Total pages in book: 105
Estimated words: 97188 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 486(@200wpm)___ 389(@250wpm)___ 324(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 97188 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 486(@200wpm)___ 389(@250wpm)___ 324(@300wpm)
“Even monsters have attacks of conscience, love.” Nox nudges me out the door and closes it firmly behind me.
If they understood what a pelt is to a selkie, they wouldn’t be so quick to dismiss the loss. If Nox was a shifter, they might have more sympathy, but perhaps not. It would get in the way of the rebellion’s grand plan, after all.
I shake my head. I’m tired and heartsore, and want nothing more than to strike out at anyone in my vicinity. If I wasn’t missing a vital part of myself, I would be more sympathetic to Nox’s situation. Gods, I am part of the rebellion. I believe in the cause.
The Cŵn Annwn are more monstrous than the creatures they hunt. The Council sits down in Lyari, gorging themselves on the resources they claim to deserve for the duty of keeping Threshold safe. They don’t care that the majority of their captains run their respective ships however they like, abusing their power wherever they go. Many of them aren’t overly worried if their victims are monsters or strangers or people born and raised in the realm they’re supposed to be protecting.
They need to be brought down. For everyone’s sake. Even without the rebellion, there’s fear and resentment simmering just below the surface. If we’re not careful, violence will erupt unplanned, and there’s every chance the Cŵn Annwn will take it as an opportunity to make an example of the first community to flare up. To ensure it never happens again.
With the rebellion, with the proper organization, there’s a chance to avoid that fate, to make a change in Threshold for the better. That’s the cause Nox is fighting for. It’s so much bigger than me and my personal loss.
I take a deep breath and exhale slowly through my nose. Nox is a dead end. That leaves very few options. I very much don’t want to have to travel with the vampire for . . . gods know how long. Threshold is a big place, and even if you’re only counting the permanent islands, it could be months before we find what we’re looking for.
The thought makes my chest hurt.
Belowdecks, I’m nearly to my room when the door opens in front of me. I stop short, suddenly remembering what Lizzie said. She’s feeding. On Poet, apparently, because that’s who stumbles into the hallway.
I can’t help searching her neck for evidence of a bite. There’s nothing. But there is a heavy look in Poet’s eyes of someone well pleased. Her hair is mussed a little and her cheeks are flushed. She catches me looking at her and grins. “I don’t like the vampire much, but I do like her bite. Damn.”
What does her bite do to put that look on your face?
I chomp down on my tongue until copper floods my mouth. Under no circumstances will I ask that question. The less I know about this feeding process, the better. Or maybe Lizzie and Poet are fucking, and Lizzie lied about feeding. Either way, it’s none of my business.
If you’re sailing together for weeks, the vampire will have to feed . . . on you.
I forcibly shut that thought down as I slide past Poet and keep walking, heading for the kitchens. I’m almost able to outrun the strange anticipation I feel . . .
Almost.
chapter 5
Lizzie
I’ll die before I admit how pathetically grateful I am to hear the call go up of land sighted. Thank the gods. I crave solid ground beneath my feet instead of the constant rolling of the deck. To see absolutely anything other than the endless blue of sea and sky. I was not made to be a pirate.
On the ship, there’s no escaping all that water. It surrounds us, just waiting for a vicious storm or a particularly determined monster to sink us. There would be no help, no way to escape. Just the depths opening up to pull us down, down, down . . .
I force myself to stand at the railing, though I’m careful to keep out of the way of the crew rushing about to prepare to go ashore. The weather is nice today, cool with a faint breeze that prickles my skin. I wish I could enjoy it. Instead, my gaze is pulled to the choppy waves, the swells making the ship dip and sway. When I finally return home, I’m going to stay landlocked for a few decades, until my unease of being on open water fades.
The little blot of dark gray become larger as we approach. Viedna. The island the selkie calls home. It’s low and sprawling, the shoreline rocky and bare until it meets the deep green of the low trees. There must be some kind of reef, or whatever it is that causes waves, because they seem to increase the closer we get, crashing violently upon the rocky shore. It’s strangely peaceful.