Page 54 of Cursebreaker

I blow out a tight breath. “Just… give us a minute.”

He dips his head, concern flickering in his eyes. But as he opens the door and slips past Titus, he places a hand on his shoulder—a warning or an encouragement, I can’t be sure.

Gabriel’s silhouette remains on the other side of the door, keeping watch.

“How’s your face?” Titus asks, striding lazily toward the strange wooden box on the far side of the room—I recognize it from one of Elsie’s books—his expression a cool mask of indifference.

“How’s your head?”

The ghost of a grin touches his lips. “Rook is stronger than he looks.”

“He looks pretty strong to me.”

Titus rolls his eyes. “Don’t let him hear you say that.”

He fiddles with the contraption—a gramophone, I think—his back turned to me, until music, gentle and sweet, fills the room. When he finally looks at me, however reluctantly, I realize my mouth has fallen open.

I snap my jaw shut, but it’s his cheeks that turn rosy.

I look away at the contents of the desk beside me, feeling as if I’ve seen something I shouldn’t have. I’m worried that if I were to glance at him again, I would find him scowling at me, or glaring at me, or worse—he won’t be looking at me at all.

But I do. And he is.

Only, he looks terrified.

“You’re bleeding.” His voice is taut.

I follow his gaze to my arm, where the siren’s talon scraped my skin, a single, thin streak of dark red where the blood has since dried.

He closes the distance between us with slow, cautious steps, dragging his gaze from the wound to my neck, my lips, and, finally, my eyes. His brows knit as he reaches over me, and the scent of salt air clinging to his hair, his clothes, makes me dizzy. “Here,” he says, passing me the roll of gauze.

As I take the bundle from him, our fingers brush, and a jolt of electricity shoots up my arm, straight to my heart.

I gasp, and Titus’s eyes go wide, but instead of jerking away, he presses closer.

“Let me,” he whispers. The words are a desperate plea. He wears no mask now—his expression is open, fraught with fear.

I should say no. I think, for a moment, he might want me to. It was he who thought he couldn’t be trusted to fight his bloodlust. And yet, here he is, asking to tend my wounds. Alone.

“I meant what I said.” I hold his gaze as I pass the bandage back to him. His fingers close around the bundle, covering my own. My skin buzzes where our hands meet.

He blinks, clearing his throat as he withdraws. As he takes a washcloth from the basin, wringing it out over the bowl, I unbutton my shirt.

“You don’t have to—”

“Calm down,” I say, wincing at the ache in my arms as I slip off the linen shirt to reveal a silk camisole underneath. “Nothing you haven’t seen before, right?”

His throat bobs. Pink blooms on the tips of his ears. “Right.”

Even from where I sit atop the desk, he has to crouch slightly, his thigh brushing mine. His movements are slow and controlled as he begins gently clearing the blood from my arm. I brace myself, waiting for the moment his eyes begin to glow—wondering if I’ll be fast enough to grab my dagger before his restraint fails him and he rips into my throat.

But his eyes, narrowed with intense focus, are as blue as my beloved ocean.

As blue as the velvet box I discovered was missing when Gabriel and I first entered my quarters earlier tonight. It was there before Titus had retrieved the map. I suspect he took it. Whatever it holds, it must be precious to him. Too precious to risk parting with.

“You were right,” I say. “This is your ship. If you want me to move to the bunkhouse—”

His gaze snaps to mine. “I don’t,” he says, his voice raw. “You’re the captain.” He adds, his brows nettled, “I no longer deserve that title.”