Lady Lisabe rose. “Do you realize this is insubordination?”
“Yes, and I’ll take the consequences for it. Some orders should not be carried out.” Without turning, she twisted the handle of her door and pulled it open. “You’d better leave.”
“You don’t understand what’s at stake here.” Lady Lisabe shook her head as though unable to believe what she had just heard, and brushed past Yerena as she would have squeezed by a rotting bulkhead. She stopped just outside the door.
“Captain.” She strode on with a whsh of flapping robes, and Yerena spun around, hoping that was a nasty little attempt to scare her. She looked up into Darok’s eyes.
“What did you mean, sink this ship?” he said.
Chapter Eight
Taste of Ice
Yerena had learned not to feel afraid when controlling a shark or confronting Tureans, but all her training seemed to desert her at that moment. Her throat tightened, and she couldn’t feel the deck beneath her feet any longer; she might have been half an instant away from dropping through something insubstantial into the ocean.
Darok didn’t look obviously angry. There were no veins popping out in his face, no hands clenched at his sides, but the look in his eyes was harder than stone, and it made her want to be on another ship, another continent, anywhere else but there. No. She regained control of herself.
“You were listening?” she said.
He stepped into her cabin, making her back away, and closed the door. “You were talking to a suspected spy on my ship. What did you expect me to do?”
The words my ship stressed his possession of what she had been ordered to destroy. Yerena guessed her best strategy was to be as honest as possible, and she remembered what he’d said to her last afternoon when asking about the rogue Kovir. Let’s hear it. He would only be more angry if she beat around the bush.
“Initially I was instructed to join this ship in my usual capacity.” She fell back on cool formality. “But my orders were amended on the morning we sailed. If there was a significant chance of this ship being seized by Tureans, I was to sink it.”
“I see.” Darok’s tone matched hers. “What were you ordered to do regarding the crew and myself?” In the silence that followed, he went on. “Let us drown, I’m guessing.”
“I didn’t want to—”
“And why didn’t you tell me any… Oh, of course. Seawatch gave you that order.”
The Admiralty probably knew just as much about it as Lady Lisabe did, but Yerena didn’t say that. The last thing she needed to do was make him think he was the only person kept in the dark, except staying silent didn’t seem to make matters any better.
“I suppose the only reason this ship isn’t at the bottom of the ocean is that you’re just a little more fond of your shark than you are obedient to Seawatch,” he said.
Yerena wasn’t sure whether it was the sarcastic edge to his voice or the assumption that she was a dangerous rogue only one step away from destroying the ship, but her restraint began to fray. “Just last evening you talked about Dr. Flaige not doing his duty. What did you expect me to do about mine?”
“Oh yes, your duty. To guide, to guard and to gut us if you feel it’s called for.”
“If necessary! Do you want the Tureans to capture this ship?”
“Listen to me, Yerena.” The mercurial change in his tone took her aback, because now he was measured and cold, speaking so quietly it unnerved her more than if he had shouted. “I’ve sent men to their deaths before. I’ve watched them die on my orders. What I’ve never done is be indifferent to it.”
“You think that’s what I am?” Almost from the start of their journey, she’d struggled to control her emotions and remember what she had been ordered to do. No, don’t fool yourself, she thought bitterly. Ever since the first day, since you met him.
“I think the only things you care about are Seawatch and that shark.”
“What’s wrong with that?” Would he prefer it if she hated and distrusted them as much as he seemed to do?
“What’s wrong is that you’re so hellbent on holding on to them that you’ll throw away anything better you could have.”
“Like what? I’m a Weapon of Denalay, not some poor little waif in need of anything…from you.”
She stopped, suddenly realizing what he meant. He didn’t understand her past and couldn’t have been a part of it in any case, so he kept trying to drive a wedge between her and everything to do with Whetstone. “That’s what’s really upset you, isn’t it?”
