Page 65 of Cursebreaker

I snort, rolling my eyes. “You always think you’re better than me.”

My cheeks blaze. I open my mouth to apologize, but before I can form the words, he looks at me, and it’s as if gravity pulled my cheek toward the deck.

His gaze searches mine. Unguarded. Sincere. “No one is better than you.”

I fight the pull of his stare, looking up at the stars once more. “That sounded funny.”

His voice is cool, even. “I amuse you.”

“You confuse me.”

Silence. And then—“I don’t mean to,” he whispers, his every word laced with pain, as if he had to carve them from himself with some cruel blade. “I wish I didn’t. I wish I could be… better for you.”

For… me?

The night sky whirls in circles, faster and faster. My head spins, but I’m not sure if it’s for all the usual reasons, or the rum, or Titus.

I shut my eyes tight.

“I used to drink because I thought it would help me cope with—” He groans. “With everything.”

My tongue feels like an anchor. “Did it?”

“I thought it did,” he admits quietly. “But I’m beginning to think I’ve only ever felt at peace when I’m with—”

With what? With whom? I might mumble this as I feel hands cup the back of my knees and cradle my neck, but he doesn’t answer. I’m as weightless as a feather when he lifts me into the air. It’s as if the sea sweeps me into his arms, clutching me tightly to his warm chest, his heartbeat a steady rhythm against my cheek.

Titus lays me down in a bed of scarlet silk.

There’s a sound, like water flowing from a pitcher into a glass. “Drink.”

My eyes flutter as he brings the glass to my lips, tips it back.

I wish I could look at him. I wish the room would stop spinning. I wish he would stay.

“Don’t leave,” I murmur, grasping for his hand as he draws back. “Please.” I must sound pathetic, but I don’t care. There are nightmares waiting at the edge of darkness—nightmares with sharp teeth and bouquets of purple roses and honey that burns like fire as it coats my tongue. “Please, don’t leave.”

He blows out the lantern, but beams of silver light illuminate my quarters, undulating like the waves. “Never.” His soft voice reaches me from across the room, where he slumps against the doors, a sentinel kissed by the moon. “Not ever again.”

When we reach Hellion on the sixth day of our journey, Eliza cloaks our ship, preparing to face the naval presence we’d encountered on our first voyage, but as we emerge from the Dire, we’re alone on the crystal-blue surface of the Western Sea. No warships prevent us from entering Hellion’s naval space. No gruesome warnings deter pirates from approaching the coast. It’s calm—too calm. And as Diana and I make our way up the steps to where my siblings gather near the helm, I hear my own unease reflected in their voices.

“This doesn’t feel right,” Owen mutters, eyes narrowed on the crowded harbor in the distance.

Charlie cracks his knuckles—a nervous habit that Albert has picked up in recent years. “Do you think it’s a trap?”

Owen just shakes his head, his jaw tight. “I don’t know.”

Lewis, draped casually over the helm, appears deceptively serene. “Let me go in first,” he offers, running his fingers over the edge of a long, curved blade. “I can scout the territory.”

“No,” I say, bracing for their reaction to my new… attire. “We stick to the plan.”

They all turn to look at me, their expressions a mixture of shock and disgust.

Margaret’s lip curls. “I hate it.”

“That’s the point.” Titus saunters up the steps to stand beside me in a matching set of bloodred armor. He offers Margaret a cool smile, tapping the helmet tucked under his arm. “And here I thought you had a thing for masked men in uniform.”

Margaret’s face burns, and I can’t help but think that if she were a firebreather with Henry’s unique ability to murder with a single look, Titus would be dead.