Tricia Levenseller

Because pirates aren’t supposed to look like you look and talk like you talk and do what you do. You’re confusing, and it’s messing with my head.

“Then do your worst now, lass.”

“Having second thoughts?” Riden leans on his forearms at the railing, letting his skin touch mine.

“No. I am exactly where I want to be. I only wish I could have all the years back I missed with my mother.”

“You could have them now,” he says gently. “You could live your life among the sirens and leave this all behind you.”

I smile and turn to him. “You and my mother are both missing one important thing.”

“What’s that?”

“I love being a pirate, and there’s nothing I want to be more.”

He relaxes considerably. “Thank the stars. I was trying so hard to be supportive and forget what I want most.”

“And what’s that?”

Those beautiful brown eyes glint. “You.”

His last word was my name. His last thought was of me.

I won.

For some reason, my lovers cease to give me expensive presents once I turn down their proposals.

Alas.

Let’s get one thing straight, Alosa. You are my prisoner.

She protects her own.

The gangplank is plenty big to walk across without having to try to balance. I could probably do it with my eyes closed. Still, its width is small enough that I’m tempted to give Riden a slight push.

As if sensing this, he says, “Don’t even think about it.”

“I already did.”

“I could have you shot.”

“Your gun would have a hard time working once it’s wet.”

“I didn’t say I had to be the one to shoot.”

“But let’s face it, you’d like that pleasure for yourself.”

He smiles.

The smell is much better here than back on the Night Farer. Why couldn’t Draxen’s men show more aptitude for personal hygiene? Truly, it benefits everyone on board.