in emergencies.
Damon wasn’t sure but he figured this
was an emergency, but if that was the case then why was he the only
one who’d thought of escaping on the damn thing?
For whatever reason it hadn’t been
taken yet and he was grateful. He lifted Jocelyn over the side of
the ship and into the little vessel, noting, even during all of
this, how well she fit in his hands, how good.
His hands were itching for more of her
when he heard her scream his name. He almost missed it under the
rush of the wind and rain. The storm was getting stronger by the
minute and both vessels, tangled together as they were, began to
set up a drunken rocking from side to side, almost threatening to
tip themselves over in their dance.
So really, it was a miracle that he
turned and lifted his sword in time to block the strike meant for
his head.
He felt more than heard Jocelyn cry out
again as he twisted under his attacker’s raised arm and sliced a
long bloody line across his abdomen. Blood flowed, red in the rain
and Damon felt an insane urge to laugh rise up in the back of his
throat.
He was trapped again. Once more caught
in the hell of war. Even after he’d worked so hard, and ran so far
he was right back where he’d been thirteen years ago.
There was a niggling thought in his
mind, an idea, that if he couldn’t escape in this life maybe he
could escape in the next. Then the sailor he fought with, a man’s
whose face blurred now but would become crystal clear in Damon’s
dreams once he killed him, slammed into him.
The man was built like an ox, shorter
than Damon but wide through the arms in a way that only a man who
worked hard at sea could be. He used that terrible strength to
force Damon back, back, back until his spine hit the side of the
ship and sent pain spiraling through him. Their arms were locked
between them, the blades a deadly cross framing the two men’s
heated gazes. Their deadlock was broken by the slickness of the
rain on the blades. The swords slid along one another with a low
hiss like that of a snake, and snarling, Damon lifted his foot and
kicked the man away. A terrible screaming sounded behind him and he
turned just in time to watch in horror as the longboat, its rope
cut from the movement of he and the sailor’s swords, no idea whose
did it, fell down towards the ocean below. He stood there, frozen,
all thoughts of the war, of his own death, escaping his mind as he
watched Jocelyn disappear into the darkness. He could hear the
sharp crash as the longboat hit the next cresting wave, but he
couldn’t see it.
He couldn’t see her.
The sailor was coming back; Damon could
feel him against the length of his back like a brand as he came
closer and he went blind with … something. Something dark and
strange seized him, had his sight disappearing under a white wash
of static. His body moved automatically as he turned, side moving
out of the way for the knife that would have impaled him as he
reached out and gripped the sailor by the arm. Pulled him toward
him, he plunged his own knife into his gut. He held him there a
moment longer, jerking the blade upward to cause as much damage as
possible. He felt a wash of warm blood stain his shoulder from
where it bubbled up from the man’s mouth and he shoved him away in
disgust.
Then he turned, lifted himself up and
over the side of the Gentle Marie, and leapt into the sea after
Jocelyn.
Chapter Five
Do you remember when we first met my
boy? I do. You’d just been knocked on your ass by Wellesley during
training. I watched as how, instead of getting angry and
embarrassed like a lot of the other titled young bucks, you looked
into the man who’d beaten you and grinned. Just sat there and
grinned. And I remember thinking to myself, ‘What an
idiot.’
Jocelyn was scared.
Even more so than she’d been on the
boat because at least then her feet were on solid ground, at least
then she knew there was a chance to escape this mess and see Ava
again.
But as
Damon wasn’t sure but he figured this
was an emergency, but if that was the case then why was he the only
one who’d thought of escaping on the damn thing?
For whatever reason it hadn’t been
taken yet and he was grateful. He lifted Jocelyn over the side of
the ship and into the little vessel, noting, even during all of
this, how well she fit in his hands, how good.
His hands were itching for more of her
when he heard her scream his name. He almost missed it under the
rush of the wind and rain. The storm was getting stronger by the
minute and both vessels, tangled together as they were, began to
set up a drunken rocking from side to side, almost threatening to
tip themselves over in their dance.
So really, it was a miracle that he
turned and lifted his sword in time to block the strike meant for
his head.
He felt more than heard Jocelyn cry out
again as he twisted under his attacker’s raised arm and sliced a
long bloody line across his abdomen. Blood flowed, red in the rain
and Damon felt an insane urge to laugh rise up in the back of his
throat.
He was trapped again. Once more caught
in the hell of war. Even after he’d worked so hard, and ran so far
he was right back where he’d been thirteen years ago.
There was a niggling thought in his
mind, an idea, that if he couldn’t escape in this life maybe he
could escape in the next. Then the sailor he fought with, a man’s
whose face blurred now but would become crystal clear in Damon’s
dreams once he killed him, slammed into him.
The man was built like an ox, shorter
than Damon but wide through the arms in a way that only a man who
worked hard at sea could be. He used that terrible strength to
force Damon back, back, back until his spine hit the side of the
ship and sent pain spiraling through him. Their arms were locked
between them, the blades a deadly cross framing the two men’s
heated gazes. Their deadlock was broken by the slickness of the
rain on the blades. The swords slid along one another with a low
hiss like that of a snake, and snarling, Damon lifted his foot and
kicked the man away. A terrible screaming sounded behind him and he
turned just in time to watch in horror as the longboat, its rope
cut from the movement of he and the sailor’s swords, no idea whose
did it, fell down towards the ocean below. He stood there, frozen,
all thoughts of the war, of his own death, escaping his mind as he
watched Jocelyn disappear into the darkness. He could hear the
sharp crash as the longboat hit the next cresting wave, but he
couldn’t see it.
He couldn’t see her.
The sailor was coming back; Damon could
feel him against the length of his back like a brand as he came
closer and he went blind with … something. Something dark and
strange seized him, had his sight disappearing under a white wash
of static. His body moved automatically as he turned, side moving
out of the way for the knife that would have impaled him as he
reached out and gripped the sailor by the arm. Pulled him toward
him, he plunged his own knife into his gut. He held him there a
moment longer, jerking the blade upward to cause as much damage as
possible. He felt a wash of warm blood stain his shoulder from
where it bubbled up from the man’s mouth and he shoved him away in
disgust.
Then he turned, lifted himself up and
over the side of the Gentle Marie, and leapt into the sea after
Jocelyn.
Chapter Five
Do you remember when we first met my
boy? I do. You’d just been knocked on your ass by Wellesley during
training. I watched as how, instead of getting angry and
embarrassed like a lot of the other titled young bucks, you looked
into the man who’d beaten you and grinned. Just sat there and
grinned. And I remember thinking to myself, ‘What an
idiot.’
Jocelyn was scared.
Even more so than she’d been on the
boat because at least then her feet were on solid ground, at least
then she knew there was a chance to escape this mess and see Ava
again.
But as
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