Kelia paced the length of Drew Knight’s quarters. The candle he’d lit did little to illuminate the room. Soon, the cold took over, and her entire body shook from the chills.

She stopped pacing and knelt in front of Drew’s trunks to search inside for something dry to wear. While he was not organized, his clothes were still divided based on type, and they were remarkably clean for a Shadow who feasted on blood and sailed the Seven Seas as a pirate.

She chose a gentle white tunic and black breeches. Her braid was damp, and she dreaded when she would have to attempt to run a brush through her hair again. For now, she would think no more of that. She needed to get warm, and she needed to figure out just what the hell Drew was doing, grounding her to his room.

Clearly, he believed it was not safe on the island, but why would he allow her to accompany him on a raid and not retrieve supplies while there? Did he believe she was incapable of holding her own? Was this form of protection his way of telling her he did not think she was skilled enough to assist him if he needed it?

Once she’d changed into dry clothes that hung on her body like a sack, she strode over to the door and yanked on the knob. The door didn’t budge.

Did he…?

She laughed, shaking her head.

The bastard locked her in! Had he forgotten her lock-picking skills? She would not be surprised if this were the case. Drew was good at remembering things he deemed important and forgetting things he thought were inconsequential.

Kelia knelt down to examine the lock. It would be an easy pick, but she found her hands were shaking with anger too much for her to pick it now. He had ordered her not to leave.

Ordered her.

The thought made her blood burn with rage. In her time on the Wraith, Kelia went out of her way to make sure she did her share. She was not a witch and could not contribute magic. She was not a Shadow and could not contribute strength nor speed. But if Drew needed the deck swabbed, if he needed food cooked, or even dishes washed, she volunteered. At one point, Drew had to tell her to take some time for herself.

More than that, Kelia wanted to make sure Drew knew she respected him as captain. She did not want him to think that she thought she would get special treatment just because...because there was a history between the two of them.

He never had to order her to do anything before, and yet, he felt compelled to do so now, as though he assumed she would run off and break his rules. All he needed to do was ask, to explain his requests, and she would listen. Maybe even if she did not agree with him.

Kelia sat at his desk, loosing a breath in a heavy sigh. She would refrain from picking the lock. For now. Her fingers itched to rake through her hair, to tug at the roots, to assist with some kind of thinking because she did not understand why he seemed so angry with her.

She never expected to encounter a Siren. She didn’t know if there was any protection she could have used to ward against them, and if there were, no one had offered her any. She hadn’t known what was happening until it had already happened. She’d known something was wrong, but she’d been under a spell, her body moving as if not under her own control.

And yet, her curiosity on all of that was overshadowed by one thing: The idea that her mother might still be alive.

Was Drew simply worried about her well-being, or was there something more to it than that? Did he know something about her mom that he wasn’t telling her, just as he’d know secrets about her father that he’d kept from her?

Her head was pounding just thinking about it. If he was keeping something from her again, she would… She wasn’t sure what she would do, to be honest. Never forgive him? Feel like an even bigger fool for letting him trick her twice?

But here she was, making assumptions. Assuming his guilt where he might be innocent. If she felt this way, then she’d not really forgiven him about her father, and she needed to do that.

She leaned back in the chair and stared up at the dark ceiling. The subtle vanilla scent meshed with the salty air and helped ease the throbbing in her head. She took another deep breath as her thoughts drifted to what the Sirens seemed to insinuate about her mother. She did not want to get her hopes up. She did not want to think her mother was still alive. But why would the Sirens have mentioned her by name? They had no knowledge of Kelia and who Kelia was until they smelled her. And even then, they were more focused on Kelia’s mother, Jessa.

Was her mother in trouble? Could Kelia even help her if she was?

She stood. She could not sit still. She needed to figure out how to get in touch with the Sirens again. Hours before, they’d wanted to slaughter her or give her to the Queen...until they found out she was Jessa’s daughter.

At least, they were distracted by the fact. Perhaps there was some protection in that. Enough that it would be worth taking the risk if it meant rescuing her mother, assuming her mother really was still alive and in need of rescue.

Could she talk to Drew about it first? He knew how to shoot, even underwater. He had been around for a century. His sister was a witch, for goodness’ sake. He had to know something.

And perhaps…

Perhaps that was why he was so angry. He knew enough to know the risks.

