Page 44 of Rise of the Gods: Vardor's Destiny
"You are insufferable," I hissed.
His smirk returned, slow and wicked. He didn't say a word. He didn't need to. I already felt like I wanted to scream. I wanted to slap him. But more than that, I wanted to ignore the fact that I was still shaking, not from fear, but from the way he had looked at me—as if he already owned me.
It was getting dark by the time we arrived in Portsmouth. Mud and a broken wheel had cost us a couple of hours of additional travel time, forcing me to try and clear mud from Vardor's trousers, just like I had tried to stop him from helping the driver. Both had been futile.
The scent of brine and damp wood hung thick in the air. The streets were slick with rain. Cobblestones glistened under the glow of oil lamps mounted on iron posts, their dim flames flickering against the wet ground. Shadows stretched long and deep, pooling in alleyways where figures lurked—dockworkers finishing their shift, sailors spilling from taverns thick with smoke and the tang of cheap rum.
I pulled my cloak tighter around me, the bite of sea air feeling sharp against my skin. Even though the night was cool, the smell of fish, tar, and unwashed bodies made the air feel heavy, oppressive. The further we traveled down the winding streets, the louder the sounds of the port became—shouted orders, the rhythmic creaking of docked ships swaying against their moorings, and the occasional clatter of hooves as carts hauled barrels of supplies toward the water.
Vardor stood unmoving across from me, his black eyes reflected nothing but the flickering light outside. He hadn't spoken in hours; his silence was somehow more suffocating than the damp air.
"Where are you going?" He demanded when I moved toward the docks where the ships were moored.
"I need to stretch my legs for a moment," I said. But it wasn't entirely true. I had spent all my life in London, dreaming not only of Egypt, but of what it would be like to travel. Never in a hundred years would I have imagined to do so with my kidnapper, but here I was. Despite the darkness, I could see the ocean over the many bodies and sizes of ships, hear the sound of water slapping against aging wood. The moon stood high, allowing me a full view of the endless vastness of the ocean. A sensation of incredible freedom spread through my chest as I inhaled the air deeply. Which was ironic since I was still a captive, but right then, it didn't matter.
"It's beautiful," I remarked when I heard Vardor's heavy footsteps approaching.
"It stinks," he grumbled. "Come, you can look at the ocean to your heart's content for the next few weeks."
Reluctantly, I followed him back to the carriage, where the driver was unloading our luggage.
I noticed nearby dockworkers and saw how their conversations faltered as they sized Vardor up. Even in thegloom of night, even with his fancy clothing, he didn't quite blend in.
His sheer size, the way he carried himself—like a conqueror surveying his next territory—made him impossible to ignore. And he wasn't even trying. Deep primal instincts in men made them recognize the predator among them. It didn't matter that there were many of them and only one of him, I saw in their eyes that none of them would challenge him. Not that they would challenge a gentleman at all, they had no reason to, still. It was a most disturbing moment.
"Now what?" I asked, my voice hushed as my gaze moved once more toward the docks, where masts stretched into the sky like skeletal fingers, black against the moonlit night.
Vardor didn't answer right away. Instead, he inhaled deeply, his broad shoulders rising with the motion, as if he were tasting the air, reading something I couldn't. His fingers flexed at his sides, then curled into loose fists.
"There," he finally murmured, motioning toward a cluster of ships further down the docks, their flags snapping in the wind. "One of those will take us where we need to go."
I followed his gaze, and nerves coiled in my stomach. Suddenly, I wasn't so sure how I felt about stepping onto a ship, of leaving England behind forever. I closed my eyes and tried to imagine myself here with Thomas instead of Vardor, but failed. He was too much of a presence to allow any other person in, not even in my mind.
And yet, standing next to him in the cold, watching the restless water churn in the harbor... I felt something else entirely.
Something akin to fate had brought me here, had me standing next to this man instead of Thomas.
The deck tilted beneath my feet, the wooden planks creaking asThe Orion's Tidesliced through the dark waves. I clutched the railing and my fingers went numb from the salty wind as I stared at England fading into the horizon, the last hints of home swallowed by the mist curling over the water.
A strange hollowness settled in my chest. Had I made the right choice?
I had told myself a thousand times that I hadn't, that cooperating with Vardor was a mistake, that I should have fought harder, screamed louder, run faster. But it didn't change the fact that I was here now, on a ship bound for Gibraltar, my fate tethered to a man who had stolen me from my own wedding without hesitation or remorse.
A madman. A kidnapper. A warrior who looked at me as though I belonged to him. And a barbarian at that.
Last night, he introduced me as his wife. The word—the lie—still burned in my mind.
"My wife and I require passage to Gibraltar." He said it so casually, as if it were true instead of a calculated lie. The ship's captain had barely blinked before leading us to the largest cabin aboard the vessel, our passage secured in exchange for a thick bracelet made from pure gold.
When we entered the cabin with its worn bedding and leaky window that allowed in a cold draft, I prepared myself for a fight—I wouldnotshare the bed with him. Instead, he wished me a good night after he made sure our luggage was all there, then took his leave. "Rest, we leave at first light."
Stunned, I stared at his broad back until he closed the door. Where was he going? The ship wasn't leaving the harbor until the morning, but Vardor had wanted to spend the night aboard instead of in one of the questionable inns lining the harbor. Was that where he was going? This was my chance to escape. I should have run to the door and checked if it was unlocked, but I stayed. It wasn't from fear that he would be there somewhere, lurking, like he had at the tavern a few days ago. No, it was worse than that. I stayed because I wanted to. I had nowhere else to go.
Being here in Portsmouth had brought it home to me how ridiculous my plan had been. A woman alone. It was laughable. I would have been mobbed, robbed, maybe violated, maybe killed before the sun rose. Hiring a companion? Unless I had planned the entire route and found trustworthy captains, there was no way I would have been safe with or without a companion, unless the companion was a burly man. Which meant I might as well stick with Vardor.At least for the time being, I told myself, fully aware that those words were becoming more and more a lie. I had made my bed; now I had to lie in it no matter if I liked it or not. At least I had my jewelry. Vardor hadn't even asked to see what I had. I kept it inside the satchel I carried with me at all times. It was a risk, but parting with it by putting it into the luggage seemed an even bigger risk to me. As long as I had it with me, I had the option and the means of simply running—or so I assured myself.
At some point in the night, I woke to the sound of waves slapping against the ship's hull, the cold draft still coming from the porthole and an empty cabin. He still hadn't returned. Angerchurned up inside me. Who did he think he was? Did he go to the Inns to find amusement with the women offering their trades? And why in God's name did that bother me? I should be happy he wasn't forcing himself on me. And I was. Truly.
Later, in the pale morning light, his whereabout were still a mystery, leaving me unsure if he had even been there at all.
