36. Gypsy

36

Gypsy

N obody tells you how damn painful it is to care about someone. They always spin it as this magical thing—like you’re supposed to feel giddy, stupid, like one of those fools sighing into the horizon or twirling their hair like they’ve lost their damn wits.

Songs and stories paint it as some grand, life-changing experience. But they never say how it twists you up inside. How it feels like a knife pressing just close enough to remind you it’s there, that it could cut deeper any second.

Passing Ridley on deck, my chest tightens like something’s clawing from the inside out. My heart feels like it’s been hacked to pieces, each half struggling to keep me standing, even though I feel like I should’ve dropped dead hours ago.

Ridley’s gaze snaps to mine as he catches sight of Fabien and Vinicola hauling Zayan’s limp form. “What’s going on?” he demands.

“He keeps slipping in and out,” I manage, fingers digging into my scalp like it’ll force the panic back down. “Dove too deep, and now he’s… not all there. Not yet.”

Ridley’s face hardens, fiercer than I’ve ever seen on a man his age. “Get him to the cabin. Now.”

Fabien’s face is set, unreadable, as he nods and hurries past me with Vinicola, Zayan’s arms swaying like dead weight. I watch them, legs barely holding me, like the whole damn world is tilting beneath my feet and I can’t find any strength in them.

Fuck, this can’t be happening… It just can’t.

I bite down hard and force my body to move, trailing Ridley into the cabin where they’ve laid Zayan out. Fabien’s already at his side, fingers pressed to Zayan’s wrist, face drawn with something akin to dreadful calculation. Vinicola stands nearby, his hands trembling, his face lined with worry that’s so damn obvious it makes my stomach twist.

It’s like I see myself in him.

“Is he breathing right?” I ask, trying to shake off the memory of the sounds he made after resurfacing, each one like his lungs were filling with seawater—a wet, rasping struggle that cuts through me even now.

Fabien glances up. “His breathing’s shallow, but it’s there. We’ve got to keep him warm—the cold and pressure took their toll.”

I just nod, swallowing hard, forcing down the knot in my throat. “Alright, then.”

What else can I do but let him do his thing? I know nothing about diving. I’ve never even tried doing it. Not like this.

Vinicola shuffles closer, reaching out to put a cold hand on my shoulder. “He is a strong man, Miss Captain,” he murmurs, voice hushed and hopeful. “He’ll pull through.”

I huff out a breath, more to shake off the tension in my chest than to agree. “I don’t even know how the hell he managed all that,” I mutter, shaking my head. Zayan’s strong, yeah. But that depth? The damn beast lurking below? All that exertion right after hauling the sand? He may always act invincible, but even his heart isn’t made of steel.

At least some color’s sneaking back to his cheeks. Fabien hovers near, pressing a careful hand to Zayan’s forehead like he’s taking stock of what’s left of him. The irony isn’t lost on me—Fabien, of all people, sticking around, looking after someone he barely tolerates on a good day. He’s still got the hourglass jammed in his soaked coat pocket, the one we pried from that damned pillar. Any other day, he’d be off studying it, locked away in his armory. But here he is, lingering, despite all his solitary habits.

Fabien was the one who threw sand into the gouge when Zayan finally dragged himself back to surface. And it was him who flipped that damned hourglass. Vini and I might’ve been the ones pulling at Zayan, doing what we could to keep him breathing, but Fabien…well, he figured out the trick. Like he guessed, turning that hourglass brought the land back under our feet, sent the shark off, and, just as if the sea hadn’t tried to swallow us whole, our skiff appeared on a flat, calm stretch of blue, as if none of it had ever happened.

But that wasn’t the only surprise. When Fabien tipped the hourglass horizontal—stopping the sand and sea both from spilling over us—it was like the thing drained itself dry. Every grain, every drop, disappeared into some hidden compartment, leaving the glass empty, like we’d used up its magic just by surviving.

