by Zoë Archer
Which meant it had to be him. She had found love where none was expected. Her life now was far too precious to surrender without a fight.
London waited for Bennett to finish his shift at the helm, unable to sit below. Tomorrow they would reach the Black Temple. Tomorrow might see their journey end, and how it was to end, she had no idea. Any number of possibilities ran through her mind, some wonderful, some terrible. It was not a night for confined spaces. She needed the sea and the sky around her, almost as much as she needed Bennett. While she could not have one this very moment, she could have the others.
“Kallas, a word.”
London stiffened when she heard Athena’s voice on the other side of the crate.
“What is it, witch?” The captain’s voice was unusually restrained. Perhaps an aftereffect of kissing a Nereid.
For a moment, Athena was silent, and London could feel her friend’s tension in that weighted silence. London debated as to whether or not to announce her presence, but the atmosphere between Kallas and Athena thickened with intimacy. If London let them know she was nearby, it might ruin the fragile moment. So London said nothing.
Finally, Athena asked, “Do you have many memories of your childhood?”
If the question surprised the captain, he did not say so. “Mostly of my father and his boat. Laughing. He laughed a lot. Showing me how to weigh anchor. The anchor was almost as big as I was, I nearly went over the side with it.”
“I have few memories of my youth.” Athena’s voice was soft, ruminative. “I was always in such a hurry to grow up. My mother and grandmother were good to me, but I wanted to be an adult as soon as I could and join them in the world of decision-makers. They warned me, Yaya and Mama, that I should enjoy the pleasures of childhood freedom. I never listened. In that way, I was like all Galanos women. Stubborn.”
“Headstrong,” Kallas corrected gently.
Athena’s chuckle was rueful. “I do have a particular recollection. A name day celebration at some friend’s home. A boy my own age. There were sweets to eat, and I remember these two pieces of baklava, golden with honey and fragrant with walnuts and cinnamon. I stared at them for a long time, trying to decide which one I wanted. One of the pieces had more walnuts, the other, more honey. I just stared and stared, thinking, considering, unable to make up my mind.”
“Why not take them both?”
“That would have been greedy.”
“You were a child. Children are allowed to be greedy. I used to stuff myself sick on loukoumades when we’d get to port, and my father let me. A treat and a lesson.”
“Even if my mother said it would have been all right, I wouldn’t let myself.”
“So, which piece of baklava did you take?”
“Neither. I spent so much time deliberating and thinking, some girl ran up and grabbed both pieces for herself. I wound up with nothing.”
“I’ll bring you as much baklava as you want when we get back to Piraeus.”
“Many thanks, but no. I did not tell you that story because I had a craving for baklava.”
“What do you have a craving for?”
Even London, on the other side of the crate, heard the sensual promise of the captain’s softly spoken words.
“I do not give in to cravings,” Athena answered, but her voice was throaty. “I never have. I always thought they were signs the body was trying to overtake the mind, and I would not let that happen.”
“High time for you to start listening to your body.”
“And my heart.” The witch drew in a breath. “I do not want to waste an opportunity because I am thinking too much, trying to decide what is best or right.”
“Athena—”
“Will you come to my bunk tonight, Nikos? When your shift at the helm is over?” She didn’t wait for an answer, talking quickly as if to avoid hearing the captain’s response. “I shall ask London to sleep in the other cabin. She will accept. She’s grown tired of crawling back and forth between cabins, and I know it can be disruptive, so—”
Athena’s nervous prattling stopped. London wondered why, until she heard the unmistakable sounds of kissing. Leave it to the captain to let actions speak more eloquently than words.
Though determined to keep her silence, inwardly London rejoiced. The kiss between the captain and the witch had been a long time in the making, and, now that London had discovered love, she wanted to share it with everyone, especially her friends.
Some time later, Kallas murmured, “What’s the word? Ensorcelled? I think you’ve ensorcelled me, Lady Witch.”
“No more than you have netted me, Captain. I did not enjoy seeing you kiss that Nereid.”