Kelia shook her head. There was no way he was going to agree to help her go back down there.

“Sod it.”

She stomped to the door, pulled a body pin from her hair as she knelt down, and picked the lock in record time. As she got to her feet and reached out to grab the handle, Drew’s warning rang in her ears.

That’s an order.

An order he’d made as her captain.

Her fingers released the door handle and fell to her side. If she left Drew’s room, she would be disobeying his direct order. There would be a rift between them.

But…her mother.Then again, Kelia had thought her mother had been dead for the past sixteen years. What was a few more hours? She could give Drew time to calm down. Maybe he would help her, if he knew her mother was involved.

She told herself she was choosing to forgive him, and that meant giving him the benefit of the doubt. Trusting that he wouldn’t turn his back on her quest to find her mother, if her mother was really out there.

Kelia heaved another sigh as she went back to Drew’s bed and slowly took off her boots.

The minute Drew set foot on the island, he was ready to leave. He was only here because it was required of him. If he wanted to get to Sangre, he needed supplies that would last. His crew had become restless, and he wanted to ensure they got what they needed before they went on this adventure. Before he finally killed the Queen.

He could not help but glance back toward his ship. His stomach churned with guilt, but he quickly squashed it. He needed to be hard on Kelia. She could have been—

He let out a growl. Emma glanced at him with one raised eyebrow. Thankfully, she did not mention anything and continued the conversation she had been having with Daniella.

The night was clear, the stars bright and shining overhead. There was part of him that wished Kelia was with him. It would have made him feel infinitely better to have her within eye shot, just to ensure she was safe.

But there was also a risk having her walk around in plain sight as well.

He cast one last look in the direction of the ship, hidden from view due to his positioning on the dock, and turned. He needed to focus. The dock squeaked beneath his feet, the wood rusted and damaged from the elements.

The crew dispersed like fog, each going his own way, until there was no one but Drew, Christopher, and the witches remaining. Wendy looped her arm through Christopher’s, and they began to walk toward the town. Daniella was eyeing the buildings—Drew was starting to read her, and he knew her expression was one of skepticism. She tended to do this when she was scared but didn’t want others to know how she felt, so she tried to appear solid and unflinching. But Drew could tell otherwise.

“Are you worried?” Emma slid beside him like a snake in the grass. Drew was not surprised in the slightest. “About Kelia, I mean.”

“Why would I be worried about Kelia?” He hated those knowing eyes, hated them with every fiber of his being. He wished they did not know him the way they did.

She smiled, her painted red lips curling up.

Drew looked away. He had no time for her games. He wanted to put in the supply order. He wanted to feed. The more that he thought on it, the more he realized he hadn’t eaten since that despicable debacle where he’d called that poor woman by Kelia’s name…

Even then, his appetite had not been satiated.

His stomach rumbled, as though to emphasize his hunger. A barn animal wasn’t going to do it. Not this time.

Which meant he needed to place an order for supplies before going to find a human he could easily manipulate into allowing him access to her blood. At least those were plenty on the Island of the Damned.

Kelia couldn’t sleep. She continued to pace the room before deciding to try and organize the parchments scattered on Drew’s desk. It wasn’t her place, but she needed to do something productive. Watching the candle slowly melt away wasn’t doing it for her.

Drew’s scrawl was tiny but surprisingly neat. If it was light outside, she would probably be able to make out what he was writing about, what the significance was of each parchment. As it was, she could only decipher a word here, a word there—nothing terribly meaningful. Because of this, she focused simply on straightening the parchments. She still felt uncomfortable rifling through his things. On the other hand, Drew was the one who had stuck her in here rather than her own room.

When she was finished, she decided to give her blade a better cleaning. After what happened earlier, she needed to do it as soon as possible to prevent the blood from crusting onto the blade and dulling its edge.

She slid into her seat and stared at Drew’s desk. There was no light besides the flickering candle. Even the moon glow had been covered by passing clouds.

Regardless, Kelia took out her blade and placed it on the still-messy surface of the desk in front of her. In the quiet of the room, she could almost hear the ringing of her blade, which clashed with the quiet stillness of the room.

Carefully, she turned the blade and examined the edge. Using her thumbnail, she began to remove some of the blood that had already caked along the ridge of the blade.

