Against Dark Tides (Beneath Black Sails, #2)

by Clare Sager

With her perfect plum-coloured gown and caramel-gold hair, Lucia Pevensey understood the importance of appearances. However, that understanding didn’t extend to seeing what lay behind them. In the case of Viscount and Viscountess Villiers, it was less young love, more fake marriage of convenience between mortal enemies.

At least, that’s what she thought it was. If it wasn’t rage stinging her eyes and blocking her throat, then it was something far worse. Something unacceptable. Something powerless and pathetic and broken. Something she would not succumb to. Anger was stronger.

Maybe it was cruel. But it wasn’t as cruel as locking a fae-blooded woman in an iron cage. And it wasn’t as cruel as sleeping with someone you planned to betray.

The sea. Her beloved sea. Immense. Ancient. Ever-moving. It whispered to her gift, called her, sang to her. It would never let her down.

They’d so nearly had something, but now all that was left was this mangled wreckage.

And Wild Hunt it had been good. More than good. Glorious. Devastating.

did warn you not to trust me. Idiot that she was, she had.

She winced. Was this how people without magic felt? Powerless? Like the world just happened at and around them and they could do nothing to affect it?

Like discomfort, weather and sea had no concept of miles, but, Lords, this thing was big.

She didn’t know if that was rain or spray on her face anymore, and maybe the gods didn’t either. It was just wet and cold and stinging and constant.

She’d spent her life not giving in. She wasn’t about to start now.

Seeing her fighting to climb back up hadn’t only been a relief, it had warmed him with a ferocious pride. She did not give in. Hells, she’d still been directing the ship, despite what it added to her struggle.

“Desperate? I knew it!” With a snort, Billy shook his head, tension dissolving. “I knew there was something off when you were happy to leave so quickly.” He flashed Knigh a smile of triumph. “At first, I assumed you were trying to smuggle someone out of the country who was merely posing as your wife. But seeing the two of you together—you’re clearly mad about each other.”

Prickly and beautiful. Just like Vee. He swallowed a laugh. To tell her that—ha, it would be suicide. But… holly was prickly for a reason. He’d seen it keep livestock and deer at bay, even as neighbouring plants were stripped bare.

Please. He almost said it. In that moment, he’d have begged if she’d demanded it. Because that stupid chaste kiss earlier had been nowhere near enough. Better they hadn’t shared it than be left with such an unquenched thirst.

He wanted to add another method to those he’d used to show her how truly sorry he was. He wanted to hold her close, to whisper against her skin how wrong he’d been, how he’d do whatever it took to make it right. He would worship her with his body, prove how much he cared, how much she meant to him. Her willing servant.

The distance vanished and their lips met, melting together, warm and soft and delicious and right. She sighed against his mouth as he pressed her against the door.

No words. No pain. This was beautiful. This is broken.

Her eyes stung. The pressure surged, more than her body could contain. So broken.

She tried to cling to the moment of nothingness, but it was black sand between her fingers. Too soon she was back in this cabin, on this bunk, with him, and it was that simple and that horribly complicated.

What a fool. What a damn fool. This wasn’t just bodies. She sank into his lap, still straddling him, slumped, raw, her breaths sounding as ragged as her heart felt. Not just bodies.

Why did he have to go and ruin it like that? Saying sweet words, looking at her like that? Why did he have to ruin good sex with feelings?

“I thought maybe I felt something for you, but”—she closed her eyes—“but I was an idiot. It’s just that you’re good at this.” She jutted her chin at the bed. “That’s all. It addled my brain, and I thought it was special. So when you betrayed me, it hurt more than it should have.”

“I thought it was just bodies.” She stared at him, nostrils flaring as she shook her head. “But it can never be just that between us.”

Some feelings weren’t worth having. They were exhausting. Painful. Weak.

He’d betrayed her. She had to remember that one simple fact. He’d betrayed her.

Wake up and tell me to stop being soppy.

Everyone dies. Everyone leaves, somehow. Everyone lets you down, eventually.

“Much better than your tears,” he croaked, eyes bright as he managed a grin. “I didn’t have you down as a crier.” His fingertips brushed her cheek and rose as if holding a trophy. “I’m touched.”

Some dark instinct whispered in Vice’s ear. She could just step back, let him and the others do what they wanted to Knigh. No one else would ever know. She wouldn’t have to look at him anymore. It would be easy. And would it really be her fault? It’s what the Royal Navy’s version of Lady Vice would do. But the Royal Navy had always been wrong about her.

She was no worse than any other pirate—hells, she was kinder than many. Most of what they said about her was a lie—torturer, murderer, sadist. One story claimed she’d made a bargain with a fae Lord, lying with him to gain power over the sea.

Yes, she was a pirate and a killer, but she’d never killed someone who wasn’t fighting back, so how was that different to a marine cutting his way across...

She was still angry at him, still hurting. Her hand went to her chest. Her heart hammered against her ribs, hard, sore. But her feelings were more complicated than that. The idea of the world without him… Her lungs burned as though she couldn’t draw in enough air.

“Of course I did,” he murmured. “Because it was never just the job. Wanting you and”—a shiver lifted the hairs on his forearms—“and letting myself have you—Vee, it wasn’t whatever it takes to get the job done.”

This moment. His chest ached with how gentle it was. Its quietness.

“Vee,” he murmured, and her finger lifted from the shell, hovering in the air above it, “I—I know I warned you that I was untrustworthy. And I’ve clearly proven that I am.” His voice came out thick with wanting, with longing, with the heavy weight of guilt sitting on his chest. “But I want to be worthy of trust—I want to be worthy of your trust.”

This was the woman who’d made him believe she wasn’t a monster.

How had he ever believed the Navy?

“Knigh,” she breathed. And then there was no air between them. He wasn’t sure if he’d bent to her or if she’d tiptoed to him or if they’d both moved in one moment; all he knew was that her mouth was against his.

“Vee.” But he didn’t know what more to say—maybe he just needed to taste her name again.

No matter how good it felt in the moment, it would only lead to more hurt after. She hadn’t forgiven him. He hadn’t forgiven himself. And he’d told himself he wouldn’t take pleasure in her company, never mind her.

“I planned it. Once I was on the beach, facing the gallows, I was going to use whatever strength I had left to bring in a storm. Maybe I could have washed it and them all away. I figured at least then my body would go back to the sea.”

She hadn’t believed he would go back for her.

She glared at his hand. “You should have thrown it overboard. But you can’t let go of the stupid thing. And I can’t let go of what you did.” She fell silent and the aftermath of her words rang around the room, lending the silence a heaviness that weighed on his lungs. I can’t let go of what you did. Her words chimed again and again. I can’t let go of what you did. Of course she couldn’t. He needed to— I can’t let go of what you did.

“Non obsequiorum,” he muttered. We do not yield. Or perhaps, We do not serve was a better translation.

Or was it We do not submit? Maybe that was why Vee wanted to be captain. Then she wouldn’t have to submit to anyone. Another wall of protection. Another mile of distance between her and everyone else.

Pirates laughed and joked most of the time—probably because death was only ever a storm or a sabre away—but there were times, usually brief, when they were serious. Choosing a captain was one of those times.

“Maybe you don’t mean to, but your decisions endanger others. Of course we don’t trust you—not with this.”

No one will follow you because you’ll only lead them to death.

If they didn’t trust her with their lives, then they didn’t trust her. End of story.