Alexandra Christo

Some people burn so brightly, it’s impossible to put the flames out. Thankfully, that’s just what I need.

When Lira runs her tongue over her lips, my hands unclench and the anger seeps from me. Everything she does is sensual, playing her part as perfectly as she can. Or maybe she doesn’t need to act and simply enjoys the lustful way Rycroft’s teeth scrape his lip when he watches her.

She lifts her rum from the table with a slow and steady hand. “Just so we understand each other,” she says, swirling the goblet indifferently, “I’m not his lady.”

Before I can register the look on Rycroft’s face, Lira lurches forward and throws the golden liquid straight into his eye.

His jaw ticks as he sleeps, and when his eyes flutter as though they’re about to open, something snags in my chest.

He doesn’t wake.

Elian’s family taught him to be something else. The kind of man willing to throw a strange girl out of harm’s way and battle a tyrannical pirate in her place. The chivalry I used to scoff at has saved my life twice now. Is that what it means to be human? Pushing someone else out of danger and throwing yourself in?

My breath lodges and a feeling of nausea rises up through my stomach. Then Elian lifts his head and shakes the dust from his hair.

I let loose a long breath and my frenzied human heart returns to its normal rhythm.

“Go,” I tell him.

Elian’s eyes harden. Darken. That green disappearing under a whirlpool of anger. “Being a martyr doesn’t suit you,” he says.

“Just go,” I hiss.

“I’m not just going to leave you here.”

When the door to the cabin crashes open, I jolt. My shoulders tense, fingernails ready to become weapons once more.

Elian doesn’t even glance at Tallis Rycroft.

He crosses the room toward me, eyes bright and so green and flickering with relief.

The strange girl they found floating in the middle of the ocean. They came for me.

When he turns back to me, his eyes flicker over my face. His lips tense to a thin line as he notices the scrapes burning into my cheek.

“What are you doing here?” I ask.

He shrugs. “What I do best.”

“Getting on my last nerve?”

“Saving you,” he replies, picking up his sword. “This is the second time. Not that I’m counting.”

It’s the third, actually, if we count how he pushed me from Rycroft’s path on the deck of the ship. Elian may not be counting, but I am.

“I can’t believe you came back for me,” I say.