The door burst open. Kelia jumped, nicking her thumb. She let out a yelp that was more startled than pained, but after the adrenaline quickly wore off, she began to feel stabbing along the length of her thumb.

“Slayer?” Drew walked into his room, his eyes a mixture of wariness and concern. “I’m surprised that—”

He stopped, his nostrils flaring. He tilted his head up, his eyes narrowed, as though he was looking for something.

When he finally dropped his gaze back to Kelia, he swallowed.

“Blood,” he managed to get out. “Why does it smell like blood?”

“Oh.” Kelia was just about to put her thumb in her mouth to keep the blood from spilling onto the tunic, but Drew’s strained voice stopped her. “I cut myself trying to clean my blade.”

He frowned, his eyes still locked on the digit in question. He walked toward her, one step, then a second. His entire body was tense, as though something was going on, as though he was restraining himself for some reason.

“Are you… Do you require assistance?”

Kelia was surprised by the husky tone in his voice. It sent shivers down her back. Her heart raced and her knees shook. Warmth pooled in her stomach and between her thighs, followed quickly by a heat in her cheeks she knew would show red. Quickly, she looked away, but she couldn’t bring herself to move any further, even as Drew continued to come to her.

“I-I do not know.” She swallowed, her saliva scraping against her raw throat. The gesture did nothing to ease the tension that sprang in her body.

He was suddenly standing in front of her, looking at her with hooded eyes. He offered her his hand. “May I?”

Without even thinking about it, she placed her injured hand in his palm. As his hand met hers, something sparked—a jolt through her body. Kelia could only compare it to what lightning might do once it had struck its target.

“It’s deeper than a superficial injury,” he said, examining her finger. The candlelight cast edges to his chiseled face, making him even more beautiful than he already was. “But it does not look like it will need any stitches.”

“Good.”

The word was barely a whisper, and yet it filled the room.

Drew brought the thumb closer to his face. Kelia could feel her entire body tremble. She did not know what he intended to do with it, did not know if he was going to heal it or if something else would take place. All she knew was that she was both anticipating it and yet dreading it at the same time. She could not explain why she felt conflicted. To her, it made no sense. But she was not in any position to question it. Instead, she let him take her hand, let him bring it to his face…

And then he dropped it. He stepped back. He turned and all but stomped away.

“You may leave,” he said.

“Drew, I”

“Get out!” he shouted. “Please.” His voice cracked. Softened. “Leave. I-I need you to go.”

Kelia had the urge to throw the candle across the room—right at his pompous head. She opened her mouth, ready to respond, but stopped. Drew was not worth getting upset over.

Not when she had something more pressing to figure out.

Clearly, Drew was in no place to be open to helping her. And she was not about to let that stop her from learning more about her mother.

Drew crumpled to the floor of the room. He had not fed. He’d found someone willing, but hadn’t been able to bring himself to do it. Now he was starving, and Kelia’s blood—

Emma could not conjure something as intoxicating as what Kelia’s blood must taste like. Simply being in the same room as it, as it gushed out from her dainty thumb, had caused his hunger to spark. He felt himself growl, felt himself coil and tense, felt himself want to pounce on her, to not only feed from her but to bury himself inside of her and claim her as his.

Not because he wanted to own her. Not because he believed she was a thing to be possessed, but because he had strong feelings for her, feelings he wanted to get out. Feelings he wanted to share with her.

And that scared him the most.

He leaned against the foot of the bed. With his ability to see things shrouded in the darkest of nights, he caught sight of crimson on his desk. His nostrils flared once more. He curled his fingers into fists, digging his nails into the palm of his hands.

He should have stayed on the island. He should have fed from some human who wanted this, not lust after his—

Friend.

They were friends, and all Drew could think about was using her as food.

“Jesus Christ,” he muttered to himself, letting his head hang in shame.

He prized himself on not being the beast Kelia used to think he was. And yet, here he was, tempted to lick a drop of blood from the surface of his desk.

He had returned to check on her. He had done that. If he wanted to survive this night, if he wanted to be sharp and clear-headed, he needed to feed. Especially with her blood lingering in his room. He needed fresh air, a distraction. His feelings were getting too overwhelming. He needed to escape.

He stood and headed back to the deck of the ship, to one of the row boats. He didn’t notice that one was missing, did not notice that Kelia had not left to go to her room as he had commanded her to.