Page 77 of Tempest

Valerian’s brow tightened, his forehead furrowing. His gaze turned hard and his lips parted. She did not miss the red flash of his tongue as it ran over his golden tooth, polishing a fang.

Cat braced for his anger, for the brig. Or worse, the depths of the deep blue sea.

“That’s what I keep hearing from men like your husband,” he said, pushing back from the desk.

She flinched as his chair scraped over the floor and Valerian stood in a single motion, his eyes heavy on her. She felt his gaze on her trembling hands, her parted lips, chest heaving one harried breath after another. His own lips opened again, as if he could taste her fear. And her lies.

Her fingers curled, nails digging into her palm. The sharp bite gave her something to feel besides Valerian Kane’s infernal focus.

Only when he looked away did she release a little, some tension unwinding in her chest. But not entirely. Cat was still prey in a predator’s lair.

His eyes skipped over the many maps across the room, and Cat followed his gaze. Most of them were Meridian made, with severe lines of latitude drawn by skilled cartographers, the lay of the Lyrian islands mapped out in painstaking ink. Stooping, Valerian seized one and held it up to the light.

The sun illuminated a chain of islands, arranged in the shape of a fishing hook. Cat recognized them—had seen them at the bottom of every map of the Lyrian Sea—but she did not know their names, nor which kingdoms laid claim to their shores. They were foreign, as so much still was, and she ventured would always be.

“Vultures, all of them, looking at this place like a carcass to be picked clean,” he finally said, tossing the map aside to level his gaze at her again. “It’s what your empire does.”

It sounded like an accusation, though Cat hardly thought she was the one to deserve it.

“You said as much,” she snapped, stung. “But you are of the Empire too.”

“Being born there doesn’t make me part of it,” he retorted hotly, pacing in front of the windows. With a sweep of his hand, he gestured to the carcass of the Venerable, growing smaller by the second. “Especially not when I’ve sunk a Meridian ship.”

He did not say it with pride, or even warning. But Cat was not a foolish woman. Valerian Kane was a pirate captain, no matter how young or fine-looking. No matter his quick smile or deft hands. No matter how he looked her in the eye when he spoke to her, unlike almost every other man she knew.

There was no forgetting the danger of him. Especially not with her only allies in the world shackled in the belly of his ship.

“Vultures.” Cat’s voice trembled.

She stood so quickly, her chair fell backwards. Her free hand sliced through the air, a finger pointing straight at Valerian’s chest.

“Are you not a vulture too, preying on the weak as they make the crossing?” she demanded, as her mind told her to be quiet.

But she could not. Something in her would not allow it. This was not the parlor of a fine country estate or a city townhome, where she had to be demure, her smile fixed, her eyes downcast.

This was a pirate ship, in the middle of a lawless sea.

If my life is to hang in the balance, it will hang by my own measure and no one else’s.

“Exhausted crews and weary travelers make for easy targets, don’t they?” she continued, her eyes narrowed, the words spilling from her.

Part of her expected the captain to strike her across the face. It certainly would not have been beyond the realms of thought. Ryman had not hit her before, but there were enough rough shoves and disgusted looks to know he would, if the circumstances allowed. She did not expect much more from a pirate.

Instead, Valerian crossed his arms across his chest, his tight expression loosening into something thoughtful. And surprised.

In his silence, Cat heaved a breath, willing her heartbeat to slow and her flush to disappear.

Neither obeyed.

“If given the choice between jumping and being thrown,” he finally murmured, and Cat’s head spun.

She spoke the same words to him six months ago, under not-so-different circumstances. The familiarity made her heart pound harder.

“I choose to jump,” Cat finished, echoing herself.

The sea rolled beneath the ship, and for a moment she felt unmoored again. Then she truly was, losing her balance as the deck rocked. She threw out a hand, aiming to catch on to the desk before she could hit the floor.

Cat hit a solid wall of muscle instead, the side of her face pressed against tanned skin and surprisingly soft curls. Another touch burned at her waist, and she glanced down with a yelp, spotting Captain Kane’s arm curled around her middle, holding her upright.