22. Zayan

22

Zayan

V inicola dives behind me like a startled rabbit, his breath coming in sharp gasps. I draw my pistol without thinking, eyes locking on the man who’s stumbled back, his dark, hollow stare glued to Gypsy’s compass like it could blow him to pieces.

“Oh god, it’s trying to kill me!” Vinicola shrieks. “What is it? A ghost? A mare? Oh, I’m going to die…”

I don’t even glance at him, keeping my aim steady, voice cool despite the chaos spinning in my head. “It’s just a man, Vinicola. Flesh and bone. Nothing more.”

Except I’m lying. Not to him, but to myself. There’s something off about this guy, something that gnaws at the back of my mind. He’s not just some pirate weighed down by too many blades. No, he’s got that kind of darkness in him, the kind that’s raw and twisted, like it’s carved straight out of the storm rolling toward us. And trust me, the armory strapped to his back isn’t helping his case.

“You…” His voice rasps out, a finger trembling just slightly as it points at Gypsy.

That’s when it clicks. He’s not dangerous because of all those weapons or that dead look in his eyes. It’s worse than that. He’s one of those men who’s already lost everything and has nothing left to fear. I’ve seen plenty like him before, men teetering on the edge, clinging to life with a bitterness that poisons everything they touch.

The kind who doesn’t care if he burns the world down while he’s at it.

One look at him and I know—he’s got no limits, no leash. That scar cutting through his eye? The desperation hanging on him like a storm cloud? It screams “unhinged.” He’s a walking disaster, ready to explode, and if I don’t stop him now, we’re all going down with him.

And I can’t have that. Not with Gypsy standing right there. Not with Vinicola being, well, Vinicola. My leg’s a mess, can barely stand on it, and Gypsy… she’s still carrying that weight from whatever mess that dream of hers dumped on her.

He could kill us all. Hell, he probably would’ve already, if it weren’t for that moment of shock that had him stumbling back. That’s the only reason we’re still breathing.

“Stand back,” I snap at the crew, finger already hovering over the trigger. Killing ain’t something I take lightly, but sometimes it’s the only way to keep breathing. I take a breath, short and steady, nerves like steel.

But then Gypsy’s voice slices through the air beside me.

“Wait!” she shouts, that rasp of hers dripping with that maddening conviction—the kind that makes me pause, even when I damn well shouldn’t.

I glance at her, just for a second, my hand steady but my focus shifting. She’s gripping that cursed compass like it’s the only thing tethering her to the world. Her eyes are wide, flicking toward the man I’ve got in my sights. She steps right, one step, then another.

Damn it, Gypsy. What the hell are you doing?

Every bone in my body knows there’s no way I’m lowering this gun. Not now. I can’t afford to give this man a single inch of freedom.

Because if I do, we’re as good as dead.

But then she speaks, and suddenly, everything turns into one big cosmic joke.

“The compass,” she breathes, her brows pulling together in confusion. “It’s pointing at him.”

Are you fucking kidding me?

I don’t even bother masking the groan that escapes me. Of course, the cursed compass is pointing at this guy.

“That means nothing,” I say, my eyes locking on the man again. “Maybe we were sent here to kill him. Maybe the Lady’s got some unfinished business with the bastard.”

I mean, it’s not such a far-fetched idea. Wouldn’t put it past her. The sea goddess loves her chaos, right? Sends a Marauder, a Serpent, and a clueless bard, all on a rickety deathtrap of a ship, chasing down some assassin because a piece of cursed metal told us to? Yeah, sounds like the Lady’s kind of entertainment.

I mean, I’d be entertained if I were her.

But as the words leave my mouth, the sky lets out a low, rumbling growl, like the universe itself just told me to shut up. The ship lurches, the whole damn island trembles, and I feel it deep in my chest—I’m wrong.

“Or… maybe not?” Vinicola squeaks behind me, echoing the thought that’s flashing through my mind.

The man flinches as the sky roars again, dragging in air like it’s his first breath in hours. His gaze snaps between Gypsy and the compass, darkening with something desperate. Something ugly.

“What have you done?” His voice rasps, rough like he’s been gargling nails. “You’ve started it, haven’t you?”

“Started what?” Gypsy snaps back, quick as ever, not wasting a breath.

He lets out this bitter, hollow laugh, eyes wild. “The fucking trials!” His voice cracks with rage and panic. His hand moves toward something on his belt—glass? Poison, maybe?

I step forward, grinning like I’ve already won. “One more twitch, mate, and you’re a corpse. Hands up. Whatever trick you’ve got hidden won’t help you now.”

His laugh comes out sharp, cutting through the noise like broken glass. “That’s rich, coming from a cripple.”

