Total pages in book: 103
Estimated words: 97071 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 485(@200wpm)___ 388(@250wpm)___ 324(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 97071 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 485(@200wpm)___ 388(@250wpm)___ 324(@300wpm)
But nothing has changed by the time my lungs start screaming for air. In desperation, I pick up my pace. I don’t have much time left. Hard to say if black dots are dancing across my vision when I can’t see anything at all. The very non-air seeming to fight against me, trying to hold me still and slow me down.
Fuck you.
I’m running now, pumping my arms as fast as I can while my lungs shriek. I clamp my lips together to keep from gasping, but I’m seconds away from my body taking over.
I’m moving so fast, I don’t realize the ground beneath my feet is gone until I’m falling.
Between one blink and the next, the darkness is replaced by pale dawn light. I drag in one glorious salty breath … and then hit something hard enough that everything goes black.
CHAPTER 3
Bowen
“MERMAID OFF THE STARBOARD SIDE!”
The call brings me out of my cabin. We’re not in mermaid waters, but if the sighting is correct, we have one bastard of a fight on our hands. I grab a spear from the rack, noting that my quartermaster, Miles, has the spelled net already in his hands.
We meet on the starboard side and I narrow my eyes against the glare of the sun on the choppy water. How the lookout saw anything at all is a damned miracle. “Where?”
Miles is a head shorter than me and built lean, his skin covered in fine green scales like a reptile. He shields his eyes and looks up to the crow’s nest where Sarah is perched. I can barely see her blond hair from here, but it’s obvious she’s communicating with him using her air magic. A few moments later, he points. “There.”
I follow his finger to see a figure in the water less than ten yards away. I tense, half raising the spear, before I register what I’m seeing. Pale skin. Long hair that’s hair and not water weeds. A face that is decidedly more human than the merfolk I’ve come across in my years hunting with the Cŵn Annwn. “Not a mermaid.”
Miles shrugs. “Then leave them. The sea will take care of it.”
He always does this. If there’s a change of plan, Miles would rather run it over than bend to adapt to new circumstances. I swear he’s started doing it solely to undermine me. If I say we go north, he starts arguing that south is a better route. Every. Single. Time.
To his view, allowing the sea to take this person instead of bringing them on board and triggering the decision between death and joining the crew would be less of a headache. There are others among the Cŵn Annwn who would agree with him and continue sailing.
But I am captain of this ship and that’s not how we do things on the Crimson Hag. I have enough blood on my hands to last lifetimes. I try to avoid adding more whenever possible.
I pass over the spear. “We’re not leaving them to the sea. They might be a local.”
“No local is going to be out here.” He shakes his head, the move too sharp to be strictly human. “We haven’t seen another ship in days, and there’s been no storms to sweep one down, let alone to bring a survivor into our path. They’re a Threshold trespasser.”
Probably. Likely, even.
That doesn’t mean I’m going to let the sea take them without checking, and then offering them their choice. The whole purpose of the Cŵn Annwn is to protect Threshold and all the realms connected to it by portals on the islands scattered across the vast sea. Not all the islands contain portals, though, and there are citizens of the realm who are supposed to fall under our protection as well.
Not that all of our people remember that. At least, not when it doesn’t suit them.
I wait for the Crimson Hag to sail a little closer to the person. I could dive in and retrieve them, but there’s no reason to go through those theatrics. Instead, I focus my power and extend it, scooping the person out of the water and bringing them carefully over to the deck.
The crew eyes these goings-on with some interest. It’s not every day we haul people out of the sea, and it’s even rarer that they’re still alive when we do.
I crouch next to our catch and take a better look at them. A woman, human or from one of the realms where they’re more humanoid than not. She’s wearing clothing that looks unfamiliar, a bag strapped to her back, so it takes me a moment to place the pants. Denim. Jeans. That narrows down the options of her origin considerably. They cling to a body that’s lush: thick thighs, broad hips, soft stomach. Her black shirt hugs her torso, hinting at small breasts.