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“A hound,” I repeat.
“Mmm.” Her gaze snags on my chest and stays there. “Hounds of Annwn, the Wild Hunt, and all that. I know my Welsh myths.”
I have nothing to say to that. We aren’t a myth. We never were. But history has a way of becoming myth if given enough time and distance. There are stories about the Cwn Annwn in a lot of realms. As long as there’s been Threshold acting as its given name between the realms, there have been the Cwn Annwn, protecting it. If the originals occasionally shifted forms and hunted in other realms …
Well, we try not to draw attention from the originals for a reason.
The rest of us who make up the fleet of ships that sail under crimson banners are mortal enough. Even the Council, who squat back in Lyari, ruling Threshold in the originals’ absence, tend to be only slightly more long-lived.
Not that I’m about to give this stranger a history lesson on my people. “You have a choice. Join the Cwn Annwn or be given back to the sea.”
“Wow, that’s an interesting choice, very original and not at all overdone.” She rolls her eyes.
It strikes me that she’s not at all afraid of me. I blink. I don’t know what to do with that. Even the people in Threshold, the ones it is our entire purpose to protect, are wary of us. It’s a careful balance of respect, and I do my best to ensure I never abuse my power, but this witch doesn’t know that. She doesn’t know anything about me. “It’s the only choice you have,” I snap.
“Cute.” She turns and looks around once more before facing me again. “But I’m abstaining from making any choices. The lizard man tried to stab me in the heart before he knew I was awake, so forgive me if I don’t want to join your little murder club.”
“But you’ll steal from us.” I hold out a hand. “Give it back.”
“Oh, this little thing?” She holds up the flask as if she’s never seen it before. “It’s mine. Old family heirloom.”
“Why, you—” I bring myself up before I reach for her. “What’s your name?” I demand.
“Evelyn.” She flips the flask up and catches it deftly. “There’s one all-encompassing rule of the universe, dear Captain. I’m surprised you don’t know it.”
Even as I know I’ll regret asking, I sigh. “What’s the rule?”
“Finders keepers.” She grins. “This is mine. I won’t give it back, no matter how much you snap and snarl at me. Really, you’re taking the hound thing too literally. It’s embarrassing.”
That’s about enough of that. She’s obviously going to be difficult, and while that shouldn’t be a death sentence, I can’t let her undermine me in front of my crew. Not when Miles has spent months chipping away at the crew’s opinion of me. Letting this witch talk circles around me will just give him more ammunition.
Like all ships of the Cwn Annwn, we elect our captains by a vote. My authority exists only as long as my crew has faith in me, and their faith is already precarious at best.
If I lose the captaincy, Miles will take the vote. The first thing he’ll do is stab that spear right through her heart.
I draw my power to me, as easy as breathing, and wrap her up in it. Evelyn squeaks, but I gag her before she can keep running her mouth, sealing her jaw shut. Her eyes go wide and then narrow, promising retribution.
I grip her waist and try very hard not to notice how enticingly soft she is. I lift her easily off the deck and toss her over my shoulder. Several of the crewman laugh when she makes an indignant noise, but Miles watches with narrowed eyes.
Let him watch. I haven’t given him anything to work with. I hope.
Evelyn’s not taking this seriously, but people often don’t when they mistakenly go through a portal and end up somewhere they’re not supposed to be. Not until it’s too late. The laws are the laws. I can’t bend them without risking myself and my crew.
Not even for a cute, mouthy little witch.
CHAPTER 4
Evelyn
THE AUDACITY OF THIS MOTHERFUCKER!
I fight against the invisible hold around me as the captain walks across the deck. Telekinetics are rare, and it’s good that they are because they’re a gigantic pain in the ass. If I could get to my spells on my chest, I should be able to break his hold, but he’s got my arms pinned to my sides.
He’s also got me over his shoulder like a sack of grain, and I will absolutely not be even a little affected by the fact that he doesn’t seem to register my weight at all. Why should he? He’s the size of a house. He’s got to be at least six-five, with shoulders that block out the sky and skin tanned by spending so much time in the sun. Even upside down, I can tell that his crimson cloak fans out dramatically when he walks, like some kind of lone wolf character in a movie.
He might be handsome, too, in an earthy kind of way.
I haven’t noticed, though.
