Page 49 of Rise of the Gods: Vardor's Destiny
"Apologies—apologies, Señor," the sailor stammered, hands raised in surrender. "No harm meant!"
"Vardor, please," I beseeched him, placing a hand on his arm. The tips of my fingers burned where I touched the material of his jacket, feeling how tightly it wrapped over his bulging, rock-hard muscle. A nervous flutter moved through my stomach that wasn't all unpleasant.
Vardor looked at me, "Are you unhurt?"
His eyes burned with a ferociousness that caught my breath. The realization that he was protecting me rushed through me like hot fire. Nobody had ever protected me. Defended me. It was an unfamiliar notion, but one I liked very much. I nodded hastily, nervously looking at the sailor whose face was turning purple. With a shove and a grunt of disdain, Vardor released the man, sending him staggering backward into the group of sailors.
"That was unnecessary," I muttered, because... because it was the polite thing to do, not because I was defending the sailor. Strangely, the man didn't mean anything to me. I hadn't wanted to see him die for brushing against me, but... I shook my head, having no idea who this person inside me was.
Vardor turned his black eyes on me, unreadable, unyielding. "No one touches what is mine."
My stomach tightened, and my breath caught in my throat for the second time in the span of minutes. I should have argued and told him I wasn't his, that he had no claim over me. ButI didn't. Because some deep-rooted, primitive instinct buried deep inside me liked it. Liked it very much.
"Come," Vardor urged me on, leading me to an inn that had been suggested by the captain. He secured a room for us before we took off in search of a ship bound for Cairo. It didn't take long to find one, but it wouldn’t leave for three days.
Vardor's impatience was evident, but my excitement matched it in intensity. Everything around me was new and exotic, overstimulating every single one of my senses on our stroll down the harbor. The streets opened into a bustling market square wedged between the docks and the winding alleys that led deeper into the city. This place was so different from England, it made my heart soar. The air was warm and rich with the tang of citrus and a medley of spices. Some were familiar—cinnamon, cumin, saffron—but their scent here was far more potent than what I was used to in England, where the aromas had always been faint, dulled by time and distance. There, they had seemed exotic; here, they were intoxicating, vibrant, overwhelming in a way I had never imagined.
Stalls lined the streets, overflowing with silks, baskets of glistening fruit, beaded jewelry, and strange trinkets I had never seen before.
My eyes widened as I took it all in, my heart soared at the rich displays of color, scent and sounds. Merchants called out in Spanish, Arabic, French and other languages I had never heard before. Their voices blended with the lively hum of the crowd. I was becoming intoxicated by the overstimulation. From several stalls hung fabrics much more colorful than even in my father's store. Some looked like they had been spun from sunlight.
No rooftops threw shadows over the area. I had a clear view of the cloudless sky and saw the sun's rays reflected off hundreds of tiny glass beads, like a thousand colorful stars. Slowly, I turned in a circle, my fingers itching to reach out and toucheverything. The silky scarf in a deep blue that was wafting from a stall beam, a bright red bracelet that looked like fire, a bright green parakeet sitting on a man's shoulder, and further down, a monkey. I giggled. A monkey.
But then I froze, remembering a similar moment. A moment where I had stared at the staircase at Carlton House. Thomas had been embarrassed by my unladylike behavior, and here I was, doing it again. I turned to Vardor, expecting him to scold me like Thomas had done. Instead, Vardor's eyes were alight with pleasure.
"You're enjoying this place?"
"This is incredible," I breathed, unable to hide my excitement. I searched his features for a hidden meaning, for a reprimand. Instead, he only smiled at me warmly.
"It is quite amazing," he admitted, never taking his eyes off me. A flutter stirred in my stomach upon realizing that not only did he have no intention of reprimanding my behavior, but he actually enjoyed it. I had already known that he wasn't like Thomas, my father, or any other man I had ever met, but now an unsettling truth started to seep into me. I was starting to like him.
I broke our eye contact and rushed to the nearest table because my emotions were running away from me. Intricately carved wooden figurines—some of animals, some of warriors, and others of gods I did not recognize filled the vendors display. Vardor silently followed me. I felt his hot gaze on me and worked hard to ignore it.
A glint of gold caught my eye, and I drifted toward another display of delicate earrings, each dangling with tiny coins or shimmering stones. Incredibly valuable gems lured me in, but once I reached the stall, my gaze caught on something unlike the others—a bracelet made of countless tiny, thin coins, each one etched with symbols and inscriptions worn by time. Somewere smooth from centuries of touch, others still held faint impressions of gods, prayers, and celestial markings. It wasn't simply jewelry; it was a relic, something sacred.
I reached for it and reverently held it up.
"A pilgrimage bangle," the merchant said, watching me with knowing eyes. "Travelers once collected these, adding a coin for each temple they visited, each god they honored."
Vardor's hand closed over mine, bringing the bracelet up to his eyes for closer inspection. My breath caught at the touch. His hands were calloused and rough. I had seen their strength, had watched this hand break a man's neck, yet his touch was as light as a petal brushing against me. Incredibly gentle, as if he was afraid to break me. A thick clump formed in my throat, and a storm broke out inside my stomach. No, not a storm, a wind tunnel, churning and thundering with emotions that set my very pulse on fire.
"A belief forged in metal," Vardor murmured, his voice rough, unreadable. "A history of faith."
Recognition flickered in his dark gaze. He had seen this before. Or something like it. My heart hammered as he slid it on my wrist, the tiny coins jingled softly, whispering with the voices of those who had carried them before me.
"You should have this," he said simply, fastening the clasp.
For a long moment, I just stared at him, unable to shake the feeling that with this gesture, the past had bound itself to me just as surely as the man before me had.
"You didn't have to do that," I murmured.
"You wanted it." He replied.
I swallowed as heat crept up my neck. It wasn't about the bracelet. It was about him noticing. About him watching me as I explored this strange world, about him choosing to give me something simply because I had looked at it too long.
Thomas had bought me gifts, too. Perfumes, jewelry, beautiful things to show me off—but not because he cared what I liked. I had been a possession he liked to decorate. I couldn't say his gifts had never meant anything to me, they had. I had been starved for affection, wanting to make each of his gestures into something more. Into the illusion that he liked me, was falling in love with me, and never would follow through with his threat.
This was different. A strange tightness curled in my chest. I was starting to look at him like a man I was attracted to. Not as my abductor. Not as my travel companion, but as a man of flesh and blood, who made my stomach flutter and my heart hammer faster.
