Swashbuckling on the Edge

Chapter Four

Dark's face went white with shock. He stammered for a suitable protest when Sykes turned for the door.

"Sykes, wait—"

"Ye have what matters to ye, Dark. Ye've almost lost her." Sykes raked him with a sympathetic look. "Don' let it come that close again."

The shadows curling over the doorway swallowed Sykes's giant form. Dark stared at the spot where he'd vanished, dumbfounded. His mind tried to process what his first mate had told him, but his emotions swept away his thoughts.

Guilt assailed his mind, followed closely by grief. The disarming emotion triggered again the cloud of fear that had hovered ever since that night. Even with all that had been said, Sykes's warning rung in his ears.

That cool, slithering trickle on his spine had returned, but for different reasons. His fears had trapped him in his head, tormenting him with outcomes he rationally knew had not come to pass, but couldn't ignore. Those fears whispered thoughts he refused to acknowledge.

After extinguishing the candle, Dark walked briskly out of Barton's office, heedless of the noise he made, and nearly barged into the bedroom down the hall. His mind quieted when his eyes settled on the woman lying asleep in the bed.

When his held breath escaped him, he clutched the doorknob in reflex. He shut the door gently, approaching the bed with more care. His fingers tentatively brushed over hers, reassuringly warm. His eyes roamed over her, taking in her dark hair, spread out on the pillows, the slow rise and fall of her chest, her arms close to her body, her hands relaxed.

Without disturbing her, Dark shed his coat and boots, kicking them under the bed. His hands rose to unlace his collar and slide his shirt off. Zaina shifted in the bed, murmuring in her sleep. He paused warily before he finished taking off his pants. She shuffled and muttered again when he slid into the bed next to her, one small hand coming to rest on his chest.

Sykes's friendship might be lost to him, but he would not allow anything to keep her from him again. The lingering presence of death would be chased away. He gazed at her sleeping face, mind in turmoil over Sykes's and the events of the past few days. He would earn back Sykes's trust. He would keep her safe.

Dark pressed his hand over hers, pulling her into the circle of his arms. He focused on the steady thump of Zaina's heartbeat, drowning out the voices of fear in his mind, and soon fell asleep.

~oOo~

Someone's voice whispering indistinctly woke me. I shifted on the bed, trying to blot out that quiet, distressed voice. It sounded like it was speaking near me, next to me.

Whatever it was saying, my still-sleeping mind couldn't make out, but it was speaking fast and anxiously; in broken little pieces instead of sentences.

A sharp intake of breath right next to my ear startled me into alertness. When my eyes adjusted to the muted light and I saw the room was empty of threat, I panted with relief. The whispering voice hadn't stopped its mantras.

The big body next to me shifted, restless. I peered over my shoulder at Dark, still asleep, muttering madly in his sleep. It was his voice that had woken me. Concerned, I pressed my palm to his forehead to see if the fever had returned. To my shock, his skin felt cold as death.

My hand jerked away, tucking itself safely against my chest. I swallowed back the bald panic that flashed through me and forced myself to lay my hand back against his chest. His flesh was cool, his heartbeat too strong under my fingertips.

I relaxed. "Just a bad dream," I murmured, gently shaking and prodding him.

His eyes opened without warning, wide with terror and nearly black in color. A bone-white face leered out at me from the caverns of my mind, its black eyes gaping, its maw opened wide.