“It didn’t look like you minded.”
“I minded.”
“Would it help if I said I was thinking of you the whole time?”
Athena chuckled, then said, softly, “Tonight, then.”
“Tonight.”
The taps of Athena’s footfalls faded as she went below. Kallas let out a slow growl, then followed the sound with a litany of exaltation to hosts of saints and gods. London speculated that she would not get much sleep that night, kept awake by the sounds of lovemaking. But it was only fair. Lord knew that she and Bennett had probably cost everyone their sleep, with all their carnal carryings-on.
Later she heard Bennett and Kallas trade places at the helm, then the strong, sure sound of Bennett’s boots on the deck coming toward her. Night had fallen, so she felt more than saw him when he stood close by. Her heart and body vibrated with barely contained energy, matching his.
Bennett easily lowered down to the deck, sliding behind her so that she sat between his legs as he cradled her in his arms. Warm, solid, and athletic, he surrounded her without entirely engulfing her. London leaned against him, her back to his chest, and she felt the strange double joys of serenity and excitement. She was safe here with him, but not stiflingly sheltered. He brushed his lips against her hair.
Neither spoke. It felt too good to sit in the prow of the boat in the darkness, the waves breaking across the bow, wind in the sails, the heat of his body blanketing her.
“Are you sure you wouldn’t rather be with that Nereid?” London asked. “She seemed to fancy you quite a bit.”
He gave a snort. “I don’t fancy fish. Maybe for supper, but not for kissing.”
“Prefer human women, do you?”
“Just one.” He turned her head gently and demonstrated exactly what he meant.
Some moments later, when they had to pause to breathe, he asked, “What have you been doing up here?”
She worked to bring her mind into focus after the heady pleasures of Bennett’s mouth. “Enjoying the night. Thinking.”
“Alone?”
She thought of the exchange between Kallas and Athena, and, though she trusted Bennett completely, felt Athena might take umbrage if London discussed her private romantic affairs.
“Yes,” London said, hating that she had to lie to him. “All alone.”
“Did I ever mention that I’ve excellent hearing?” he asked, his voice low, a delightful rumble.
She should have known. “You heard them, too?”
“Oh, yes. And about bloody time, too.”
His soft chuckle sent tremors rippling through her. She was very aware of him pressed into her backside, even through the layers of her skirt and petticoat. Thank heavens she’d long ago abandoned a bustle. Feeling him intimately snug against her was a wicked pleasure for which she would gladly forsake fashion. In fact, there was something to be said for being absolutely naked whenever Bennett was near.
“I’m glad for them,” said London. “Glad they were willing to take the chance. I didn’t think they would ever risk themselves.”
He brushed her hair to one side, uncovering her neck. His warm mouth trailed just beneath her ear. Then he traced the curve of her neck with small, gentle bites, just hard enough to send bright currents of awareness through her, centering at the tips of her br
easts and between her thighs. He soothed the bites with velvet licks of his tongue. “Not everyone’s as brave as you,” he said between ministrations.
“Not so brave,” she gasped. “Just know what I want.” Coherent thought, and the ability to talk sensibly, vanished under his touch.
His long hands slid up over her waist and ribs to cup her breasts. She arched her back, the better to feel his caresses. Yet neither of them were satisfied, not until he unfastened the buttons of her shirtwaist and pulled the garment open, baring the skin of her chest. She had taken off her corset before scaling the cliff, and beneath the shirtwaist she wore only a chemise. He stroked her through the fine cotton, teasing her breasts to hard points so that she writhed with pleasure. Then even the thin chemise was too much of a barrier, and he pulled it roughly up and out of her skirt’s waistband. At once, his hands went underneath the fabric to caress her bare skin, and she gasped aloud.
“Tell me what you want,” he growled.
“You, only you.” She pushed back into him, feeling the thickness of his firm cock rubbing against her.
