The Sea Siren

Chapter Twenty-Three

Vivian

Wind whistles through the cabins room by room, seeping through floorboards and uneven window panes, the squall's swell rattling the stained glass keeping the sea spray from entering. On a night like this, with a storm rivaling that of a tempest, the waves can be powerful enough to dash the deck.

The sway as we ride the angry waters would dizzy anyone.

My lightheadedness could be due to that...

The heat of the princes lips are intense, his wet tongue teasing the edge of my neck and ear.

Deep down, I know it's him.

This faintness, he has brought upon me.

I knew what I was doing, coming to him. Going out of my way, even going as far as to ensure the others on the ship were otherwise occupied before knocking on his door. The toll of the escape was mighty but through my flittering's with consciousness, I knew he was by my side.

I knew he was rowing past the point of comfort.

I knew he was going against his better judgment, against the call within him to return to his life, in order to bring me back to the Orion alive. It's a strange feeling—to imagine death, feel at the brink of it—like there's no way out. And then to have someone come for you, someone who you'd imagined would be the hunter.

My faith in men has never been realized. Yes, there is Bastian and my crew... but it's not the same. After Michel, I couldn't bring myself to trust another. My frigid heart would never allow it.

I believed I would never long for someone again, never daydream or fantasize a man's hands on myself again. Tonight, I felt different. I woke, reeling from the pain that took me under, and I searched for someone. Someone who wasn't in the room.

So, I went to him.

Despite my pride, despite my internal guidelines.

I walked into this room, forcing myself to believe he wouldn't have come back onto this ship if he didn't, even slightly, wish to be here. It's why relief has encompassed my nervousness as his lips drift along my skin, his hands softly scaling my back.

He hasn't kissed me like a man wishing to be elsewhere.

As his lips warm the edge of my jaw, he suddenly stops and my eyes open, curious as to why. I find him looking at me, every inch of my face. Those eyes, the blue so dark against the candlelight, unravel me, speeding my pulse.

His fingers wind around the end of my braid. "I want to see it down."

Can't think. Can't breathe. I only nod and his fingers pull on the gold ribbon tied at the base of the braid. He weaves the waves loose, looking there while I look at him. At his full pink lips, at the deep indent between his brows that shows when he's intent on something. At his inky hair, still knotted and wild from the wind and sea water. At the ruffled shirt hanging open halfway down his chest, revealing the dip between his pecs, the muscular descent to his naval. Stare is a better word.

My hair seems to double in size the moment it's free from bindings, even more when he guides it all on either side of my face. I rarely trim it, which is why the orange ends nearly hit my thighs.

He seems to take me in. Sitting back, hands to himself, unnervingly still.

"What?"

He just shakes his head, as if he's not ready to speak yet.

I glance down, feeling heat touch my cheeks in an overwhelming way. "Antony—"

"Every time I think you can't get any more striking, you prove me wrong." He shakes his head, his eyes wincing as if internally, he's fighting the words falling from his lips. "The firelight. It's glowing your hair, your skin. I can see every inch of you."