“I fell. Got a bad case of rope burn.”
“That’s not the answer I’m looking for, Orlaith.”
I bite my tongue so hard it bleeds. If he expects me to give him a step by step on just how twisted his guard became during the short time we spent together, he’ll be sorely disappointed. He’ll receive no ammunition from me.
I can’t hold Vanth’s actions against him—not when I’ve bathed in the same oily muck his sanity slipped on before he shoved me off the railing.
Heartbreak can cripple the body. The mind.
It has no mercy.
My own grief has punched its teeth into flesh and silenced heartbeats. And there’s something slithering inside—a coy awareness that hisses its truth like a snake.
I’d do it again.
Cainon crouches, setting down the skin and the square of dampened material. With a deep sigh, his eyes flick up, watching me from beneath thick, golden lashes. “Your right shoulder is hanging lower than your left.”
“It’s fine—”
Before I have a chance to blink, he has me gripped by the bicep, his other hand firm against my injured shoulder. Then he’s wrenching my arm in such a way I’m certain he’s tearing it free.
An acutepopechoes through my bones, and I scream—howling through my ripped throat.
“I forgot ... how much of an ... asshole ... you are,” I bite between sharp breaths, sinking into the flood of relief that swiftly follows.
He grabs my other hand and guides it around to support my elbow. “Would you have preferred I warn you, petal?”
I snarl as he begins unbuttoning his shirt, paring open a window to well-defined muscles that look like chiseled sandstone, unmarred aside from a two-inch scar almost directly above his heart. Hard to appreciate the view through my red-veiled vision.
He didn’t even give me something to bite down on, the ass.
He threads his shirt under my injured arm before I slap his hands away. “I’ve got it,” I mutter, using my chin and some well-practiced finger work to forge the shirt into a makeshift sling. Perks of relying on one for the first few days after I snapped my thumb.
I look up to see Cainon perched on his heels like one of the Rouste Dune Cats I’ve seen in picture books—huge, regal, slick gold fur, and statue still.
There’s a world of calculating astuteness behind those purple-flecked, cerulean orbs.
“I see you’ve grown some spine since I saw you last.”
My head snaps back.
I’ve grown nothing. All I’ve done is lost.
“You can leave.”
He pops a brow. “You’re dismissing me? From my own ship?”
“Yes.” I shuffle toward the mast, set my back against it, and tip my head, casting my gaze on the finger-painting sky riddled with circling gulls. “Close the hatch on your way out.”
A long moment passes before he clears his throat, plucks the damp cloth from the floor, and moves so close I can feel his static. “Like it or not,” he murmurs, breath hot on my face as he dabs my upper lip, “you can’t stay here.”
“Why not?”
“Because I’m going to sink this ship.”
My heart flips, breath catching as I look straight into the merciless clutch of his sky-blue stare. “You’re kidding.”
“Dead serious. The injured crewmen are being hoisted down to the rowboats as we speak.”
