Through Dark Storms (Beneath Black Sails, #4)

by Clare Sager

“That was a yes, by the way.”

“I did wonder.”

“Awfully bold of you to have already ordered the wedding ring.” “Eh.” With that casual sound, he shrugged. “I had a feeling you might say yes.” “Arrogant bastard.”

“Gorgeous, glorious, arrogant bastard…” Her lips grazed his with each word as they shared breath. “… Who’s all mine.” “I am.” He kissed her. “Yours.” Again. “Entirely.” A million times more wouldn’t be enough. “Always.”

He lost himself in it, in her, his Pirate Queen, his fiancée, his future wife.

“Tease.” She tugged on his hair. He couldn’t help but growl at the rough treatment. “Is that a complaint?” “I want more.”

Her want was his. Her desire was his. She was his.

“Are you mine, Vee, body and soul?”

“Say it and I’ll give you more.” “I’m yours. Body, mind, soul… every part of me. Yours. Always.”

“If this is our last night together”—her touch skimmed his belly, getting lower and lower, making his muscles tremor in anticipation—“I want to memorise every inch of you, every movement, the way you twitch and your eyebrows crease together when you come apart, so I can take it all with me to the next place.”

“You’re not going anywhere”—his breath caught when her hand reached his bare cock, streaking pleasure through his nerves—“and neither am I.”

“You have to marry me, remember?”

“How could I forget? It’s the best reason to live I’ve ever had.”

It was new growth on a spring day, the moon on an otherwise dark night. It was autumn breeze and summer rain and those chilly winter days when the sky was an impossibly clear blue and the sun made you forget the cold. It was every star glittering overhead and in the inky waves. It was a fair wind at sea after days spent becalmed. It was birdsong and midnight silence. Frost on fallen leaves and dew on grass. It was a warm blanket on a cold night, a cool pillow on a hot one. It was comfort and lust, friendship and love, aching need and soothing trust.

“I love you.”

“And I adore you.”

“My queen on her throne.”

“Shit, Love, you take me so well.” “I do,” she choked out. “I do.”

“I’m yours,” he whispered. “All of me. Always.”

“Whatever comes tomorrow?” “Whatever comes tomorrow or the day after or the day after that.”

“That’s what alway...

Lady Vice. Vee. Sea witch. Pirate Queen. Avice Ferrers.

It was all he could do to hold the wheel steady, because it was Vee, but made of smoky cloud and a constantly shifting web of lightning that moved across her ‘skin’ as intricate and beautiful as the finest lace. Her eyes glowed in pure energy, tendrils of energy threading from the outside corners and snapping away.

The leviathan’s neck arched back like it was in immense pain before it twisted and turned and sank its teeth into the kraken.

Nooooooo

Something tugged in his chest and a moment later electricity crackled along his blade and across his knuckles.

But so too did Aedan’s blade as it caught a blow meant for him. “Focus, buddy.”

If Mercia had suddenly developed some stupid sense of loyalty that made him think he should go down with his ship, and George had decided to stay with him out of an even greater stupidity—“I’ll murder them both.”

“Forgive me, Vee.” Even as he walked away from her, making for the nearest hatch, he meant it. “I must find George.”

Vice was going to murder Knighton Blackwood. That was if he fucking survived.

And Mercia, always so cool, so unruffled, so sneering and far too amused by everything to ever betray shock, looked, well, a mess. Hair plastered to his face, he swayed on his feet. His eyes gleamed in the scant light, and his lip trembled as it curved like he was trying to smile back but the threatening tears were winning.

“You beautiful fool.”

“I do love you, Mercy, but you can be an absolute shit when it comes to your sister and that throne.”

“You are silly… and, I daresay, right.”

“Shh, my love, my darling.” Mercia really did love him. Really. Truly. It wasn’t some ploy to get to Knigh. George wasn’t just something he could use to hold power over him.

I couldn’t even locate every single breach. Damn kraken.” He squeezed George tight. “It’s almost as though you shouldn’t piss off giant sea creatures.” “Vee.” Knigh’s voice was a warning.

She's Not wrong though

“You mean to say you two bonded without even knowing what you were getting into? Oh, Lords and Ladies, that is precious. Vice, you don’t surprise me, but, Blackwood? Flinging yourself into something so—” “The relevance?” Knigh ground out. “We don’t have time for your amusement.”

“You’ve given me a lot to stare at.” The corset had taken her natural curves and made them… more. Her waist dipped in more, her hips curved out more, and her breasts heaved with each breath. He couldn’t decide whether he wanted to place his hands on that nip of her waist or over the swell of her bust.

Mercia was going to lose his damn mind.

“Elegant and understated. I like it. Good choice, brother. Perhaps hint to Billy that I like sapphires.”

“Oh yes, the Pirate Queen’s making an honest man out of her pirate hunter. It’s all so romantic.”

She’d told him a long time ago that it didn’t matter to her when it came to lovers: she liked who she liked.

What an odd family this was shaping up to be. Gatherings would certainly continue to be this strange blend of sniping sarcasm and genuine warmth—the former for Mercia and the latter for his siblings. But if George was happy… With a smile, Vee gave him a sidelong look that said she knew exactly what he was thinking.

“Friends come and go, like waves on the shore, but the true ones stick around in your life, like an octopus to the face.” She raised her glass.

they’re not men’s clothes, they’re your clothes. I want you to wear something you love, something you’re comfortable in, something that’s you. It could be a sack for all I care.”

“All that matters to me is that I get to marry you.”

“I am more than happy to submit to you in any way you wish. I am yours, whatever you wear, however ladylike you do or do not wish to be, whatever ‘wifely duties’ you wish to perform or to ask of me.” His grip tightened. “When I become your husband, I promise I’ll still be the same man I am now.”

His stomach fluttered like it had when he’d proposed. Damn butterflies. He’d always thought them beautiful, hopeful somehow, but now he was sick of the blasted things.

He hadn’t agonised on his clothes as Vee had, but he’d worn his best breeches in navy blue—some habits died hard—a simple waistcoat to match, and a new white shirt of soft, smooth linen, sleeves rolled up.

Billy perked up when Is appeared cradling a bunch of local flowers in orange, hot coral pink, and white. They shot each other not-entirely-furtive glances as she sashayed to the opposite side of the aisle.

She was definitely a pirate, because she stole the breath clean from his lungs.