My heart skips a beat as it falls to the ground, but Erik’s hand shoots out instinctively and catches it. I stare up at him for a second, wide-eyed. The look of disdain still coats every one of his features. His mouth is set in a tight line, his eyebrows furrowed as he glares at me.
For a moment, there’s a thick blanket of tension in the air as I meet his eyes. It dissolves as he clears his throat and blinks. He relinquishes his grip, and the chair drops back to its proper place as his gaze drops to my bare shoulder ever-so-quickly.
“You will not disrespect me like this again, especially not in front of the crew. They don’t want you here. I don’t want you here. Stay out of our way, and everything will be fine.”
He’s already opening the door when I put on a stern expression and salute him. He rolls his eyes and slams the door violently. The frame shudders in his wake.
I stare at it for several minutes. A small, genuine smile tugs at the corners of my mouth for the first time in two years.
My Own Personal Siren
ERIK
The following day, I wake up groaning as vicious shards of sunlight shine through the windows of the captain's cabin. I shove my hand over my eyes as though that can stop the pounding hangover from raging through my body. There is a heaviness in my limbs that can only mean one thing.
Last night, things got out of control.
The proof lies on the floor beside me as if I needed more than my raging headache and dry tongue. A curse slips out of my lips as I eye the empty bottle of bourbon that had been my only companion in the early morning hours.
I don't usually drink, especially to excess, but something about the mermaid drives me up the wall. When Conrad paraded her around at dinner the night before, I wanted to reacquaint my fist with his face right then and there.
He's always liked to push the boundaries as first mate, but last night was too far. The last time someone pushed me like this, they ended up with a broken arm and a matching pair of black eyes. Conrad might need a reminder about who is in charge onThe Black Rose. We are going to have a chat about this.
Today.
Just as soon as I can successfully peel myself off my bed. The ship’s steady rocking is usually a comfort, but today, all it’s doing is making me feel sicker.
That damn female is ruining my life.
It takes half an hour, but I finally reach the jug of freshwater I keep by the door. I drink as much as I can, hoping it will alleviate the pounding in my temples. Pulling on some clothes, I brush my teeth before opening the door. It swings open on silent hinges, and I snap at the first person I see.
"LaRue, tell the First Mate his presence is required in my officeright now," I say to the man, barely older than a boy, who happens to be walking by.
He gulps and nods, changing course and scurrying off immediately.
I grin. There’s something about flexing my proverbial muscles that always makes me happy. I spent years following other people’s orders. It’s about time my crew follows mine.
Slamming the door, I shut the blinds before dropping into the chair behind my desk. I steeple my hands, mentally reviewing what I want to say, and wait for Conrad.
And wait.
And wait.
A gods-damned hour passes before the door to my office clicks open and soft footsteps fill my ears. My mood has deteriorated from foul to outright enraged.
"You summoned me, sir?" Conrad drawls. His tone is indignant, and I instinctively stiffen. Clenching my jaw, I crack my neck and glare at my first mate.
"Sit down," I snap, gesturing to the chair in front of my desk. He drops into it like he hasn’t a care in the world. It takes everything in me not to hit him for his insolence. “We need to have a conversation about Madeline.”
He tilts his head, raising a brow. “Oh?”
“I don’t want her to be paraded around the ship. She’s not some whore you picked up on the docks. You need to leave her alone.”
“Why? Are you interested in her?” he asks, studying me. He picks up a paperweight off my desk. He looks intense as he tosses it back and forth.
I grab it from him, slamming it on the desk so hard that the thick polish cracks beneath the rock. “Of course not,” I say forcefully, pinching the bridge of my nose as I count to five in my head before continuing. “You can’t touch her because she’s not some average female.”
“Then who is she?”