Vengeance of the Pirate Queen(57)

I leap behind it, slice the back of the knees, and watch the undead go down. Jadine scuttles free, then turns and slices at the arms of the creature that is now dragging itself toward her.

Dozens upon dozens of undead swarm our campsite. It would seem the King of the Undersea put a nice dent into the armies of the Drifta. They’re overwhelming my small crew.

How did this happen?

Can he sense me? Did I lead him here? First he found me among the Drifta and now with my crew. Am I like a beacon to him? The thought is horrifying.

We cannot fight off such numbers, no matter how good my crew is, but that doesn’t mean they’re not fighting with everything they’ve got.

Kearan barrels through the clearing like a bull, knocking all enemies in his path clean off their feet. The girls swoop in, dismembering and rendering the undead immobile as best they can. They’re no fools. If Kearan didn’t fill them in on the situation, they’re quick to pick up that their quarry is nothing natural.

Visylla throws hand bombs right and left. Gooey entrails rain to the ground. Shattered bones cling to the snow. She aims for the legs, bringing the undead down to ground level in waves.

The need for sleep batters at my open eyes, begging them to close. My muscles move sluggishly, unable to perform at their best after days without proper rest.

I drop my pistol, since it’s utterly useless in this fight, and grab a dagger to aid in cutting necessary tendons to stop the body from moving as it should. The undead may not feel pain, but it seems they still need intact muscles for their bodies to work.

Though, I remember those frozen skeletons in the ice leading to Threydan’s coffin. Why should the sirens and Drifta bother to hide them? They don’t have muscles or tendons. Why would Threydan have power over them?

The trees surrounding our clearing rustle as more undead enter the scene. The battle grows sorely bleak, as ten or more Drifta are able to surround every one of my crew. Large Drifta leap upon Kearan. He fights them off as best he can, but even he can’t keep so many at bay. They pin him to the ground, holding his limbs in place with the sheer weight of their dead bodies. An undead child no older than four grabs Dimella’s sword by the steel blade and pulls. Dimella is so shocked and appalled by the cut the blue-eyed girl is giving herself that she releases her hold. Two other undead get behind her and restrain her by her arms. Visylla gets her feet kicked out from underneath her. She’s then hoisted into the air and restrained. I watch and fight as one by one my whole crew is rendered immobile.

Save me. Not a single undead touches me.

I stand there, taking in the scene with a ferocity that shakes away my fatigue. I can’t save them. A snapped neck is all it takes to end them. I know it. My hand grips the hilt of my rapier so tightly I feel my bones grind together. I keep my weapons, but I don’t move, except for my eyes, scanning the surrounding trees for him.

My heart beats a feverish rhythm, and I swear I go cold all over, aside from that small little bit of warmth that wriggles within my chest.

I keep my gaze away from the tent, lest anyone think to check for more bodies that may be hiding. Though if we all die and only little Roslyn is left to survive, can she really last long on her own in these temperatures? With a people who attack first and ask questions later and an undead army on the horizon?

I shake that horrifying thought from my mind and keep my gaze alert.

He doesn’t keep me waiting long.

Threydan strides through the trees, his eyes already on mine, as if he’d been watching me for some time. My stomach turns over at the thought.

How has the man not found a shirt yet? His tanned skin is smooth all over, except for that short cropping of hair atop his head. His eyes blaze brighter than ever, and a bit of blood is dried on his skin.

I don’t want to know whose it is.

He comes to a stop when he is a mere five feet from me.

A step closer, and I’d have gutted him. I still might, depending on his next move.

The lives of my crew are what stay my hand for now.

“Sorinda,” Threydan says. “Are you well?”

The question is so unexpected and jarring that a breathy laugh bordering on hysteria comes from my lips.

I say, “I’m pissed. You’ve attacked my crew without cause.”

“Attacked? No. Not a one of them has been hurt, including the little one in the tent.”

I swallow.

“I wouldn’t hurt your friends,” he says. “In fact, I helped you save one just a few hours ago, did I not?”

“Let them go if you mean them no harm.”

“Now that is something I cannot do until we have a proper chat.”

I say nothing.

He seems to find that amusing. “We did not finish the binding.”

“You’re not touching me again,” I spit out with every bit of venom I can manage.

I hear a few outbursts from some of the crew, as though they’re trying to agree with me, but most are silenced by undead hands covering their mouths.

“That, fortunately, is not true,” Threydan says. “We must if we’re to complete the binding. You are only partly mine. Resistant to only some of life’s dangers, it would seem. Hot and cold cannot harm you. Water cannot drown you. But the blade is still your weakness.”

“Reverse it,” I breathe out. “Make me able to feel again.”

“I cannot do that.”