Hunt on Dark Waters (Crimson Sails, #1)(30)

“There you go again. Throwing around that word as if it actually means something. I suppose breaking your vow makes you a monster, then? Since you kill people who run.”

Bowen pauses, and sighs. “I understand what you’re saying, but it’s different. There’s no choice.”

“That’s the thing about life. It’s nothing but bad choices.” I’m soaked to the bone, exhausted, and more than a little heartbroken. I turn and start toward the ship. This whole thing was a mistake. Not just because Bowen caught me … and then gave me a particularly stellar orgasm.

Nothing but bad choices, indeed.

If I had escaped Lizzie’s house without jumping realms, there’s every chance that her family would have killed me. And not in a quick, painless way. Lizzie didn’t become who she is in a vacuum. She was formed that way by birth and a very long life of conditioning. I imagine her parents are even worse. The thought makes me shiver.

A warm weight settles over my shoulders. Bowen’s cloak. Even as I tell myself not to, I pull it closer and inhale deeply. His cedar scent settles something inside me just as much as the residual warmth inside the cloak does. I don’t know what to think about it, so I don’t think about it at all.

I trudge back to the ship. In the predawn darkness, it’s still and silent. There’s also no gangplank. Damn it. The thought barely crosses my mind when Bowen’s magic wraps around me and lifts me into the air. His grip wobbles a little before he steadies me. I glance down to find his expression strained. He used a lot of magic tonight, too. Even though he’s got to be just as exhausted as I am, he’s still going above and beyond to ensure I have an easier time getting aboard. It’s unnecessary and frivolous and … damn it, it warms my heart.

The rise up the side of the ship is slow going, nearly as slow as if I’d climbed it myself. It gives me too much time to think. With the delicate way he’s holding me, even in his exhaustion, there’s a part of my brain that can’t stop analyzing the possibilities. I was too scared out of my mind earlier to register exactly how sexy it is that he has this level of power. Of control.

I’m not scared right now.

Who needs bondage ropes when your partner can hold you down with their mind? Can lift you and move you and touch you without lifting a single finger?

No. Not going there.

Except I’ve already gone there, haven’t I? The lid is off that Pringles can and now I know exactly how good he tastes, how he holds me as if I’m the most precious thing in the world, how he growls when he’s about to lose it. A woman could get addicted to being touched like that, to affecting her partner that deeply with only a kiss and an embrace.

I have no illusions about how I look. I’m fat and sexy and I’ve had no shortage of partners over the years. But it’s always been a game, a push and pull for fun or dominance or, in Lizzie’s case, a perverse desire to unravel her epic control. I was never successful; even in the throes of orgasm, she was as cold as ice. It made me want her more.

Bowen isn’t like that. There’s no game here. He’s so devastatingly serious. I don’t know how to deal with it. I shouldn’t deal with it. No matter the attraction I feel for him, I’m leaving.

Yes, the C?n Annwn are scary, but so is Lizzie. I was already planning on spending the rest of my life dodging her. Tomato, tomahto.

Bowen sets me gently on the deck and physically climbs up instead of using his magic for himself. As I suspected, he looks like he’s weaving on his feet when he hauls himself aboard a few moments later. He shakes his head when I go to shrug off his cloak. “Keep it for now.”

It’s impossible not to notice how the rain plasters his white shirt to his broad chest. The fabric is practically transparent, clearly displaying every curve of muscle and scar. There are a lot of scars. It makes my heart pang strangely, but my heart has always been a fickle creature. Of course it would feel empathy for this man who is just as much monster as the cat-sìth.

“Thanks.” Without another word, I turn away and head belowdecks. Lucky is nowhere in evidence when I duck into our room. It’s just as well. I’m not in the mood to deal with their strange attitude.

I peel off my drenched clothes yet again and glare at them. That’s two botched escape attempts—one from Lizzie’s mansion and one from the Crimson Hag. Maybe the clothes are cursed. Next time I run, I’ll wear something else.

Granted, nothing fits quite right from the clothing I’ve been given, but that’s a battle for another day. There is magic that can bolster sewing and stitching, but I never bothered learning it because I’m downright garbage at both. As Bunny always said, Stick to what you’re good at.

My inhale sticks in my throat. Gods, what am I doing? This was my best opportunity to escape and I barely made it a few hundred yards. Bowen saw me coming a mile away. I never stood a chance.

How in the gods’ name am I going to get free? I’ve wiggled out of some sticky situations over the years, but this is by far the stickiest. There has to be a way …

I flop onto my bed and, with only the most fleeting feeling of guilt, pull Bowen’s cloak around me. I have no business finding comfort in the reminder of my captor, and yet here I am.

Sleep takes me between one breath and the next, exhaustion sucking me down into the depths.





CHAPTER 13