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Never fall for a paladin, little bird. Their first love will always be their god, and you’ll come a distant second. If that god demands your bleeding heart on an altar, they will weep and wallow in guilt, but they’ll hack the organ right out of your chest without hesitation.
“It’s not so bad.” Kit’s voice interrupts my dark thoughts. Ne watches me with sympathy in nir dark eyes. “No one on this ship sought out this life, but we’ve all made the best of it. I know it doesn’t feel like it right now, but the captain is a good man and we do good work. Important work.”
“Killing monsters.”
Ne nods. “Just so.”
I shouldn’t do anything to piss off these people more than I already have, but restraint is not one of my virtues. “Funny thing, that. We have monster killers in my realm, too. Who gets to decide who’s a monster and who’s not?” I won’t pretend like there aren’t monsters who hunt among the human population, but plenty of those monsters aren’t paranormal in the least. The hunters in my realm don’t go after them, though. Too often, those hunters use “monster” to label anyone who doesn’t adhere to their criteria of what makes a person human.
Plenty of those groups had witches on their list not too long ago.
Some of them still do.
Kit stares at me for a long moment and shakes nir head. “You’re going to be a giant pain in the ass, aren’t you?”
“Undoubtedly.” I fight for a smile, a real one. “I do appreciate the welcome, though. I’m not one to handle being outmaneuvered gracefully, but I’ll do my best to settle in.” At least until I find a way out of this mess. I don’t know what my plan is yet, though. Run? Try to find out more about this Council that seems to make even the captain uneasy and somehow blackmail them into sending me home? What I need is more information, and the only way to get that is to bide my time here on the ship.
Going back to my realm means contending with Lizzie and the fact I stole something she will most definitely want back. I’m not foolish enough to think that the fact that we’ve shared a bed will soften her toward me. I know how she deals with betrayal—blood and violence. She really sounded like she meant it when she threatened to kill me.
“Dinner is in shifts. You can take first, which is in about an hour.” Kit points at the chest at the foot of the bed. “Spare clothes are in there. We’ll outfit you properly when we make port next, but you should find something to tide you over until then. Report to the kitchen after you eat. You don’t seem like you’re experienced with sailing, so that’s a safe place to start working until Miles finds a permanent place for you.” Ne turns without another word and leaves the room.
I count to ten slowly twice before I allow my knees to buckle and slump to the edge of bed. What a mess. Too much, too fast. My hands are shaking despite my best efforts. Stress and fear have a way of coming out no matter how good my control. I take a breath and let my body have its reaction. No crying—I’m nowhere low enough to shed actual tears over my circumstances—but my chest goes tight and my skin hot as tremors rack my limbs.
Fifteen minutes feels like an eternity, but it isn’t nearly long enough for someone to come looking for me. Exhaustion weighs me down and I flop back onto the mattress. Okay, Evelyn. Think. There’s a way out of this, but you don’t need a solution right now. If they need to make port to gear you up, then that will be your first chance to run. In the meantime … behave.
Easier said than done.
I force myself into motion. A quick search through the chest comes up with a sad assortment of clothing. I finally find a pair of pants that fits well enough and a loose white shirt that would do any pirate on the cover of a romance novel proud. There are no bras to be found, so I grimace and set aside my damp one. Shoes are also a problem, and I’m exceedingly glad I was wearing my boots when I went through the portal.
The bathroom is rustic, but it’s got running water and an honest-to-gods toilet. I frown at it for several beats before I decide I don’t care about the semantics of disposal. For all I know, the human waste feeds the magic keeping this pocket dimension going.
I take a quick shower, braid my hair back from my face, and dress in my new clothes. I can’t help humming “It’s a Pirate’s Life for Me” under my breath. This whole situation is just too ridiculous. Or at least that’s the bit I have to focus on to prevent myself from having a full-on breakdown when faced with the reality of my circumstances.
The door opens and a person with gray-blue skin, short dark gray hair, and eyes with no white walks in. They’re built curvy, a few sizes smaller than me, and have a face that I would term innocent … if not for those eyes. Or the delicately pointed ears peeking out from their mop of hair. Another half fae, though if their other half is human, I’ll eat my boot.
“Lucky, I presume?”
“Yes.” Their voice is soft but strangely rough. “The captain wants you in his quarters.”
My brows wing up. “Forward of him.”
Their lips quirk in something that’s almost a smile. It flashes teeth that are … very, very sharp. The more I look at them, the more they remind me of a shark in human skin. “He always dines with new crew members on their first night aboard. It allows him to give them a full rundown of expectations so there are no … misunderstandings.”
Oh. Of course. That makes perfect sense to avoid unnecessary complications and friction. And Bowen strikes me as too much of a control freak to leave that up to his quartermaster or another of the crew. As little as I like the idea of more time spent alone with him, I’d rather deal with him than his quartermaster any day. “Sounds great.”
“You know the way?”
I bite back a snarky reply. I’m supposed to be endearing these people to me and that’s impossible to do if I keep snapping at them. More than that, Lucky gives me the impression that they would be too happy to take a bite out of me if I annoy them. “I do. Thanks.”
There are more crew members about as I move through the hall and back to the door that leads to the rest of the ship. People of every shape and color and a few with distinctly nonhuman features. The only place I’ve seen a crowd even close to as diverse as this is the Shadow Market that occurs during Samhain, and even then I can identify most of the types of paranormals who attend. The same can’t be said of this crew.
I step out the door and nearly run into the quartermaster. His scaled skin is a deep red that makes me take a step back before I catch myself. I’m certain it was green earlier. Mostly certain.
He flicks his tongue at me. “Tomorrow, you’re on first shift in the kitchen. Skirt your duties and you’ll be punished.”
“Oooh, promise?” Damn it, why did I say that?
He narrows his eyes. “It’s dangerous at sea. Troublemakers have a habit of suffering accidents. Keep that in mind, witch.”