“Not in need of anything?” He looked down pointedly at the green skirt she had made from the fabric he had given her. Hidden in the folds of it, she tightened her fingers on the soft wool, wishing she could tear it off and fling it at his feet to show just how much she needed it.
Of course, that would have left her nearly naked from the waist down. Damn him to hell.
“That’s why I prefer the shark,” she said coldly, trying to recover her usual control. “It doesn’t play those kinds of games. I suppose that’s why you’ve been jealous of it from the start.”
“I’m not jealous.” For the first time there was a snap in his voice, and she felt fiercely pleased that she’d been able to get under his shell for once.
“Oh, please,” she said. “You’d be delighted if it died and I had to leave Seawatch. A nice breach for you to step into.”
Darok glared at her. “And I suppose you’ve never been envious of me.”
“What would I have to be envious of? Your habit of jumping into danger without thinking?”
“A family, friends, a crew, a home of my own—hell, even money. Compared to that, what have you got except a guild which put scars on your back?”
It felt as though he’d struck her. Her face was numb, her chest tight and painful. The only thing in her life that had hurt more was being whipped in Whetstone, and worst of all, she thought she was going to cry. No, not in front of him. She would never be vulnerable in front of him again.
Blinking hard, she swallowed tears and anger alike and spoke calmly. “Then why are you even here? If I’m so deprived, what do I have that you want?”
“Yourself.”
Before she could say anything else, he grasped her shoulders and pulled her against him. She gasped. Her hands went up to splay against his chest, but Darok didn’t release her or kiss her. Instead his hand dipped to her waist and came up with her knife.
Yerena glanced at it out of the corner of her eye, wondering what on Eden he was going to do. He could be so very unpredictable. It occurred to her a moment later, though, that she felt no fear at all, because something deeper than thought told her Darok would never have hurt her. He tossed her knife up, caught the blade in his fingertips and slid the hilt past her fingers, pressing it into her palm. She curled her hand around it, feeling his heartbeat against her knuckles, against the cold double-edged steel.
“There,” he said. “Now I can be certain you want this.”
He bent his head and covered her mouth with his in a kiss so thirsty and possessive that it made her sway against him, trembling with need as her body caught fire from his. Her free hand clenched in his shirt. His tongue slid over hers, and she softly sucked on it until he moaned, low in his throat.
He tasted of rum and limes, strong and bitter and intoxicating at once. The knife hit the floorboards. She buried her fingers in his hair, holding tight, and his arm went around her shoulders in a tighter grip. When he lifted his head, she caught her breath, only to release it in a whimper as his teeth found her ear.
This is wrong, all her training told her. It had gone well beyond slaking a natural need the moment it became a deliberate creation of that need, the moment the act became an involvement of her heart rather than a function of her body. It was wrong, he was wrong for her and she wanted him so very much.
He took her earlobe into his mouth and her hips jerked involuntarily against him. “Darok,” she said, and the word was a groan rou
ghened further with need.
He raised his head and slid an arm beneath her knees, picking her up easily. Two strides took him to her bunk, and he dropped her on it with an abruptness that would have knocked the breath out of her if she had it. She was still holding on to him, and she pulled him down with her, not caring when his weight pinned her to the bed. Their time was running out, and she had to have him in any way she could before the end.
His need was just as demanding. He didn’t bother pulling her blouse open, only lowered his head to her breast and lashed the nipple with his tongue. Yerena’s head fell back. She shuddered at the heat and friction of the wet cloth against her tight, sensitized flesh.
Yet he released her far too soon, lifting himself off her just enough to get a hand between their bodies and yank her skirt up around her waist. She wanted to be naked, wanted him to be naked, but she couldn’t wait. He pulled her drawers down, she kicked them off and then his narrow hips moved between her thighs.
