Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
The longer Vera is stuck on Sturmhond's whaler as they sail up north, the closer she is to open mutiny. She wonders how long it'll take to burn a ship, including all people on it, to a crisp while that ship is on the open seas.
It's been days since they brought Alina and Mal onto the ship and in turn days since the Darkling had ordered Ivan to put Alina to sleep. Mal had not been given that luxury ━ he'd been dragged into the belly of the whaler and locked in.
Now, Vera tilts her head slightly, her glacier eyes tracking Alina's every movement as she talks to the Darkling across the ship. She stands perfectly still, only her kefta and the few loose strands of red hair moving in the cold breeze. A silent sentinel at attention.
"I'm not entirely positive I like that look on your face."
For Djel's sake.
For a moment, Vera allows herself to close her eyes and let out a long breath as Sturmhond reaches her side, settling into the space. The faintest ghost of a touch between them.
"What look?" Vera hisses when she opens her eyes again, refusing to even acknowledge him with a single glance.
"That look right there," he says, motioning into the general direction of her eyes. "It might unsettle some people down there to see that look in an ally's face."
"But not you?" Vera asks despite herself.
"Oh no," Sturmhond waves her off, leaning towards her. "We both know you'll never harm a hair on my perfect head. You like me too much."
What Vera would like is to throw this egomaniacal sailor overboard, dust her hands off and never think of him again.
Now Vera does look at him. "I wouldn't count on it, Sturmhond," she says quietly, a lethal edge to her voice.
Usually that's enough to send people running the other way. He doesn't even look affected by it. In fact, the hostility in her voice only seems to delight him more.
"And there I thought we were getting closer."
Vera turns to him. "I don't care what you thought."
"You wound me, Vera," Sturmhond says, covering his heart with his palm in an overly dramatic gesture.
But maybe that's just Sturmhond's usual flair. Everything he does feels overly dramatic to Vera.
"Maybe then you'll finally leave me be." Vera replies and Sturmhond frowns, looking around.
