help you, or I’ll keep choking you until you pass out, then I’ll tend to your wounds while you’re unconscious and I don’t have to hear you whine,” Adara said. Her fingers dug in more for emphasis.
A shrill whistle sounded from the main deck, all eyes on them.
“Get a room!” Caleb shouted.
Adara merely shot him a vulgar gesture, but when Vesper and Sawyer joined in on his taunts, a stream of fire shot their way. They all instantly dispersed, busying themselves below deck.
Dominic glared at her, hating that he needed her key so badly.
That was the only reason he didn’t use his magic to create a gale strong enough to throw her overboard and leave her to the monsters of the Plagued Sea.
He hated that she wanted to help him, hated that he hadn’t been healing as quickly as he usually would.
“Fine,” he reluctantly spat.
Adara pulled him upright. The second he was on steady feet, he let go of her arm and shoved her away. He ordered Ace to take the helm and led Adara to the main deck, now unoccupied.
“Sit,” she demanded, pointing to the deck.
“I will throw you overboard,” Dominic growled as he grudgingly sat down, leaning back against the mast.
“What a nice way to repay me after saving your life,” she said sweetly as she sat before him.
Dominic clenched his jaw, teeth grinding together. “You’re the one who put my life at risk in the first place.” Had she not forced him to look the Whisperer in the eyes, he never would have been in danger.
“As if you didn’t do the same to me, sending me in there blindfolded,” Adara replied, voice a bit harder than before.
“It was for your own safety.”
Adara rooted through a pack of medical supplies, setting out needles and bandages and salves. “Thank you,” she said as she leaned closer, pulling up his bloodied tunic. “For protecting me.”
Dominic hissed as the cloth peeled away, pulling at his open wounds.
“Sorry,” she murmured.
He could practically hear the wince in her voice as he pulled his tunic entirely off and tossed it to the side.
“Don’t thank me,” he said, tone lethal but soft. “I didn’t do it for you. I need you alive.”
Adara snorted. “You’re never going to make me fall in love with you if you keep saying things like that.”
She was right, of course, but Dominic couldn’t help the words that flowed freely from his lips.
Around Adara, it was hard to think clearly, to be cold and calculating and manipulative.
He was too focused on those blazing eyes and that smile like moonlight.
Too focused on the thoughts that might be swirling in her mind and trying to read them rather than focusing on his own.
Too focused on trying to figure out who she was to him.
Dominic responded, “Would you believe me if I said it was because you’re better than anything this world deserves and I couldn’t live with myself if I let you die?”
“No.”
“Exactly.” He cast his gaze over her shoulder, watching the sun make its way toward the sea, painting the sky orange.
Placing a clean cloth in Dominic’s hand, Adara said, “Wet this.” Taking the cloth from her, he let his magic flow.
A steady stream of fresh water dampened the fabric, then he handed it back to her.
He shivered beneath its cold touch as she dabbed at his wounds, washing away the blood.
He instantly felt better as she cleaned the grime from his torso.
“I need to cauterize the wounds,” she informed him, handing back the cloth.
“Just get it over with,” he huffed, ignoring the aching movement as he cleaned the blood from his face.
Fiery pain shot through his abdomen. The scent of burning flesh permeated the air. Dominic grunted, holding back the yelp of pain through gritted teeth. He tossed the cloth to the floor, glancing where her hand was pressed over his wound.
“A warning,” he panted, breathing deeply through the agonizing pain lancing through him, “would have been nice.”
“You said to get it over with.” She pulled her hand away from his skin, singed together from her power. The sight of his charred flesh made bile rise in his throat.
He swallowed and closed his eyes, resting his head against the mast as he focused on breathing.
“Turn to the side,” she ordered.
He obeyed so she could reach the gashes that stretched from across his side and partially on his back. She maneuvered her way behind him. Fire crackled, then her hand was on him again, scorching hot. He bit his tongue until he tasted blood.
“I’m beginning to think you didn’t want to help me, but only wanted to hear me scream,” Dominic grunted, one hand covering where the Whisperer had slashed the back of his leg, the other balled into a fist at his side.
Again, Adara drew back, giving him a moment to gather himself, to breathe through the pain.
“Trust me, Nite, if I wanted to hear you scream, I’d do it in a more pleasurable way for both of us.
” His cheeks flushed at the thought. He would have chuckled, made some equally lewd remark just to see her face turn red, but her blazing hand was already placed on another laceration.
He groaned through the searing pain that blinded him.
He sucked in deep gulps of air, steadying himself through the lingering pain.
Although he wanted nothing more than sleep at the moment, he fought against the unconsciousness that threatened to sweep him into oblivion.
Then there were fingers grazing his spine, soft and soothing and warm. Not searing and painful like the flames of Helfarrow themselves, but gentle and comforting, tracing lines across his back.
But the comfort didn’t last long. It wasn’t Adara’s fault. He felt the tenderness in her touch, but he knew exactly what scars she ran her fingers over, and it brought him anything but comfort. Had this been how she’d felt when he questioned the ragged scars on her back?
No. She wasn’t a coward. Like an elegant ball gown that made her resemble royalty, Adara wore her scars proudly. She might not have been comfortable enough to tell him how she received them, but she was not ashamed. They proved how strong she’d been to endure such torment.
Dominic’s scars were a reminder of how weak he’d been.
“Stop,” he breathed. Instantly, her hand jolted away, as if he had burned her. It left him cold and empty.
“What happened?” she murmured softly.
He couldn’t answer, couldn’t speak through the roaring in his head, through his trembling lips, which he pressed together to hide the hurt.
Hearing the crack of a whip echo in his mind, Dominic squeezed his eyes closed, nails digging into the wooden planks.
It took everything in him not to lean forward, curl up into a ball, and sob like the broken little boy he was when he’d received those lashings.
The scars on his back throbbed, an echo of the pain he’d endured so long ago.
“My father,” was his only response, unwilling to dredge up the past. There was a reason he left home, a reason he sailed to Andreilia to make a name for himself.
Home was in the past. Home was a place he’d left and promised never to look back.
Home was Andreilia now, where lost souls found consolation in one another.
Adara was the last person he’d share his most valued secrets with. With the war between them, he’d never be able to trust her entirely.
She didn’t pry. Instead, she scooted herself around him until she sat across from him, medical supplies in hand. Dominic sat up straighter as her gaze locked on his. “Do not be ashamed of your scars,” she said softly.
He bared his teeth. It was not shame for the scars that marred his body, but shame for his helplessness.
Shame that the memories still haunted him.
He knew she was anything but ashamed of her own scars, but just to spite her, he said, “Says the one that hides the scars on her hands beneath leather gloves and refuses to tell me about the ones on her back.”
Emotion flickered in her eyes. Hurt, perhaps? With her gloves removed to nimbly navigate his wounds, he looked at the mangled skin of her hands. Adara inspected them as well.