A cripple? Now that’s funny. Sure, I’m barely standing upright, but I’ve still got a pistol aimed at his chest. I can’t help but grin wider. “A cripple with a gun,” I shoot back, flicking the barrel in his direction. “I say we put him down right here.”

“Who are you?” Gypsy asks, lips pursed, nostrils flared. She’s got her hand on her own pistol now, but I can see the way her body’s wound tight. “Why are you here?”

The man smiles, but it’s not the kind of smile you want to see. His black eyes gleam with something sick, and then his lips curl into a sneer.

“If you’re going to act stupid, you might as well listen to the cripple and shoot me already,” he spits. “I’m not in the mood to play games with you lot.”

What a charming fellow.

“This cripple is going to do more than just put a bullet in you,” I say, forcing a little more swagger into my voice. Even if he’s built like he’s been training for a war, I’m a master at bluffing. That’s the trick, after all—make them believe you’ve already won. “Maybe I’ll take a leg, too. Welcome you to the cripple gang.”

His eyes narrow, and I see the spark of challenge. “I dare you to try,” he growls, low and dangerous. “If the sea doesn’t swallow you first.”

Ah, there it is—he’s playing tough. My kind of game. Something stirs inside me, that dangerous cocktail of fear for Gypsy, shame for this damn injury, and a whole lot of pride. A bastard like him? Needs to be taught a lesson.

I slide the gun lower, aiming straight at his gut. A slow, nasty death if I pull the trigger now. And I’m half tempted.

I chuckle. “You think the sea scares me?” I say, voice dropping to a low, dangerous tone. “I’ve faced worse than you, mate. Trust me.”

“Zayan, quiet,” Gypsy says. The stranger catches up to it quick.

“You heard your boss, champ,” he taunts, baring his teeth like a wolf. He glances at Gypsy, and for a split second, I’m on the verge of ripping him apart. “I’m the family of the captain of this ship. I own this damn place, which means you’re all standing on my property.”

“This place looks like it’s rotting from the inside out,” I mutter, glancing around the ancient wreck. “Try again, mate.”

“Believe what you want. Doesn’t matter. It’s too late for the three of you anyway.”

From behind me, I hear Vinicola’s voice pipe up. “I’m sorry, Mister, but I have to say, you’re not making a whole lot of sense. I mean, it’s probably crystal clear to you—truly, I admire your confidence—but for us? Well, we’re a bit in the dark here. So, if you could—“

“Vinicola, shut it,” Gypsy hisses under her breath.

But to my surprise—and probably everyone else’s—the madman pauses. His dark eyes drift down to Vini, and for a second, the sneer fades. It’s brief, a flicker, but enough for me to notice. Like he’s actually considering him. And then, just like that, the bastard’s half-smile curls back, meaner than before.

“Oh, you really don’t know, do you?” He laughs, and the sound sends a chill down my spine. “You’re just pawns in her game. She got you good. But hey, that just works out better for me.”

And that’s when everything goes to hell.

Between one breath and the next, I’m moving, blocking his sword with the barrel of my gun. My mind hasn’t even caught up yet, but my body knows—it’s fight or die.

Pain shoots through my leg, but I shove it into the back of my mind.

The clash of metal rings through the narrow space, the force of his strike nearly knocking the gun from my grip. He’s strong. Too strong, especially with me limping through this on a bad leg. I grit my teeth, holding firm.

“Show me what you’ve got, cripple,” he snarls, teeth flashing. His scarred face twists into something ugly, the old wound over his eye pulling taut.

I shift my weight to my good leg, trying to sidestep, but he’s faster than I expected. He anticipates the move, slashing at my side. I barely deflect the blow, but it sends a jolt of pain through my arms, leaving me winded and off-balance. He presses in closer, grinning like a shark.

“You think you can just waltz in here and take what’s mine?” His voice is a low growl. “You have no idea what I’ll do to protect it.”

Before I can react, Gypsy’s on him, like a force out of nowhere. She leaps onto his back, arms wrapping around his neck in a chokehold. She locks her wrist with a ferocity only she can muster, pulling tight.

“You bitch,” the man snarls, staggering under her weight, but it gives me a second to catch my breath. I can feel the shift—Gypsy’s thrown him off balance.

But then I notice something important. Something that makes my blood run cold.

Her hands are empty.

Where the hell is the compass?

I spot Vinicola, standing frozen like a rabbit caught in torchlight. Fuck.

“Run, Vinicola!” Gypsy roars, her face flushed, eyes wild, the very image of chaotic violence. She’s terrifying like this—deadly and beautiful all at once. “Get out of here!”