He had unbuttoned his trousers, and the throbbing length of his erection pressed against her stomach. Even through crushed folds of wool, the heat of it branded her, and the fabric of his trousers rubbed against the insides of her thighs. She flattened a hand on his arm, keeping her touch light against the bandages beneath his sleeve, then slid her palm up to his shoulder. Muscles tensed beneath her hand, and he kissed his way to her ear, breathing into it.
“Want me to stop?” He rolled his hips forward to push his cock against her belly, branding her with the tantalizing heat and hardness she could feel—but not nearly enough, nowhere near as deep as she wanted it. “Or do you just want me?”
“You.” She wrapped her legs around his hips, and dug her nails into his shoulders. “Now—”
“Yerena!” The harsh whisper was wrenched from his throat, and it was all the warning she got before he thrust into her, filling her so completely that her back arched from the shock and pleasure of it. He pulled almost all the way out of her, and she grasped his taut buttocks to force him back in. His pace grew faster, and through the low roar of blood in her ears, she heard him growl her name once more before his teeth closed on the point where her neck and shoulder joined.
Her body bucked in reaction. The hot gathering need between her legs clenched unbearably tight and came apart, racking her in deep shuddering spasms as her flesh locked and slickened further around his cock. She felt it jerk deep within her as his own release took him down, brought him sinking against her, shaking from the force of his pleasure, and whatever the words they had said to each other before, their bodies knew the truth.
She lay with her eyes closed, still breathing hard. The light sheen of wetness across one breast felt cool, but Darok’s upper arm lay across her other breast, warm and heavy. Aftershocks pulsed through her flesh, and she knew he felt those just as intensely although he lay quiet and sated beside her, motionless except for his breathing. They were joined in an intimacy that went far beyond the physical, and she acknowledged it with a cold despair settling over her heart.
Because she couldn’t afford to fall in love—not with him and not in that time or place. Everything in the world stood between them. Even if it didn’t, she had to admit one thing to herself, that Lady Lisabe had been right. She’d come to care about the shark so much she was keeping it far from any kind of battle, keeping it safe although she was traveling into more danger than she had ever been. What had she imagined she would do alone against a pack of killer whales, against a Seawatch operative far better than she was?
If she hadn’t been so protective of the shark, she would have been planning how to use it in some clever strategy to destroy Turean defenses and whale packs alike. And if she hadn’t been so fond of Darok, she would have been calmly evaluating his methods, gauging just the right moment to either enter the battle on his side or to make certain his ship would go down with him.
Instead, she had given in to her emotions and her lust. Well, it wouldn’t happen again. A Seawatch operative sent into the Iron Ocean had to get her priorities straight, had to keep her mind clear as ice and her resolve harder. If she didn’t, she wouldn’t get out of there alive.
She just hoped she would never have to decide whether it was worth being alive if everyone she cared about was dead.
Lifting Darok’s arm off her, she slid out of the bunk. She felt a little unsteady on her feet, but her hands moved with their usual efficiency as she unlaced her crumpled skirt and let it fall. Darok turned his head, and although she was careful not to look in his direction, she felt the weight of his gaze on her as she stripped off her blouse and reached for the pot of grease.
He sat up. “What are you doing?”
“Leaving the ship.” As methodically as she would have worked if she had been alone, she began to apply the grease.
“What?”
Neither hurrying nor lingering on skin still flushed from lovemaking, Yerena finished the ritual and stepped into her watersuit. She slid her arms into its sleeves and began to lace it closed.
Darok got off the bunk and started to put his own clothes back in order. “Because of what I said earlier? Or because of—I thought you wanted to—”
“Don’t flatter yourself.” She couldn’t have managed a sarcastic tone if she had been trying for one, so her voice just sounded tired and flat. She buckled her knife-belt and tucked her gloves into it. The mask went around her neck and she picked up her flippers.
“Then why? Talk to me, damn it! Are you going back home?”
