Page 119 of Take No Prisoners
She feigned surprise at his outburst. "Klaus agreed."
"Fuck's sake."
"I haven't heard you swear this much since ..."
He didn't have to ask her not to finish the sentence. He remembered that night all too well, when he'd returned to tell them Willamina was gone. He'd sworn up an impotent storm of threats to the gods. Their answer had been to send him after Willamina's son over a decade later.
"He's coming around." Olivia met his scowl with a quizzical smile. "I don't know why he'd want to spend time with the likes of you, but he insisted."
Vadim very much doubted that. Klaus had been adamant they would never see each other again once he was free of Vadim's tether."If that means I'm dead, so be it,"he'd railed.
"He's probably waiting for you," Olivia said.
She didn't say it, but he could feel the judgment in her voice. He wasn't the first mate of this ship anymore. He had no business above deck after dark. It had been his place, though. He knewStarlight Specterlike the back of his hand, knew her creaks and tells as well as Efren did. He'd lovingly swabbed her deck more times than he wanted to admit, grateful to have something to do to pass the lonely days on the sea.
He'd been unhappy here, more often than not. He'd been unhappy most of his life, if he dared to admit it. Unhappy at home, where Elsie tormented him for living. Unhappy training with Martiz because he always took and never gave in return. Unhappy leaving Aquarion at eighteen because he shouldn't have had to leave, damn it. Martiz stole his healing power and then sent him to learn how to use it in Hearthstone, the bastard.
Hesse had made him happy. He smiled at those memories, even now. Their former emperor had been a headstrong troublemaker and a violent drunk. He'd created problems and then used his imperial guards to make them go away. The few times Vadim had taken mortal wounds to the heart, he'd been protecting the dumbass from arrows.
Mortal, except Hesse was nothing if not giving. He always had a healer on hand, and she worked faster than most, knitting together Vadim's heart muscles when his own body refused. His lack of healing power provided enough of an imbalance that he could steal power from her without her knowing it. He felt guilty each time, but if she noticed, she never said, and he was stronger for it next time. After the third time, he was able to heal well enough on his own.
Now, he had the whole of his power returned. He was a formidable death weaver, the most powerful he'd ever met. Most death weavers couldn't stomach using themselves as bait, so most had turned to their healing powers, no matter how small, and used them instead.
Vadim had turned to death out of spite. Spite for his auntie. Spite for Martiz, the stealing asshole. Spite for a world that saw him for exactly what he was and feared him, anyway. He couldn't harm anyone who didn't consent, or who didn't want to harm him. It was that simple. If you didn't want to be on the wrong side of a death weaver, you should have left them alone.
Vadim fully expected Klaus to leave him alone. He was surprised to find a light enchantment in the hold by their door, and even more amazed to see Klaus sprawled above an open book on the floor in the doorway of their makeshift cabin. He was shirtless and tangled in what looked like a double sail for sleeping.
Their private room was almost the size of Efren's, though the walls were too thin to hold much body heat, not to mention their voices. It was a good thing Martiz was on the other side of the ship, locked in the soundproof true hold.
"I didn't think you'd return so soon," Klaus said.
"Were you waiting up for me?"
Klaus glanced up, where an anchor for the sail bed had torn loose from the wall. "I needed to talk to you. It's fallen three times now. I didn't want you to try to lie in it and crush me to death."
They'd been over the sail bed debate numerous times. Vadim swore by them on the sea. He hated rolling from one wall to the other on the boat's whim. He much preferred hanging within the sail, rocking side to side with the boat but never moving.
Klaus was quite the opposite. He hated sails. Too many times, he'd woken from slumber to find a member of Coryn's navy had twisted his sail so that he couldn't escape, and when he screamed for help, they'd descended on him and used him for their pleasure. Only once the crew was satisfied could Klaus begin his day.
Vadim knelt in the doorway, his knee only inches from Klaus's head. "No one on this ship will hurt you."
"You're in my light."
Gods, this young man would be the death of him. All Vadim wanted was to protect him, and still he railed and fought like a wildcat.
He stood and brushed at his coat, as though he could brush the dampness from it. "I'll take one of the sails in the crew's hold, then. Good night."
"I'm sorry." Klaus was now looking around the lip of the door like a curious tabby, the book forgotten beneath him. "Please, stay?"
"You have no reason to be sorry." Vadim grinned, though his chest ached with the words. "I'm nothing to you now that you're healed. You can move on without me, as you've so desperately wanted."
Klaus closed his eyes, hiding the giant brown disks from view. "I am sorry, though. I said things I didn't—shouldn't have said. I was rude, and I'm sorry."
"I'll try to fix the sail, then."
Klaus disappeared from view, rustling around with the sail. When Vadim looked through the doorway again, Klaus had the sail spread over the mattress he'd been laying on like a top sheet. "I'd rather you didn't. We can keep each other warm down here."
Fuck. Now it was Vadim's turn to squeeze his eyes shut in an attempt to fight his baser urges. As a death weaver, he was always cold. He craved Klaus's heat, and thanks to the tether between them, Klaus had known it. He'd never exploited that fact before, though, always too afraid of what might happen if they slept in the same bed.