There was something written on it, that much I could see at a first glance. I barely got a glance what, but Fabien didn’t seem interested in wasting time on it either. Instead, he stashed the hourglass in his pocket and helped Vinicola and me haul Zayan’s body over to the skiff. Whatever mystery the Lady wanted to toss our way, he ignored it, focused instead on keeping Zayan breathing.

He hasn’t left since. He’s still here. Like part of the crew.

“Can I…?” My voice wavers, but I push past it. “Can I lie down next to him?” My fingers clench, itching to do something, but I know better than to pace or move too much; the last thing Zayan needs is a chill from even a hint of wind. “Wait. We need to get him out of these wet clothes. Get him dry.”

Fabien meets my eyes, the surprise there faint but real. Then he nods. “You’re right. Warmer that way.”

I don’t waste time waiting for anyone to step up. My fingers find the buttons of Zayan’s shirt, stiff from seawater, and I start undoing them, pushing back the slight tremble in my hands. The cold fabric clings to his skin, resisting, until Vinicola, his hands just as unsteady, reaches in to help me peel it away.

Once Zayan’s down to his underclothes, I grab the nearest blanket, rough and dry, and wrap it tightly around him, trapping whatever warmth I can muster.

I look up, meeting Fabien’s eyes. “Now. Now, I’m lying down beside him.”

He hesitates but eventually nods.

Without another word, I settle next to Zayan, careful not to jostle him. The blanket barely covers us both, but I stretch it as best I can, pressing close enough that my body warmth bleeds into him, hoping it’s enough to keep the chill at bay.

He didn’t even look at me… right before the second dive, not once.

I push the thought down, shove it somewhere deep, where I keep all the things I can’t afford to dwell on. He’s here, and that should be enough. His breaths fall in a steady rhythm against my side, each rise and fall a reminder that, for now, he’s alive.

I lean forward, resting my lips on his shoulder, just a whisper of a kiss, something small enough that even I can pretend it’s nothing.

Now, it’s just me and him, waiting.

Just me and him—and the ache in my heart.

“Gypsy,” someone whispers, the voice thin and hoarse. “Gypsy, you’re—strangling me.”

My eyes snap open, taking a second to place the voice, the heat of skin under my fingers, and the rise and fall of the chest beneath my arm. Zayan’s chest.

I pull back just enough to catch his face, his eyes half-open but locked on me, bleary with exhaustion and still alive. Relief punches through me so hard I have to fight down a gasp.

“Zayan,” I manage, my voice sounding as ragged as he looks. “You’re awake.”

A faint smile twists at his lips, pale but no longer edging toward blue. “Barely,” he croaks, sounding rougher than a barnacle scraping wood. “But you were clearly trying to fix that.”

I let out a half-laugh, half-sob I can’t quite keep down. “Shut up,” I growl, swiping at my eyes like I could erase the feeling clawing its way out.

His smile widens, just the barest bit, and he lifts a trembling hand to brush my face. “You okay?” he rasps.

What kind of a question is that? I want to shake him. He’s the one who nearly got himself killed. He dived down like a damn anchor, wrestled a shark, scooped sand from the bottom of the sea, and hauled it all back up on two breaths.

I scowl, muttering, “I should be asking you that.”

“Oh, I’m peachy,” he breathes out. “But I want to know how you are.”

I close my eyes for a moment, feeling the warmth of his hand on my cheek.

I open my eyes, meeting his gaze head-on. “Are you asking your captain, or the woman thrown to the Trials?”

He tilts his head, thumb grazing my cheek, his gaze softening, almost… open. “I’m asking the woman who held onto me like I was her last breath,” he murmurs, his voice barely a whisper. “The one who makes me want to keep fighting no matter what.”

A laugh, low and bitter, escapes before I can stop it. “That woman?” I shake my head, letting the fire in my chest flare. “She’s furious, Zayan. Beyond anything you can imagine.”

He huffs a small, humorless laugh, eyes narrowing, but there’s something else there, too—a hint of something that makes my pulse race against my will. “That right?”

