Swashbuckling in the Dark

Chapter Fifteen

A/N: I've been having an indentation issue with Wattpad lately. Apologies for the awkwardness!

Beneath me the sea seemed to broil, frothing and spitting. Careening through the rough, stormy waters, the ship buckled and bounced, jostling me. Sprays of water splashed against the hull, drenching me to the bone. The cold clamped onto me like the ocean herself held me in her icy clutches, anticipating dragging me from the hull and swallowing me.

Driven by survival, my attempts to climb onto the deck were futile. The ship’s hull was slimy; my boots scraped frantically, trying to propel me upwards. I dangled from rails slick with the downpour of the skies.

I could not swim. Roaring with impatience, the sea threatened to claim me as her next meal. The watery monster under my feet was my fears, my doubts, my uncertainty. I was alone. My ineffective hold would not last long.

Ringing out into the night, cutting through the sound of the storm and the rain that hammered down, a voice reached me.

“Take my hand.”

It was male, calm. Desperately, my eyes rose to plead with the man. I’d predicted seeing Dark; he was the only one who came to my rescue at this dire moment.

The chill in my bones seeped into my soul and my breath hitched. Duncan glared down at me, one pale hand outstretched as if to save me from drowning. Self-preservation screamed at me to take his hand. Reason ordered me to search his eyes, daring me to find good intentions. I obeyed the latter, looking into my husband’s deep brown eyes. In them I saw nothing. He would let the sea monster devour me.

“Don’t be a fool. Take my hand.” He didn’t sound angry, but I knew not to trust it. Duncan’s face darkened when I ignored him. “Take it,” he hissed, reaching further as if to grab my wrist. “Return to me.”

Fingers closed around my aching wrist, hard and unyielding as iron, cold as ice. Duncan had stripped me of my options—he would make me face him again.

“Zaina.” A second voice joined us. It was to this voice that I gravitated. Just hearing the sound, low and smoothly spoken, brought me relief. Dark’s voice.

Duncan sneered at me, his grip on me loosened. His hand remained before me, open and waiting. Side by side, the men stood on the deck, each with an open palm towards me. It was here that I habitually woke from the nightmare. On one occasion, Duncan had seized me, pulling me from the rails before releasing me, allowing the ocean to engulf me. In this version Dark would call my name until the shadow of the ship in the water melted into the surrounding blackness of the depths.

This time, I struggled to reach for Dark’s hand first. He gazed down at me with a look of desperation and urgency that was mirrored in my own features.

“Zaina,” he repeated. His hand, warm unlike Duncan’s, clasped mine. He began to pull me up, the sea churning in anger. Scrabbling over the railing with his help, I breathed a sigh of relief. Boots hit deck and I was safe.

Behind us, Duncan laughed. “You can’t run from me forever,” were his last words, whispered over my shoulder as I clung to Dark. His harsh laughter echoed, louder and louder until I woke abruptly.

An audible gasp escaped me as I fought my way free of the remnants of the dream. I was unsurprised to find myself covered in cool sweat. Reflexively, my right hand crept over my shoulder, feeling the bare skin of my upper back. I reminded myself that Duncan was dead several times, running my fingertips over the strips of scarred flesh in a soothing motion.

The dream had occurred three times in the last three days—the number of nights I’d spent away from the crew. I was staying in the small but comfortable loft that Dark’s friend Carlos lived in. As directed, I’d made my way through the town to the shipyards, where I’d located the man matching Dark’s description. He turned out to be a small-ship builder who was curiously happy to provide me with anything I needed. Carlos had anticipated my arrival.