The bard hesitates for just a split second before bolting down the corridor, his footsteps echoing behind him. The man snarls, thrashing like a wild animal to throw Gypsy off, but she clings on like her life depends on it.

“You’re not going anywhere!” The bastard twists, trying to slam Gypsy into the wall. And that’s when it hits me—I can’t shoot. Not like this. Not with her caught in the crossfire.

He throws himself backward, ramming her into the wall with a sickening thud. Gypsy cries out, just for a moment, her grip faltering—but damn if she isn’t stubborn. Even now, she holds on.

“Gypsy!” I lunge forward, gun useless. With a quick flip, I swing the hilt at his leg, aiming for an opening. The metal connects with his thigh, a satisfying crack. He roars in pain, movements becoming more erratic.

“You wanna play?” I snarl, forcing myself to stand tall despite the pain shooting through my leg. “Let’s see if you’ve got the guts to finish what you started.”

He lashes out with a wild kick, but I’m ready. I dodge, barely, and grab his arm, twisting it behind his back. Gypsy’s grip tightens around his neck, her knuckles white as she fights to hold him down.

“Give it up!” she growls. A flash of lightning splits the sky outside, the storm hammering the world around us. I can’t tell if The Lady’s laughing at us or watching this brawl for her own twisted amusement. But fuck, I hope she sees just how deadly me and my girl are together. Because when we find the opportunity, we will come for her instead.

The man snarls in response, a guttural sound that makes my blood burn hotter. This isn’t just a fight to him—it’s survival. Every muscle in his body strains against us, desperate, wild, like a cornered beast.

“Is this it?” I sneer, voice dripping with mockery. “You were dying to see what I’ve got. But from where I’m standing, you don’t seem to have much in you.”

Unfortunately, that does it. He surges forward, dragging both Gypsy and me with him like we’re nothing. Gypsy’s grip slips, and she hits the floor hard.

What the hell…? Who is this guy?

I want to shove this bastard’s face in the dirt and make sure he knows exactly why he shouldn’t mess with us. But the second he breaks free, he doesn’t even glance back. No, no—he lunges straight for Vinicola.

“Dammit!” Gypsy growls, bolting after him.

I stumble, trying to keep up, but I’m nowhere near as fast. My leg’s screaming in protest with every step. It’s only the adrenaline that keeps me going.

I hear it—the chase. Vinicola’s frantic footsteps, the heavy breathing of the beast after him, and Gypsy’s determined strides not far behind. And then there is the beginning of a storm outside.

It’s madness, pure and simple. Even though we’re on solid ground, it feels like we’re tossed in the middle of the raging sea.

Vinicola’s voice echoes through the ship, a frantic wail of terror. “You! Leave me alone!”

I grit my teeth and push harder, the pain in my leg flaring like someone’s twisting a knife in it. I round a corner just in time to see Vinicola careen through a door and into what looks like the cargo hold. He stumbles over crates and barrels, arms flailing in desperation as he tries to put as much distance between himself and the lunatic chasing him.

Gypsy’s hot on his heels, moving with a speed and grace that is, frankly, unfair. She leaps over everything in her path like some kind of bloodthirsty goddess, eyes locked on the poor bastard chasing him.

I have no business noticing the way her perky tits jiggle as she runs or how a thin layer of sweat covers her neck and cleavage. But what can I do? Noticing her has become second nature, like it’s embedded in my blood, a sickness I can’t shake.

She’ll be the death of me.

The bastard chasing Vinicola skids to a halt, eyes darting around the hold like a rat sniffing out his prey. And then he locks onto something in the shadows. My stomach twists—he’s found Vinicola.

But the bard’s quicker than he looks. I watch as Vinicola slips through another door, out into the storm. I follow, bursting out onto the deck just in time to see him climbing the rigging, scrambling higher.

Then something stops me cold. Everything’s wrong. The deck, the masts, the jagged rock splitting the ship in half—it’s all slick with blood. Or at least, that’s what it looks like. But no, not blood… not exactly. It’s the rain.

Bloodwater.

It takes me a second to piece it together, but the horror creeps in quick. The storm’s turned, and now thick, red droplets fall from the sky like some goddamn omen. The entire deck is soaked in it, the air thick with the metallic stench.

Roche’s voice echoes in my head, uninvited: “If you Bloodwater falling from the sky, death is coming.” It was one of the things he never joked about. Roche, the man who doubts everything, never dismissed that .

Is that what this is? Death’s grand entrance?

I glance at the crimson-soaked deck, at the man hunting Vinicola, and then at Gypsy, who’s charging ahead like nothing’s out of place. My gut twists, but one thing’s clear.

If death is coming, it better come for him.

Because it sure as hell won’t be taking us.