“Yeah.”

“And why’s that?”

My jaw tightens, heat flooding my face as I lean in, letting him see the sharp edge of what I’ve been holding back. “Because you didn’t even look at me, Zayan. You went in there, knowing you could die, and didn’t give me so much as a glance.”

His grin fades, that cocky confidence slipping, leaving him with an expression I haven’t seen in some time now—real, unguarded, and it cuts deeper than I’d like. He swallows, glancing away, before he finally answers, voice rough. “I… I didn’t want to. Because if I had, I might not have gone through with it.”

“Do you really think I’d want you to stop just because of me?” The words come out sharper than intended. Weak as I’ve felt lately, I’m not that weak. A captain knows when to steel herself, to keep feelings locked where they belong, well out of reach. Most of the time, anyway.

His hand tightens just slightly on my cheek, something pained flickering in his eyes. “No. But I think if I’d looked at you, I would’ve been too afraid to leave you behind—even for a second. And I couldn’t risk that.”

A bitter laugh escapes before I can stop it. “And you think I wasn’t scared for you?” The words tumble out, tight, unsteady. “You can’t even imagine.”

He smirks, a faint, tired thing. “Oh, I think I can. How do you think I felt when you took that damned compass from Old Betty and decided to gamble with your life on your own?”

I shift, sitting up, making sure the blanket falls over him and away from me, feeling my heart, bruised and stitched, piece itself together—slowly, haltingly. It’s no miraculous mending. No neat fix. Not when Zayan still looks like death warmed over, his face pale, shadows under his eyes made starker by the flicker of a few stray candles scattered around the room.

Someone must have brought them in when we were asleep.

“That was different,” I say, shaking my head. “Back then, we weren’t…” I pause, searching for the right words, “…we weren’t this close.”

“Come on, love,” he murmurs, “you can’t mean that. Maybe you didn’t care for me much then, but you knew what I felt.”

I stare at him. Every instinct screams that now isn’t the time for this conversation. This isn’t a moment for words; it’s a moment to breathe, to let the reality sink in that he’s alive. Alive and here.

Words like these don’t feel like breathing—they’re suffocating.

But I almost lost him today.

It’s been creeping up on us for a while now, these damn Trials, but when it came down to it, I wasn’t ready. Not to see him laid out, choking on his last breath. Not to imagine him gone.

Time’s a luxury we don’t have. So, I bite.

“You were just thinking about a good lay,” I say, dry as sand. “Afraid you’d lose the best damn fuck of your life, so you got all protective.”

A smirk twitches at his lips, but his eyes narrow. He’s fishing for more, isn’t he? Always wanting to crack this open and dive deep. I’m not good at that. Never have been.

“You’re right—your exquisite pussy is worth it,” he fires back, deadpan. “But we both know it wasn’t just that. You felt it too. And that’s why you got so skittish, isn’t it?”

He’s grinning, but his words slip under my skin. I shrug, meeting his eyes square. “You got close. That’s all it was. Close enough to scare me.”

His hand brushes my face again. “Funny,” he says quietly, “you scared me too.”

I could dodge this, let it roll off, but I hold his gaze. If I’m going to make my own way, I’ve got to get better at this: letting Zayan see the pieces of me. We are raw together, him and I. And damn if it doesn’t feel good.

“Maybe,” I whisper, my voice barely carrying over the thudding of my heart as I lean in, resting my forehead against his. “But don’t get soft. I’m still furious with you for nearly dying. Next time you pull that, I’ll have your hide.”

He laughs, a low, wicked sound that sends a shiver through me. His hand travels to my waist, pulling me close.

“You know…” he drawls, his smile turning mischievous, “I’ve got an idea for how you can burn off that anger.”

I raise a brow, half-amused, half-exasperated. “You can’t be serious.”

“Oh, I’m very serious. Besides, holding onto all that rage can’t be good for you,” he says, fingers pressing into my waist, coaxing me closer. Despite myself, my forehead stays against his, and I swear I feel a jolt traveling all the way to my pussy, even though I try to stop it.

