Total pages in book: 154
Estimated words: 144411 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 722(@200wpm)___ 578(@250wpm)___ 481(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 144411 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 722(@200wpm)___ 578(@250wpm)___ 481(@300wpm)
“Well, well, well. There’s the princess looking lovely. Feel better?”
“I’ll feel better when I have something to eat,” I tell him.
He looks at the apples and hardtack on the floor. “Beggars can’t be choosers, I suppose, though I guess you’re not begging now. I rather liked it when you did. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to put on a new shirt. A seagull shat on this one.”
I start to laugh at that but then he pulls his shirt over his head and the laughter gets caught in my throat. Though I’d noticed the shape and build of the captain’s body before, absently noted down in the back of my mind, seeing him bare-chested in front of me brings my focus entirely to his form. Though I was only sixteen when I stopped being a Syren and my feminine urges were just starting to explode, our whole species revolves around hunting men—for food and for more lustful purposes. I may not know much of this world, but in the underwater world, no species can match ours for our sexual appetite. From the way my sisters would gossip rosy-cheeked in hushed tones, from how certain elders would describe it with salacious details, it wasn’t just that we hunted men for their hearts and organs—we used them for our own sexual gains before we killed them. We seduced them, bedded them, ate them. Our lust was only matched by our hunger.
So the sight of the captain shirtless makes my blood run hot, a tightness forming at my core that wasn’t there before. My eyes can’t help but dance along his form, drinking him in like a potent ale. His muscles are lean and sinewy and yet there’s a density to them that hints at his true power, power I’ve felt before as he’s handled me. His shoulders have considerable breadth to them, hard rounded muscles leading to thick biceps and firm and wide chest, making his tightly muscled abdomen narrow to his hips like an inverted triangle.
My admiration for his body catches me by surprise and I’m both angry at myself and embarrassed for noticing, for even finding him enticing. I avert my eyes.
“Never seen a man in his birthday suit before?” he asks.
“You’re not quite in your birthday suit,” I say, staring down at the hem of my dress.
“Say the word and I could be…”
I glance up at him quickly, in time to see a wicked grin flit across his lips before he turns his back to me.
Again, confronted with such an expansive plane of muscle and bare skin, my instinct is to stare. No, it’s to do more than just stare. My fingers twitch like I want to touch him, run my fingers down his back.
Gods, I chastise myself, pinching my eyes shut. This man branded his bloody name into your skin. Finding him attractive is the worst idea you’ve ever had. Nearly as bad as trading in your fins for the love of a blasted prince.
I feel steely cold resolve flood through my veins. The thing about being a Syren, even a former one, is that though our hungry appetites can lead us astray, we also have unflinching detachment when we need it.
And I need it.
It doesn’t take much to remind me that men are nothing but devils and the only thing he’s good for at this point is information.
When the captain has slipped another shirt back on, this one black and half-unbuttoned, my composure has been regained. I stare at him impassively, waiting to be released from the cage like a patient bird.
He saunters over to me, his movements languid and steady. I’ve always noticed he’s moved with a lot of grace, a surprising amount for a man of his size and stature, like he glides just above the floor, even though his boots give a hard echo with each step. He fishes out the keys and unlocks the cage, opening it wide with a flourish of his arm.
“Your dining room this evening,” he announces, even though the table is bare. “I see your disappointment. My apologies if I don’t have all the proper tableware out. Though I do consider myself to be a gentleman, our standards for pomp and decorum have taken a dive since going rogue.”
My eyes flit to the weapons again but he just makes a disagreeable noise deep in his throat. “And don’t tell me you’re thinking about attacking me with one of my own swords again. It’s a game you will not win, Princess.”
He’s right. If my legs weren’t so unstable, perhaps I could make it there before him, but he is exceedingly fast and strong and doesn’t think twice about grabbing sharp blades with his bare hands. I’ve learned my lesson before.
Though perhaps if I got close to him when he least suspected it, with a bottle of rum or wine within reach, I could get him over the head with it.