My hand lashes out and grabs his arm. He whips around, eyes burning with the heat of a thousand flames. “What part don’t you get about staying in your room? Gods, you are like a parasite. I can’t entertain you all the time.”
The words sting.Damn, I think.
I don’t let him see the rest of my anger as I barge into my room, sure to slam the door so hard that the frame rattles.
Sinking onto my bed, I let out a long breath and start closing my eyes. The shadows return. I had forgotten for several hours they existed.
Instead of shutting my eyes, I roll to the floor and start exercising. One hour passes as I curl my chest to my knees repeatedly.
Another hour goes by. I’m doing push-ups this time until my limbs are so tired that they are quivering with every movement.
The shadows dance around me, watching me strengthen my muscles. They wait for my moments of weakness to wrap me back up in the iciness I’ve known my whole life. The only reason I’ve started to thaw is… Erik.
My eyes go wide as the realization hits me. I roll onto my back, staring at the ceiling. Sweat trickles down my forehead and chest. I heave out a breath. This realization is alarming.
I can’t begin to feel things for a man like him. He isdangerous. Deadly. And there is the little, itty-bitty issue of the hatred between us.
Right then and there, I decide that there is no way in the nine circles of burning hell that I am staying in this room. I am past the point of giving two shits what “commands” Erik gives, anyway. I’m not part of his crew.
Luckily for me, I have a full wardrobe of sailor attire. I wipe my temples and don a baggy shirt, loose pants, and boots. Pulling a cap low on my head to cover my unusual hair, I head out the door.
First stop, food.
And then?
Then I raise hell for the captain.
11
Garret Thorn
ERIK
Lifting my coffee mug to my lips, I study the Vampire sitting across from me through narrowed eyes. As if his non-human status isn’t enough to make him stand out, his all-black suit and tie make it clear he isn’t part of my crew.
We’re sitting in my office, the crew having been warned not to disturb us under any circumstances. They know the drill. Whenever Garret Thorn, the Enforcer, shows up on the ship, my crew makes themselves scarce. I don’t blame them.
The Vampire’s very being oozes danger and brutality. He is six feet six inches of pure muscle and death, but that’s not even his greatest weapon. Those would be the razor-sharp canines that slide out every time the League is displeased.
Most Vampires in Aranthium try to blend in, but not Garret Thorn. He doesn’t even attempt to hide his differences. Hence the suit and tie.
The marking characteristic that makes Thorn stand out is his violet eyes. No other Vampire on Aranthium has them. They are piercing in their intensity, seeming to look into your very soul. Not only that but when he smiles, his canines seem to gleam in the sunlight. I swear he chisels them into fine points.
Garret Thorn is known in Aranthium for two things: his cruelty and his predisposition for enjoying barely legal women. Rumors abound about the trail of drained human women that seem to follow him, but every time Thorn is reported to the authorities, the charges mysteriously disappear.
Even in cities claiming anti-Vamp laws, unlike the Northern Court, where Vampires can run wild, he gets away with literal murder. Though, they say his body count has lowered in the past fifty years or so. His job protects him from his past now that he is “reformed.” Instead of hunting people for sport, he chases those who refuse to play by the League’s rules.
The Vampire in question is currently bent over in his chair, his short chestnut hair catching the sunlight as he studies a list of figures I’ve shown him. Everything my crew and I do is marked down in that ledger. Well. Mostly everything. Certain private trips are left off, but I can’t have anyone know about those.
I’ve been told at one point before the League was formed, pirating was a much simpler endeavor. The League of Pirates is just a bunch of thugs. They operate out of the Consortium, which has several locations throughout Aranthium. The League collects “dues” to ensure the waters remain “safe.”
The day before he retired, officially passing the mantle of Pirate of Death down to me five years ago, my predecessor Barthalamew had locked us in his office to reiterate the danger the League posed.
“The League will drop in from time to time. They always come unannounced,” he said over a glass of Aranthium’s finest whiskey. “You must always be ready, boy. They take their job of keeping the waters safe very seriously.”
“Safe is a relative term,” I had said to the old man. “We’re pirates, for the gods’ sake.”
“Even so, lad,” Bartholomew had said solemnly, his graying hair falling into his eyes. He rubbed a hand down his face, past the scar that marred his features. “You must never cross the League. They have arms in places you would never imagine.”