Brie
Night falls on the trio of ships. During the course of the evening, the ships had been readied, and the camp on the beach had been totally dismantled, leaving no trace that Alex’s pack had ever been there.
Now, against a blanket of silver moonlight, the Artemis bobs in the shallows just beyond the mouth of the lagoon, engines purring and sails drawn.
I lean against the railing and soak in the cool night breeze. It smells amazing here–like salt and tropical flowers. It’s almost exactly like Maatua but far more rocky and mountainous. Beyond the mountain shielding the lagoon, nothing but calm, open water stretches as far as the eye can see… which means we’ll be totally exposed to whatever enemies are lying in wait.
The deck teems with people waiting for the two other ships to silently leave the lagoon. It’s a rough looking bunch–mostly hardened men with deep suntans and scars on their hands and faces, but a few women mill around, checking lines and making sure crates of supplies are secured. No one even looks in my direction. No one pays me any mind whatsoever.
I look up at the navigation deck where three shadowy figures huddle near the railing, talking in low tones. Logan looks down at me, his eyes catching the moonlight. He leans in to say something to Alex and Sawyer before making his way down the stairs, dressed in an outfit similar to everyone else’s on the ship. The white, vintage looking shirt tapers at his waist, tucked into fine-fitting trousers tied off with a leather belt. Leather boots stalk in my direction, his dark curls rustling in the breeze.
He hasn’t shaved since we ended up here. I’m reminded that he lost his glasses–everything he owns, I believe. His laptop and phone are gone. His clothes.
We’re all we have left that came from our world.
That thought settles in my chest when he comes to my side, resting his arms on the railing.
“Things are going to move fast once the two other ships leave the lagoon,” he says, dipping his head to brush the words against my temple, like he doesn’t want to be overheard. “Will you stay below deck, please?”
I look up at him with a sly smile. “I’ve never heard you say please before.”
“It’s not normally in my vocabulary,” he admits, smirking. “Will you stay below, in our room?”
“Only because you asked so nicely.”
A glint of moonlight shines in his eyes as he gives me the softest of smiles. Something about the way he’s looking at me right now makes my stomach feel all fluttery, but I could easily be imagining that look of what I can only describe as longing as something entirely unrelated.
His longing could simply just be for me to stay locked in our room tonight while we travel to open water, not… longing for me.
I shouldn’t care how he feels about me, but after what we went through, it’s impossible to continue to tell myself I don’t care about him.
Just like it’s impossible for me to see past Logan whenever I think about my plans when we finally reach home… my schemes to find a husband, an Alpha. When I think of that, I imagine him. I imagine us in the car the moment we’d rejected each other and wonder why the hell I did it.
I shouldn’t be thinking like that. Maybe my feelings are changing, but his aren’t. Logan doesn’t want me. He can’t. I’m not… pretty like the girls I’m sure he’s been with. I’m stuck up and boring–too serious and stubborn. I doubt I have a playful bone in my body, and I know he’s the kind of man who likes to laugh.
He’d never want me, of that I’m certain.
I just hate that now, all of the sudden, that knowledge hurts.
I follow him off the deck and down into the depths of the ship to our room. Anyone not working above is nestled below, tucked in for the night.
I expect him to leave right away, but he enters the room behind me, closing the door with a soft click.
“Do you want me to redo your bandages? It’s been several hours.”
“They’re fine,” he says, locking the door.
I wring my hands as I walk toward the bed and sit down. He slips out of his boots, setting them by the door.
“Are you not staying on the deck?”
He shakes his head. “Not tonight. Alex said the likelihood they’re followed out of the lagoon is low. Open water is another story, from what I’ve been told.”
I wonder if the Alpha told him about how Monica plays into this because I’m desperate to talk about it. I promised her I could keep a secret, though, and I plan to, even if it’s eating me alive.
Logan continues, “I was told my services would be needed starting tomorrow morning, and that you and I will be moving to the Asteria. That ship needs a captain. Right now, a group of his warriors are making do, but none of them have the kind of experience on water that I have.”
“Are we in danger?”
“I believe so, yes. I know you spent the day with Monica. Did she tell you anything about why they’ve been hiding out in that lagoon for months, and island hopping away from KiloKilo’s capital for months before that?”
“They’ve been away from their territory for that long?” I ask in shock. I hadn’t realized that.
He nods gravelly. “Monica is–was supposed to marry–”
“She told me,” I tell him, grateful I have someone to talk to about this. “She told me about the royal family and the alexandrite.”
“Good. I was hoping she did.” He starts pulling his shirt free from his belt. “So you’re aware the entire force of KiloKilo’s navy is looking for them? Good. I told Alex that it’s likely bits and pieces of the yacht washed up on this side of the veil, and if that’s true, the navy will be busy investigating that versus trying to track Alex down. He’s hopeful that time is on our side. We’ll be traveling all night as fast as we can, and in the morning, we’re switching boats and continuing what should be a four day long journey in less than two days.” It’s almost like he’s talking to himself as he says it, going over the plan laid out using me as a sounding board. I nod along. I don’t know anything about boats or maritime, but Logan does. Also, I just enjoy listening to him talk. He’s not like my dad or brother, or any of the men in my family, really. He likes to tell stories. He can go on, and on, and I can just… listen forever….
He takes off his shirt and says, “I’m going to shower.”
“Oh-okay.”
“I’ll sleep on the couch,” he says, pointing to the sorry excuse for a couch on the far wall.
“You won’t fit. Just sleep in the bed with me. We’re grown adults. It doesn’t matter.” My heart flutters as he stares at me, his eyes darkening a shade.
I almost offer to sleep on the couch instead, but he nods and turns into the bathroom.