When he took his hands from her breasts, she almost wept with loss, but then he was gathering up her skirt, his hands stroking up her outstretched legs. Up her calves, past her knees, the lengths of her thighs. Then higher. She sucked in a breath when his fingers found her wet and desperate for him.
“Tell me why,” he demanded, guttural. “Tell me why you want me.” He traced her, touched her, while the other hand went back to attend to her breast.
Her mind slipped further from her grasp so that she became merely a vessel for a desperate need.
“Because—” She gasped.
“Yes.”
“Because—” She reached behind awkwardly, fumbling with the buttons on his trousers. Yet she was determined, and soon had him unfastened and then, yes, he was in her hand, burning hot and thick. He hissed as she stroked him.
Then he lifted her, raising her up just above him, and moved his legs between hers. The very crown of his cock kissed her opening. She was giddy, spinning, and so desperate for him.
“Say it,” he urged. He brought her down, and they both cried out as he filled her.
“Because I love you,” she moaned.
If either of them had possessed any control before, her words broke that control. He plunged into her with fierce, sure strokes. She met each of his thrusts, frenzied, lost to everything but the feeling of his hands at her waist, his mouth on her neck, him deep inside her, stretching her, suffusing her with his heat and desire.
She struggled to keep her eyes open to see the prow cut the waves. Wind stroked her heated face as they raced into the night, and it felt, with Bennett thrusting into her, as though they were flying, carried aloft by their lovemaking. The pitch of the deck as it rode the waves pushed him even deeper within her. They were elemental, creatures of water and wind.
“I love you, London,” he groaned. One hand glided from her waist to stroke her where she was most sensitive. “No words to say…”
At once, climax seized her. She flung herself into it, into the pleasure and joy he gave her. She felt herself destroyed and reborn. A heartbeat later and his release followed hers.
They sank back together, panting, boneless, bound together in body and heart. And all around them was the sea, wine-dark and eternal.
Chapter 18
The Black Temple
A wail rose up and hovered over the deck of the steamship—mournful, enraged, helpless. The sound curled like acrid smoke, thick and terrible. Had anyone with compassion heard the cry, they would have fallen to their knees and wept. But no one aboard the steamship, from the captain to the men shoveling coal into the furnace, possessed an ounce of empathy. Such men had made the misery of others their occupation. To them, the sound of lamentation was ordinary and tedious, hardly worth a moment’s reflection.
There were others, though, who found the cry to be stimulating.
Joseph Edgeworth and Thomas Fraser watched, one man disinterested, the other titillated as John Chernock crouched over the Nereid. The black blade in his hand gleamed with the nymph’s blood. Long cuts ran down the lengths of her arms and legs, and her hair lay in clumps around the deck, bits of coral and pearl still woven into it. The Nereid, pinned under the weight of the restraining spell, could only sob and writhe, calling to her sisters massing around the hull of the steamship, but even they could do nothing but listen to the suffering of their sister. Chernock’s spell sheltered the steamship, protecting it from the Nereids’ retribution.
“Have you told me everything?” Chernock asked the imprisoned sea nymph. He sounded detached, like a dentist inquiring about his patient’s holiday plans.
“Yes,” the Nereid whimpered. “You know where the Black Temple is now. Release me.”
“You had better not be lying to me,” Chernock warned, still quite impersonal. He ran the blade down her neck, between her breasts, with the promise of more pain.
From the aft of the ship came a howl, the sound of the rakshasa demon scenting blood and pain. It longed to feed. But the enchanted chains that bound the demon held it fast. Only a word from Chernock could free it.
“Our kind is incapable of falsehood,” the Nereid answered, flinching.
“Perhaps I can test that.”
“Enough, Chernock,” snapped Edgeworth. “We have all we need from the trollop. The captain’s plotted our course. We haven’t time for your little games.”
The sorcerer’s icy calm frayed with annoyance as he glanced over his shoulder. “But I want to see how much suffering an immortal body can withstand.”
“Perform your experiments later.” Edgeworth pulled a pocketwatch from his waistcoat pocket and frowned at the hour. “The delay with the ship’s wheel already cost us time.”