“You nearly died,” I whine.

“Nearly did,” he echoes, his tone almost mocking but warm, like he’s brushing past it. “I’ll tell you, the sea floor gets real cold.”

“Oh, does it?” I mutter, feigning indifference.

“Yeah. So I could use something to warm me up,” he murmurs.

“You’re impossible,” I manage, but the conviction’s all gone. The truth? I need this, too—something to pull me out of the pit that’s been growing since we dragged him from the water. The fear, the frustration—all of it’s got to go somewhere. And damn it, my nipples are already hard as pebbles, every nerve awake and blood rushing to my clit like it’s got no place else to be.

“I’m fucking freezing, love” he whispers. “Really need you to warm me up.”

The way he calls me ‘love’ used to drive me mad, but now… now it just pulls me in deeper. Makes me lean into him without even meaning to.

“They did say you needed to be kept warm,” I say, a little too casually.

“Healer’s orders?” he asks, voice teasing.

I nod, swallowing. “Yeah.”

“Seems like we’d better follow through, then.”

His lips meet mine, cold and bruised, sending a shiver down my spine. But he won’t stay that way for long. I’m here to warm him, and hell, I’ve got plenty to give.

His hands glide up my back, fingers tracing a path that leaves my skin humming. The best part? We’re already in bed, nearly naked, with nothing left to hold us back.

“I’ll take care of you,” I mutter into his lips.

Sliding under the blanket, I maneuver us both, shifting him onto his side and letting my leg rest on his hip. His arm slips under my head like a pillow, and his other hand skims up and down my thigh.

Before long, he’s warmer, his cheeks flushed, and his breath comes quicker, as though I’m breathing life back into him. His grip tightens on my leg, fingers digging into my skin with that barely restrained need of his, like he can’t help but want to hold on to me even tighter.

I’m no healer, but I’d say the treatment’s working.

When his hand slides up, catching on my makeshift undergarment—little more than a scrap of old sail I threw together—it peels off without a fight. I kick it aside, letting it fall where it may, and hook my leg back over him, all smooth, unbroken movement.

“You’re the only thing I need to feel good, Gypsy,” he exhales.

“Is that so? Am I your medicine, sailor?” My tone’s all taunt, my fingers tracing lines down his chest, over old scars and tattoos.

“Hell yes.” His eyes are dark and unflinching. “And you’re sweet with it.”

I laugh, rough and quiet. “Sweet, huh? Hard to believe you’d find me as such.”

“Shut up, love. I won the world.”

My heart pounds, and damn, the way his hand wraps around his cock, stroking it between us, his gaze locked on me like he’s worshipping and devouring all at once… it’s enough to make me ache. He looks wrecked, just on the edge, like I’m really the only thing he needs in the world.

But as much as I’d love to feel his cock inside my pussy right here, right now, there’s something I’ve wanted to try for a long time.

“Think you can lay still for me?” I murmur, running my nails over his skin, letting the question linger, daring him to say yes.

His eyes widen a little, a flicker of surprise in the heat. “Why?”

“Because,” I whisper, leaning close enough for my breath to trace his jaw, “I want to take care of you… as best as I can.”

His lips part, the realization hitting as I slide beneath the blanket, my head moving level with his chest.

“Oh…” he murmurs.

I take my time, fingers tracing lines across his skin, each touch sending a shiver through him. His body’s heat rises, his breath catches. I feel his heartbeat strong and fast beneath my hand, and it’s all I can do to hold back a smile.

I can’t even say how happy it makes me. The thought of it giving out again… of him slipping away… no.

“Gypsy…” he breathes, my name like a prayer on his lips, his voice trembling, raw.

I press a kiss against his chest, right where his heart pounds the hardest. Then, my mouth trails downward, drinking in every shiver that ripples through him. When my hand slides lower, he inhales sharply, his cock hard and ready under my touch, his hips jerking despite himself.

