Kai steps closer, his eyes drifting toward the horizon. “Best part of the room,” he murmurs. “The sunrises here are worth waking up early for.”
I fall quiet. For a moment, it almost feels easy, talking to him like this, like we’re something close to normal. But then his eyes find mine. Hazel and steady, too knowing. The kind of look that pulls the air right out of your lungs. My pulse stumbles. He doesn’t look away, and I hate that I don’t either. Whatever this is between us, it’s coiled tight, waiting. And now, living under the same roof, I’ll have to face it, whether I’m ready or not.
“I’m sorry about tonight,” he says, his voice threaded with a sincerity I’m not expecting. I keep my stare. His eyes have softened.
“It doesn’t matter,” I reply, more defensively than I mean to. “I shouldn’t have any feelings about you bedding others.”
“It does matter, Mira.” His voice is steady. “I wanted to give you space with Neressa, but I see now, I should’ve been sitting right next to you.” I hold his gaze, narrowing my eyes, trying to get a read on him. A man like Kai has surely mastered every expression, every calculated tilt of the mouth, every well-timed flicker of softness in his stare. Pirate tricks. But this doesn’t feel rehearsed.
“You should have been,” I say quietly.
He steps closer. Reaches out. A strand of hair has fallen loose, and he tucks it carefully behind my ear. The touch is light, almost hesitant. Worry surges through me at how easily I allow it, how gentle it feels. “And for that,” he murmurs, voice low, “I’m sorry.”
His hazel eyes burn with flickers of green, gold, and brown, catching in the lantern glow. As furious as I am, his stare is its own kind of temptation, familiar, magnetic, impossible to ignore.
“I promise I’ll always be right there for you,” he says. His words send goosebumps rising down my arms.
“I’ll hold you to it,” I murmur, letting the ghost of a smile tug at my lips. “I have a question.”
His eyes flick up, curiosity sparking like flame. “Yes, treasure?” He moves closer, sitting on the edge of the bed, not too near, not too far. Just close enough that if he wanted to reach out, he could. And gods, I know he’s aware of that.
“Your tattoos,” I say, my voice barely above a whisper, “they’re symbols of what you’ve defeated, right?” I know this because humans who possess magic don’t choose their markings, they’re chosenforthem. A blessing and a curse, really. The magic decides what stays etched into your skin forever.
“Yes.” His tone is steady, proud, carrying the weight of every victory.
“You’ve slaughtered a mermaid?” My hand drifts toward the inked figure of a mermaid curled along his arm, her tail coiling in soft, dark waves. My fingers hover, not daring to touch.
His eyes widen. “I would never hurt a mermaid,” he says, voice low but certain. “This one, she saved my life.” The words hit harder than I expect. I pull back, curling into myself before I can stop it. If he means what I think he does, then they’re bound, connected by something deeper. A bond not easily broken. Sometimes, not knowing is better.
“Not all tattoos appear on their own,” Kai continues, eyes shifting to the ink across his chest. “Some I chose. Some chose me.”
“Interesting.” My eyes break from his stare, drawn to the moonlit sea beyond the windows. Silver light ripples across the waves, catching like glass. “And what of a siren? Didn’t you get attacked by one when you were young? Where’s the tattoo for that?”
“I’ve never killed a siren,” he says. His voice is steady. “If I did, I wouldn’t want those dark creatures inked onto my skin.”
I turn back to face him, shifting until I’m sitting cross-legged on the bed. The boards creak beneath me. “I don’t know why, but I’ve never felt fear or anger toward sirens,” I say.
“How could you not hate them? They took your father from you.” His words aren’t meant to wound, but they land deep all the same.
“Yes, they did.” My voice softens. “They’ve never personally attacked me.” His eyes search mine, quiet but unrelenting, as if he’s trying to peel back every layer I keep hidden. I draw a slow breath, steadying myself before I continue. “When I was younger, maybe five years old, I was sitting on a dock in Magda, my feet dangling just above the water while my parents made deals with the merchants. The water was crystal clear that day… until I saw a razor-sharp fin slice through the surface.”
I stop for a moment, realizing I’m saying too much. The air feels heavier for it. “Continue,” he says, his voice gentle. Heat crawls up my neck at the softness in his tone.
“I quickly pulled my legs onto the dock and watched the water. A siren rose. But what was odd was the water wasn’t black. She reached up and touched my face with webbed fingers. Her eyes—shaped like almonds and filled with stars, stared straight into my soul, like she was trying to read me. She was terrifyingly beautiful. I knew, even at that young age, she wasn’t trying to hurt me.”
“She didn’t hurt you? At all?”
“No.” My voice lowers to a whisper. “It felt like she just wanted to see if I was okay. Once she felt comfortable, she disappeared back into the ocean. Ever since then, during every battle, whenever sirens showed up, I’ve never been lured by them.”
“That’s because you’re a woman. Only men answer to their songs,” he says, so sure of himself it almost makes me laugh. I do anyway, a small, sharp sound.
“Do you really believe that myth?”
“It’s not a myth.” His face is perfectly innocent, which only makes it worse.
“It is,” I counter, tilting my head. “They can lure anyone they want. It doesn’t matter if you’re a woman or not.”
He shrugs, smug as ever. “I don’t know. I haven’t seen it with my own eyes.”
