Page 40 of Of the Stars and Sea

I hold my breath and shift my head to the side, not wanting to be consumed by him. Then I feel his fingers pinching my chin, forcing me to look up at his face.

“Have I not been a fine host? Making sure your belly is full and you are safe from my men? Have I not given you a soft place to lay your head at night?”

“You threatened my crew,” I spit out.

“It is strange that I heard you command them not to follow you, yet theTrinity’sglimmer has been trailing us since the first day we left Silvermoon Landing. You are angry at me, when it should bethemyou are angry with.” He takes in a long breath as his head tilts to the side, assessing me. “Or maybe you should direct your anger at yourself.”

“What are you talking about?” I narrow my gaze on him.

“There isn’t a single man on my ship who would dare defy an order of mine. And those who have tried have found themselves at the bottom of the sea.”

I snort. “And that’s how you choose to runyourship. Your men follow you out of fear.”

“Respect,”he rebukes. “My crew understands that I only give orders that will further our agenda—making them richer men. Or that my orders are meant to protect them from themselves.”

“Andyouknow what is best for them?” I scoff, rolling my eyes. “You don’t know everything, Grayson.”

He flashes his canines in a snarl. “You would be surprised by what I know of this world. What I know ofyou.”

Leaning closer I can feel the heat of his breath against my lips. His eyes shift, peering down at my mouth for a moment before they flick back to meet my hardened gaze. “You know nothing about me. You are a vile creature destined to burn out from the flames of your own making. You are cruel and unjust and that will be the end of you, Grayson Tyde. I saw how you run your ship. How you broke The Code when we set sail against the merchant ship. I saw how you murdered those men in cold blood as if their lives meantnothing.”

A growl rips from his throat, but I don’t care. Not as the pain of the past week’s events gathers firmly in my chest like an anchor pulling me deeper into the depths of my rage.

“My crew might have defied my orders, but that’s because theycareabout me. If it had been you who was lost to another, none of your men would follow. They would let you fall to your death without regret. They’d relish in your ending because?—”

“Enough!” he commands and I find my lips zipping shut of their own accord. The fire that kept me going is extinguished—snuffed out with a hastiness that startles me.

I rear my head back, realizing just how close I’d gotten to him.

But he closes the space between us again as he leans down to whisper in my ear. His hair brushes against my cheek and I hate the swell of heat that builds in my core at his closeness. “Your words are sharp, Little Pearl, and I might feel the sting of them if they weren’t so empty. I can see it in your eyes. Every time you look at me, there is a blossoming curiosity. A desire to know more—but you deny yourself.” His chest touches mine now. He’s close. So close I can hardly breathe without the risk of letting myself be utterly beholden to him. “You speak of fear, yet it isyouwho cannot run away from it. You are so ridden by it, I can smell it on you.”

His words flay me open like the sharpest blade cutting into my flesh. Though a wound from his sword would be less painful—lessagonizing. A whimper catches in my throat as heat tinges the backs of my eyes.

“I hate you,” I whisper.

“No, Little Pearl.” He strokes the side of my cheek and my eyes flutter close. When I open them, the stormy blue of his irises shift and meld like a moving, living thing. “You hate yourself.”

Chapter 11

“Another, Harrick!” I slam the shot glass onto the bar upside down. Remnants of rum fly outward, soaking my hand and the bar top as a hiccup bubbles past my lips with a squeak.

I’m three pints of ale and four shots of rum deep and the room starts to spin as I glance over my shoulder toward Grayson and his men. Zaos whispers something to him while he maneuvers a silver shilling over the tops of his knuckles. The piece moves effortlessly across his deft fingers—back and forth, back and forth.

He’s been staring at me for a while now. Every time I steal a glimpse I find him boring a hole through my soul with his piercing gaze.

I huff at him and turn back around to the bar. As I do, the world starts to spin again and I have to extend my arms forward, grasping onto the far end of the bar to stop myself from toppling off the stool.

Blinking a few times to right my vision, I look down and notice the space between my forearms is still empty.

“Harrick!” I holler. “Where’s my shot?”

“Sorry, dear, but you’re cut off for the rest of the night.” He swings his white towel over his shoulder and ambles over to me.

“Cut off?” The words sound slower coming out of my mouth than they do in my mind. “What kind of bar is this place? Cutting people off . . . I’ve never heard such a thing.”

“It’s for your own good.” He sets a glass of water down in front of me.

I reach for it, suddenly feeling parched, only to grasp at thin air.

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