Page 39 of To Snap a Silver Stem
My eyes widen. “I thought you werejoking.”
“Why would I joke about such a thing?”
I swear, he looks genuinely baffled.
Sighing, I rip my chin away and tip my head against the mast, suddenly more tired than I’ve been in days. “You’re exhausting,” I mutter, closing my eyes. “Just ... let me go down with the ship.”
That sounds peaceful.
“Not an option I’m afraid.” I can tell by the strain in his voice that he’s pushing to his feet. “Let me help you up.”
Internally, I groan.
Prying my eyes open, I rock to the side, using my bandaged hand to push myself to a wobbly stand. Cainon’s hand snakes around my side to steady me, but I shove away, grabbing hold of the handrail. Feeling his stare blaze across the side of my face, I watch a slew of rowboats pull away from the ship—piled full of injured crewmen.
“You’re far more … what’s the word …hostilethan normal.”
When I don’t respond, he kneels and gets to work on the rope securing my sack to the mast.
A storm bulges in my chest as I anticipate him digging through its contents ...
Dreadingwhat he’ll find.
If I leap at it now, it’ll only draw more attention.
I internally catalog its inventory while he battles the series of knots, preparing excuses to toss at him like boulders. Hard to come up with one for the talon. Or the pillow slip. Or the parcel of shit-shrooms I never got the chance to pottle.
Crap.
The sack falls from the mast, and he grips the ties, pulling them tight enough to strangle someone, then twists the tails into a tidy bow while I almost vomit with relief.
“Anything breakable in here?” he asks, waving it at me.
“Depends what you classify as—”
He tosses it over the balustrade, and I watch in stunned silence as it plunges to the deck below and lands with a heavy thud.
I feel that sound in my gut.
Staring down at it, I finally manage to sift some words from the coals of my fiery rage. “What thehellis wrong with you?”
“More than you could possibly imagine,” he mutters.
A vast assumption. He has no idea how broad my scope is for the various levels of fucked up.
“Come here.”
My gaze slides to his open arms and very bare, very smooth, sun-kissed chest.
“In your dreams.”
He flashes me a wicked grin. “Oh, Orlaith. My dreams are far more devious than that, I assure you.”
My cheeks flare with prickly heat, mind scrambling.
He pops a brow, giving me a come-hither gesture that sends my foot sliding back.
“No,” I blurt. “Not happening.”
