Total pages in book: 210
Estimated words: 200096 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1000(@200wpm)___ 800(@250wpm)___ 667(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 200096 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1000(@200wpm)___ 800(@250wpm)___ 667(@300wpm)
“Couldn’t find what you’re really hankering for down there, Your Highness?” comes that grating voice.
I count to five before I gift Tyree my attention, to find crystal blue eyes locked on me. The Ybarisan prince doesn’t have to spell out his meaning. At least a quarter of the sailors on this ship brandish glowing marks, and I wouldn’t trust the unmarked ones. But I haven’t fed in days. If I’d had any inkling of the looming rebellion, I wouldn’t have wasted time making nice with Dagnar. I would have simply sunk my teeth into his vein.
“You look dreadful.” Worse than before, his olive complexion now a sickly pallor.
“Can’t imagine why,” he drawls, twirling the dagger I stabbed him with before his fist clamps onto the bronze handle forged from Aminadav’s horn. “Not just a merth blade, is it?”
“I guess my father foresaw my need for a special weapon.” I was sixteen when he gifted me the blade and warned me to never use it unless under dire circumstances, for even a minor scratch could prove fatal.
Tyree shifts and winces. The belt, confiscated from my dress, is soaked in his blood, the wound still leaking more than a day later. “What exactly is it doing to me?”
I shrug. “I’ve never stabbed anyone before. Glad you were the first, though.”
He gives the blade another twirl. “Perhaps I should repay the favor.”
That Tyree hasn’t stabbed me yet is shocking. “I’m still more valuable to you alive.”
He flashes me that cocky, infuriating smile and reaches out a hand toward me, the smooth onyx cuff around his wrist a pretty shackle. Atticus secured the matching set on the enemy Ybarisan to cripple his access to his elven affinity—to what, I haven’t deduced yet. It made no difference in the end. He still managed to escape, kill several guards, and kidnap me. “Show a dying male some compassion and bring me a drink.”
I yank the cork out of the cask, top up my metal cup, and guzzle it down, splashing mead down my ruined dress.
He grins. “Hey, Captain, isn’t my future wife a sight to behold? Can you imagine what she’ll be like on our wedding night?”
“That is never happening!” I hiss, whipping the empty cup at Tyree’s head.
He snatches it from the air with those quick reflexes I keep underestimating, even as he slowly bleeds out.
And now I don’t have a mug.
“I’ll have that drink now.” He waves it in the air. “It’s the least you could do, seeing as I saved you from that mob.”
“I would have been fine. I know every place to hide in that castle.”
His eyes lack their usual wickedness as he heaves a sigh and offers a more conciliatory, “Please, Annika. I’m tired and thirsty and I’d love something to dull this pain.”
A twinge of guilt stirs inside me. He could have hurt me in retaliation a hundred times over, but he hasn’t.
“Look, I’ll even tuck the dagger in here.” He winces as he turns, sliding the blade into the wooden crate he’s perched on, out of easy reach.
With reluctance, I drag myself to my feet and lug the jug over.
An overwhelming waft of that sweet neroli oil makes me inhale sharply. My incisors burn, begging to release. It reminds me what a bad idea it is to be this close when I haven’t fed in so long. But I also know his blood is as toxic as the marked mortals on this ship and would deliver me to an agonizing grave just as swiftly.
Tyree keeps quiet as I fill the cup and watch him drink, that sharp jut in his columnar throat bobbing with each swallow. It really is too bad he is so hateful. Even I can admit he has physical appeal, his thick, dark locks collecting at his nape in a sexy wave, his square jaw a contrast to lush lips.
What would his Ybarisan blood taste like?
I’ve heard it’s euphoric.
Orgasmic.
“So, how does it work?” Tyree’s attention is on the glowing Hudem moon above, nearly at its peak. “If you fucked me right now, we’d be guaranteed an offspring, right? Annika, help save my bloodline for me.” He holds out his arms, presenting his waiting hips for me. “I can see you want it.”
That’s not how it works—we aren’t in the nymphaeum, and he isn’t an Islorian immortal—but I don’t answer, instead snatching the mug from his hand and upending it over his crotch. Hollers from every sailor on the deck, including the captain, sound as I stroll away.
“Relax, I didn’t waste it all.” Besides, that was well worth it. Maybe the stench of mead will drown out his more appealing scent that now trails me back. I pour myself another cup full and watch Hudem’s moon as it swells until the silver is nearly blinding. In all my years, I’ve never seen it so brilliant and so low before, but I’ve also never been at sea for it.