I use the time to change into a nightdress Monica supplied. It’s beautiful and silken, like something I’d wear back at home. I slather the lotion she gave me on my skin and brush out my hair until it shines. I feel somewhat more like myself when I look in the mirror, like I finally have a routine again.
Logan exits the bathroom sometime later with a towel hanging around his waist–and nothing else. I dart into the steamy bathroom to brush my teeth, needing to put a bit of distance between us.
This has to be some echo of the mate bond, right? I told myself I’m not attracted to him, but that’s obviously false. He saved my life. I can like him for that fact alone, feel grateful for him without that feeling bleeding into something more, something dangerous, but…
He re-enters the bathroom with a little black bag that he dumps on the counter. He looks down at the straight razor with a sigh, lifting it to the mist swirling around overhead. I set my toothbrush down, noticing the disappointment in his eyes as he lifts his gaze to the mirror to inspect the three day old beard growing in.
“Are you going to shave?”
“I was planning on it. I asked Sawyer for a razor, but I guess KiloKilo isn’t as evolved as Eastonia.”
“KiloKilo doesn’t have corner pharmacies selling razors and the like, I’m sure.”
“I’ve never used a straight razor. It can’t be that hard–” He lifts it to his face, but I snatch it before he can do any damage. “What, Brie?”
“You’ll slit your throat! Or worse, slice a layer of skin off. Just keep the stubble.”
“I don’t like it,” he says in a low growl.
“I like it,” I retort with a shrug. Again, his eyes darken, his pupils blown wide in the hazy, foggy light. I amend, feeling suddenly short of breath, “But I can shave your face for you if you’re that insistent on it.”
“Why would you know how to use one of these?”
“Because Aris nearly killed himself with one on accident when he was thirteen. My dad uses one and tried teaching him, but Aris doesn’t have the patience for it, so I learned.”
“You shave your brother’s face?”
“Don’t be weird,” I hiss. “And no, but I would if he could grow facial hair, poor thing.”
Logan’s mouth twitches into a smile. “Fine, but if you maim me beyond repair, I might have to reignite our mate bond because you'll be the only girl I’ll ever get, scarred and disfigured as I’ll be.”
I do my best to ignore the fluttering sensation his words ignite as I command, “Go get a chair, Logan. You’re too tall for me to do this standing up.”
Logan scans my face before turning out of the room. I ready the blade and shaving cream while he drags a chair into the bathroom, sitting down with a soft groan.
“You have to relax,” I tell him, standing directly behind him and tilting his head back until his head brushes my breasts. “And don’t move.”
He relaxes when I smooth the shaving cream over his neck and jaw but goes absolutely rigid when I swipe the blade in a practiced motion up his neck.
“Logan, relax.”
He grits his teeth, peering up at me through narrowed eyes. “I’m not used to having a blade pressed to my neck.”
I press a little harder, arching my brow. He exhales through his nose in warning, but I just smirk and carry on.
Within minutes, his neck is perfectly smooth, and he finally, finally begins to relax, allowing me to guide his head from side to side as I move with the blade like this is second nature.
I wonder if he’s ever allowed anyone to take care of him before.
He leans into my touch while smoothing the razor over his jaw and cheek. His breath is warm on my hand, his lips dangerously close to my skin.
Unable to stand the silence and tension I feel creeping into the room, I ask, “What do you think the family’s doing right now?”
“Panicking,” he replies softly.
I’ve been trying not to think about it. Mom and Dad must be in pieces, and we have no way of contacting them until we pass through the veil. That could be… weeks from now.
“They think we’re dead, don’t they?”
Logan doesn’t answer for a long time. “Maybe. It’s only been a few days, though. They’re still searching. They wouldn’t give up on you that quickly.”
“They wouldn’t give up on you, either,” I say, looking down at him. Those green-hazel eyes gaze up at me, and for a moment, the rest of the room blurs. I smooth my hand over his freshly shaven cheek, smiling sadly.
But then the memory of kissing him ambushes my brain, and I wince, rearing back and turning his head to the side. I clear my throat, swiping the blade on a hand towel before continuing the task at hand.
Logan chuckles, however, murmuring something under his breath.
“What did you say?”
“You were thinking about the beach, weren’t you?”
My skin heats, but I manage to finish the last section of his cheek before my hands start to tremble. I step away from him, turning to the sink to rinse the blade. Through the mirror, I watch him rise and move the chair out of the way before turning to face the mirror, inspecting my work. But his eyes slowly meet mine, and that Goddess-damned bastard arches a brow, and I lose it.
“I was trying to save your life,” I grind out through gritted teeth. “You drowned, remember? I wasn’t going to let you die and leave me all alone on an island–”
“It felt an awful lot like a kiss,” he chuckles.
“Well, I wouldn’t know,” I grit out, turning to face him. “I’ve never kissed anyone before.”
“You kissed me,” he shrugs, wetting another hand towel.
“I did not kiss you. If anything, you kissed me–”
He turns to me, leans down, and grips the back of my head. I gasp, but the inrush of breath is short lived, because one moment he’s a comfortable distance away, and the next, his mouth is on mine–hot and firm.
His fingers tangle in my hair, tugging just enough I have to look upward into his face. He slowly pulls away from the kiss, which wasn’t more than a peck but still made me feel like time was standing still. He looks down at me, his lips parted and eyes searching mine, waiting for me to react.
I should scoff. I should shove him away, calling him a pig again, or worse. I should smack him, actually, maybe even take the razor I’d just spend thirty minutes using to shave his face out of the graciousness of my heart and give him a new scar.
But I rise on my toes and press my lips to his.