“Let me keep her, then.”
“And have those damned sea bitches trailing after us?” Edgeworth tipped his head to the side, indicating the Nereids helplessly gathered around the steamship. “No. Throw her back.”
“Must he, sir?” asked Fraser, disappointed.
Edgeworth shot him a disapproving glare. “Just do it. I’m going below to send a letter through the Transportive Fire. When I come back, that thing better be gone.” He strode away.
With an irritated sigh, Chernock rose to his feet. What a missed opportunity! Edgeworth hadn’t a proper sense of proportion. All he cared about were missions. Especially now that the truth about his traitorous daughter had at last come to light, bursting his illusions like a blister. Edgeworth was mortified by the failure of his daughter, and pushed harder now to seize the Greek Fire Source as if to atone or prove himself. He chased it with a determination that bordered on obsession. But there was so much more to being an Heir—such as chances to study and broaden knowledge that few other men would ever experience.
When the Blookseeker Spell had been broken, the Heirs were adrift, without direction. It had been Chernock’s idea to summon the Nereids—those saltwater trollops knew this sea better than any being—and it was a wonderful stroke of luck that he could ascertain more, not only as to where the Blades were heading, but also about the nymphs’ pain tolerances. Or lack of tolerance, as it turned out. Yet so much more could be learned!
Perhaps Fraser could be an ally. Chernock dismissed that idea quickly. Even though Fraser would welcome any occasion to cause something pain, the fool was even more concerned with currying favor and toadying, particularly now that the possibility of Fraser marrying Edgeworth’s whore daughter was no longer an option.
Still, the younger man looked visibly sorry when Chernock released the restraining spell with a wave of his hand. The Nereid rolled over and crawled to the railing, trails of blood smearing on the metal deck. With the heel of his shoe, Chernock shoved the Nereid into the water. Immediately, the other nymphs gathered around their wounded sister.
One of the sea maidens, her brow topped by a shell-encrusted diadem, looked up at Chernock. “We curse you, sorcerer!�
�� she hissed. “The daughter of daughters shall cleave you before the eyes of the sea.”
Chernock did not bother answering. Nereids were nothing, merely some sea god’s over-numerous offspring. They held no real power.
He turned away with a dismissive shrug, then grabbed the arm of a passing crewman. “Clean that up,” he said, pointing to the Nereid’s spilled blood. “But don’t touch it. The ichor makes it poisonous to mortals.”
The crewman nodded, then went to fetch a mop and bucket.
“Tough luck, Chernock,” said Fraser, his tone somewhere between regretful and pleased. There wasn’t a drop of camaraderie between him and Chernock, especially where internal politics were concerned. Fraser was only sorry that his viewing entertainment had been cut short.
“No matter,” the sorcerer sighed. “We’ll catch the Blades tomorrow. I’m sure, once we have Day, the witch, and the slut, even Edgeworth will not object to a little magical experimentation.”
Fraser grinned openly at the thought. “I hope not.”
Athena, lying snug in Kallas’s arms, shot upright with a gasp.
“What is it, magesa?” the captain asked sleepily. He stroked her bare leg.
“The bastard,” Athena choked. “I shall tear him apart!”
Fully awake now, Kallas sat up and took her hands in his. “Who?”
Athena shook with rage and horror. “Chernock. The Heirs’ sorcerer. He has tortured a Nereid. I can feel the sorrow of the nymphs calling out for vengeance.”
Now the rage was echoed in Kallas. “I’m responsible. I was the one who summoned the Nereids.”
“No, not you. The burden isn’t yours but his. I will make him pay,” Athena vowed.
“Not if I don’t kill him first.”
For some time, the witch and the captain sat in joined silence, both silently swearing revenge, both determined to protect the other from having blood on their hands. When at last their hearts stopped pounding, and sleep tugged at them, they lay down together, fitted as snug as two halves of a shell. But the peace they shared earlier had been shattered.