“Of course not!” Yerena said, realizing a moment later that he’d baited her not only into answering him but in turning to face him. In all her life, there were only a few images imprinted on her memory so deeply no part of her training could erase them, and she knew Darok’s face would be one of them. It wasn’t the dark hair unruly from her fingers, or the angles of his cheekbones and strong jaw; it was the uncertain, vulnerable look in his eyes. She steeled herself just in time.
“I’m going to deal with those whales.” She went to the door.
“Don’t be a fool, Yerena.” There was a tense edge to his voice. “Even with that beast, you’re outnumbered.”
“So you won’t have to worry about my sinking your ship.” Yerena let herself out and went topside, picking her way around charred places and gaps where the carpenters hadn’t yet replaced boards. She took a small bundle of rations from the ship’s galley, and a flask of water went into her suit to fit snugly against her stomach, because while she’d survived on scraps and raw fish before, she didn’t want to risk losing the water.
She called the shark. Behind her, hammers slammed and saws rasped through wood as the ship was slowly refitted, but the heavy sway of sails and creak of boards sounded almost as familiar to her as the waves did. The sailing master had spread a map over a folding table and was speaking in low tones to Alyster. The ship’s bell rang out over footfalls and shouted commands. She looked over the empty sunlit sea and told herself to be patient.
The dark fin surfaced a league away from the ship, and the tip of the tailfin just beyond it moved steadily from side to side as the shark came closer—still obedient, but without the lively enthusiasm she remembered when they had played at racing. What do you expect when it’s hurt? The warmth that always filled her at the familiar sight sank away under a weight like a slab of lead. At the very least, she wanted to let the shark rest until it recovered fully. She owed it that much, and yet she had to use it until there was nothing left to be used any longer.
It is an animal, she could imagine her mentor saying in a patient voice. What it does, it does because of your control and influence, not because it feels anything for you.
We’re going to hunt some killers, beautiful one. She tried to infuse her own eagerness into their connection, but little of the emotion felt real, and she gave up. After putting on her flippers, she gripped the side of the rail to swing herself over.
“Yerena!” Darok called out.
No. Yerena wanted to simp
ly drop off into the water, but not only would that have been rude, it would have startled the shark. She set her shoulders back and turned.
He came up to her, although she knew he did that only so he wouldn’t have to shout to her from across the deck. “I know you’re bent on doing this, but you don’t have to die for it. Come back if you need to, for any reason. We’re going to moor at the inlet in Rosefall. I don’t know how long it will take you to find us, but we should reach that island by nightfall. You know where it is?”
Yerena nodded, grateful that she hadn’t given in to her first impulse. This is why I care about you, and that’s why I have to leave. She disciplined her voice to neutrality.
“Thank you,” she said. It meant a great deal when someone kept her well-being in mind.
Darok shook his head. “If you succeed, I’ll need to thank you, and if you don’t…” He paused. “Good luck.”
She couldn’t speak, and it didn’t matter anyway. He turned and strode to the sailing master’s table, bending to study the map, and she let herself down a mooring rope, hand-over-hand. Sharkskin was more than enough protection from any friction to her palms. She only wished it could do the same for her heart.
The storm had blown itself out and Julean heard them searching.
As soon as he had gained the deck of Bowhead, he had run across it to the gunwale. The galley rolled like a die on a gaming table, tossed by first one wind and then another. Even over the screams of the winds, he heard masts creak and men shout in terrified voices, but in the dark no one saw him as he climbed over the gunwale, clutching the wet rail tightly until he could lower himself into a rowboat lashed to the galley’s side.
Feeling a little safer, he searched the boat and found a bailer to collect a few mouthfuls of rainwater. Waves flung themselves at the galley like giants’ hands reaching up out of the ocean to grab the vessel, and he wondered how the Tureans managed to drink salt and live. It would have made an interesting research project—for a man who still had a fascination with medical discoveries, for a man who had a laboratory on Denalay and the funds to buy equipment and the approval of the scientific community.
The Deepest Ocean (Eden Series) Page 16