Page 14 of Daughter of the Dark Sea
“What?” Blake scoffed. “You’re the one who likes to act cold and distant. I’m just following your example,Captain.” His green eyes glinted wickedly—a challenge.
She stilled, sensing the brimming heat between them, a tension so thick Cannon’s sword couldn’t sever it. He possessed a troubled past; one Kora was still trying to coax out of him patiently. Nights spent together as she spilled her deepest, darkest worries, baring her soul open to him, only to receive scraps in return.
She’d treasured each vital piece of his past he offered, holding them close to her heart. Minute details of growing up in the lower districts, clawing to escape his abusive upbringing. But to hell with patience. This male irked her with his senseless bravado. Kora glared back. “If you have a problem, Blake, then just say it.”
Sailors glanced up from their posts, pausing to listen to the fight building between their patient captain andirritatingfirst mate.
“You need to do your job,” Blake’s voice lowered, “not fraternise with the crew.”
Fraternise?Was he joking?Did he really think that, or was he jealous? He’d never displayed a possessive streak before, and he was the one to suggest she get to know the crew more and reveal a more personable,warmside. She’d been enjoying it, not having to pretend all the time to be someone so cold and heartless. Gods, it’d beenexhausting.
Multiple pairs of eyes ogled them. They couldn’t do this here and now. There was only one, easy way to dissipate his mood. By doing what they did best.
“Do you thinkyoucan do better?” Kora raised her voice for all to hear. “Are you challenging me to be captain?”
Blake’s eyes flared in shock, until he noticed the growing audience gathering. His stare slid to the hidden daggers attached to her back, and a dark smile bloomed on his handsome face.
“Oh! Yes.” His hand tightened around the golden hilt of his sword, understanding their new game. “I challenge you, Kora Cadell.”
A gasp waved through the crowd, and sailors poured in from all corners to watch the fight unfurl, shouting for their comrades to come witness the combat. Kora retrieved her polished-to-perfection dual daggers and chose a defensive stance, arms poised in the air.Come and get me.
Constructed from the finest Talmon silver, and as long as her forearms, the weapons balanced perfectly in her hands. Embossed with the golden symbol of the empire, below the dark, dazzling hilts made of smooth malachite stone. Enemies cowered in her presence whenever their eyes feasted on the serrated blades.
Blake withdrew his cutlass sword from its scabbard, his muscles rippling beneath his shirt. His teasing, dark smile seemed to say,be careful what you wish for.
Kora swallowed. The wound on his arm peeked through the rolled-up sleeve of his shirt. It had healed quickly, nothing more than a thick, red scar. Lucky bastard, he was always swift at healing. A natural gift from his family, he’d say, the only good thing they’d bestowed upon him. A gift, to survive the torrents of his father’s punches, and his mother’s wickedness.
His blade was similar size to Cannon’s, and the memory of his death sliced through her—the expression on his face as he was impaled on his own weapon, seared into her retinas.
Blake charged with a subtle warning yell, and Kora parried, swiftly darting around him, and driving her elbow between his lower shoulder blades. The crew laughed as he tumbled, spun around, and raised his sword to deflect her next attack. She leapt with surprising force, her blades crossed over the other to slice his neck.
She bounced back, her movements nimble, as Blake lunged again. His dark smile spreading as she deflected, twirling in the air, followed by a parry, slicing the edge of his black jerkin, but not injuring him. They’d done this many times before. Fighting for the audience. Showing off their moves. Telling the world they hated each other, when deep down . . . it was quite the opposite.
Love was forbidden in the armada.
As their weapons clashed, Blake leaned in with a grin. “If you wanted me out of my clothes so badly, all you had to do was say.” Her cheeks heated at his whisper, and his mood dissipated, replaced with a new kind of hunger.
They continued their deadly dance of ducking and sparring, their attacks missingslightly, to give the impression they matched each other in combat, when really, Blake was stronger. His weapon was impressive—she would know, she’d bought the damned thing as a gift—and could easily spear her to the deck in one lethal movement, ending her life. But Kora had speed and agility on her side.
She narrowly ducked Blake’s next attack. His blade a hair’s breadth from slicing her torso, and a shocked murmur rippled through the crowd. Kora whirled on her knees, whipping her daggers up as Blake swiped his weapon down to her head in a deadly blow, hovering by her thrumming scar. A move they’d perfected over the years.
Metal upon metal clanged, the force vibrating up their arms as they sprawled onto their backs, legs tangling together. Her body smarted with pain and sweat dripped down her back onto the warm deck. She pushed up onto her elbows and Blake smirked. She laughed as the crew stood in stunned silence.
Finlay shouldered through the crowd, concern and confusion clouding his slim, tanned face. As Kora stood, heading to Blake to shake hands over the friendly skirmish, she could feel Finlay’s curious eyes pinned on her back.
“Maybe next time, Mr Marwood.” Kora flashed him a cunning smile.
Blake’s thumb slightly caressed the back of her hand. “It would be my honour, Captain.”
He bowed his head and silently strode to the brig—or, as they liked to call it, Hell’s Pit—to resume his prisoner interrogation. Kora retreated to her quarters located beneath the helm with a spring in her step, sensing Finlay wasn’t far behind.
7
Kora’s quarters were spacious and cosy. Warm, inviting cream bedding, with bright blue throw pillows, adorned a sturdy large bed, hidden behind a tall wooden divider she used for privacy. Heaps of identical jerkins, tunics, leathers, and breeches were casually draped over the top.
A stunning view of the ocean from the rear bay windows peeked through heavy, dark-blue drapes, lined with cream silk. A matching exquisite, cream chaise longue, with black claw-feet, stood before the windows. It was Kora’s favourite place to be alone when at sea, surrounded by stacks of books and an assortment of favoured weapons she hadn’t bothered to place on the rack.
A large desk, big enough for eight people, centred towards the entrance, was littered with maps and navigational charts of the Azarian Islands. The drawers stuffed to the brim with ledgers of their escapades from the past year. Nearby the chaise lounge, the two suspicious—yet stunning—ruby and moonstone chestswere hidden under a swath of torn sail fromDemon Sea Siren, their contents safely locked from prying eyes.
