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For a second I didn’t think Draven would agree.
“Very well. But he’s gone the second I sense any danger.”
Phalen laughed humorously. “Brokk Ulrikisdanger. He’s either in trouble or has brought trouble for us to deal with. Did you not feel the soul he’s got stowed away? Wonder what the poor bastard did. Whoever it is, he’s near death, I can tell you that.”
Creaking wood signaled one of our visitors deboarding the ship. Brokk’s head was no longer in sight. Reaching out again, I felt him moving towards the being we couldn’t see.
Draven exhaled in disappointment. “I can’t get a read on their minds. The unconscious one is blank. The others’ shields are strong.”
“Even this one?” Phalen inquired, referring to the nearing figure.
“Especially this one.”
Venturing down the walkway, approaching on steady legs, came a shaggy mop of dark hair sitting atop a boy dressed in a wrinkled black shirt and trousers. His pants were rolled, exposing tanned bare feet and ankles. The lad’s bright-violet eyes held a knowing too old for his years.
He stopped in front of Draven, bowing his head. “Greetings, Shadow Lord. I am Kol. Permission to deboard and come ashore.”
“You already deboarded, son.”
The juvenile held a breath then slightly deflated. “Right. Of course. My apologies, Lord Draven. Permission to, uh, come further ashore. All the way ashore … and stay ashore. And for my father to do the same.”
Father?I knew Brokk had offspring, but this child with hair of night and warm-beige skin did not look like his father. Well, maybe a little in the eyes. And the set of his jaw. There was also the strong mental shield … and the ballsy part, too, marching down that bridge to speak to the Lord of Shadows alone like it was no big deal. Okay, perhaps there was a resemblance.
“Kol, I told you to stay put and wait for me,” Brokk’s baritone voice overtook whatever Kol was going to say, causing the boy’s spine to straighten.
The young male’s lips pressed into a thin line, but he held his tongue. He slid to the side, offering an unobscured view of The Navita standing at the opening in his ship’s rail, looking down at his son. Six plus feet of broad muscle, developed over countless years of self-imposed manual labor, the male was formidable, to say the least.
Like most breeds of Other, he carried his centuries of age like a creature in its prime. Only the faintest hint of lines marred his forehead and eyes, forever suspended in what a human would assume was his mid-thirties.
The sun would never weather The Navita’s skin. Immortals healed too fast for such annoyances. No, deep wrinkles upon the flesh of an Other signified something wretched had occurred, such as the siphoning of one’s lifeforce in order to call upon dark magic.
Unlike his son, Brokk’s wind-swept locks were dark auburn and long enough to be tied back at his nape. His complexion, a couple shades darker than most of the ivory-skinned fae, reminded me of the sandy beaches lining the Pacific Coast Highway in Earth Realm’s California.
As was his custom, he, too, was dressed in head-to-toe black. Only, he donned a pair of black boots. I knew from experience he’d only put them on because shoes were expected in civilized cultures.
He slung a large canvas bag over one shoulder then scooped something up from the deck. When he turned, the cramping in my stomach returned. Cradled in his arms was an unconscious female wrapped in a charcoal cloak. Long midnight hair hung loosely over his arm.
The moment both feet were steady on the dock, Brokk went to his knees, head bowed. I was dumbfounded. It was a sight I’d have sworn no one would ever see. The unbreakable sea captain had never knelt for another, not even for Keane, the former King of the Fae.
And what a mess that had been.
The Navita’s downward motion altered the position of the female’s face, giving us a better view. Adrenaline mixed with nausea. For the second time in less than twelve hours, my world stopped spinning.
It washer.
Her skin was crusted in blood. Angry red welts criss crossed the side of her face and continued down her neck. The edge of an open wound started at her collarbone and disappeared under the cloak. Her legs hung at odd angles and gods only knew what else I’d find if I peeled back the material.
Someone had harmed her. Badly. Molten hot fury burned away every morsel of anxiety I’d had over Brokk’s arrival.
I took a step forward, pushed by my soul’s desire to get close to the injured female. Draven’s arm cut across my chest while Kol stepped in front of his father and sister. The boy was either incredibly stupid or incredibly brave to face off with the Shadow Lord.
No one moved an inch. Draven’s arm was still blocking my path when he asked, “Why are you here, Brokk?” He didn’t acknowledge any recognition of the face from my dreams.
“Sanctuary,” the male solemnly requested.
“Sanctuary? Bullshit. You’re the most powerful fae in existence. Others come toyoufor sanctuary.”
Brokk lifted his face, his magenta stare hardening on Draven. “You would deny me?”