“Fuck, Gypsy,” he breathes, voice strained.

I don’t bother with words; I let my mouth do the talking. My lips brush lightly against the tip, teasing him just enough to feel the power I have over him, and he responds immediately—a deep, guttural groan that seems to shake him from the inside out.

“Be a good lad, Zayan,” I murmur against him, voice thick with taunt, “or I won’t be able to do my work right.”

“Uh-uh.” He nods, struggling to stay still, his jaw tight. “I’m trying, damn it.”

I take him into my mouth, inch by inch, letting the weight of him rest heavy on my tongue as I move, tasting the edge of his control slipping. His taste fills me, and I hollow my cheeks, taking him deeper, pressing harder until he’s gasping, cursing under his breath, hands gripping the sheets to hold himself in check.

“Fuck, you’re really taking care of me, huh?” he breathes, voice hoarse. “Gods, the things you’re doing…”

I take him deeper, gaining confidence with every gasp, every shiver he can’t hide. I keep a steady rhythm, determined to see him unravel, and though he’s panting hard, he can’t resist running that damn mouth of his.

“Gypsy… I want to grab your head and push. Love…”

That word again, and I moan, reaching up, my hand finding his and peeling his grip from the sheets. I bring it to my hair, meeting his gaze, inviting him.

“Yeah? I can use your throat a little?”

With a half-choked groan, he pushes me down, his cock sinking deep, so deep my eyes start to water. But the heat, the sheer intensity of him, is so damn good it has me rolling my eyes back, wanting more.

“It’s so fucking tight…” he grits out, his hips lifting, hitting the back of my throat. I hum, the vibrations running through him, making his whole body jerk under me.

“I want to see you,” he rasps. “Need to see all of you.”

The blanket’s gone in a flash, and he just stares, his chest heaving as he takes me in—my ass up, my bare skin glistening faintly with sweat. I feel him twitch, helpless, utterly wrecked in my hands.

“You’re so fucking beautiful…” he mutters, his voice cracked. “You’re gonna make me come so fast, Gypsy… I don’t want to, but you’re too damn good…”

His words spur me on, my mouth working faster, tongue swirling over his tip each time I pull back. His muscles go taut, hand gripping my hair hard as he teeters on the edge.

“Gypsy… I can’t… I’m gonna…”

I know what’s coming, but I don’t let up, sinking him deeper still. His whole body goes rigid as he comes, his release hot and thick, and I take every drop, holding him through every pulse of pleasure that rips through him.

When it’s over, I pull back, trailing a final kiss along his softening cock before sliding up beside him.

“You’re a killer, love,” he pants, trying to catch his breath. “An absolute fucking killer.”

I give him a mock pout, raising an eyebrow. “And here I thought I was saving your sorry life.”

Zayan chuckles, still breathless, and pulls me into him, his arms locking around me in that way that always makes me feel like I’m exactly where I belong. His warmth is addicting—something I could get used to, despite all we’ve been through.

“You did save me,” he murmurs, voice rough, fingers tracing my back. “In more ways than one.”

I snuggle into his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart against my ear once more.

Don’t you ever stop beating, little guy.

“Good,” I say aloud, feeling his fingers dig into my hair.

He sighs, voice low and teasing, “But perhaps you could save me again?”

I roll my eyes, sitting up with a smirk. “Really? After all that?”

The glint in his eyes says it all. The bastard isn’t satisfied. With that devil’s smile, he pulls me right back down beside him, his hand finding its way to the small of my back, his fingers drawing lazy, possessive circles on my skin.

“I mean,” he murmurs, voice low, “you’ve worked wonders on me, but I think there’s still a bit of healing left.”

A thrill runs through me, and I can’t help the grin. “And what exactly do you think you need saving from now?”

“Me?” He raises an eyebrow, all playful danger. “Who said anything about me ?”

Oh. Oh .

“Am I the stricken soul now?” I bite my lip, feeling the pulse between us, his moss-green eyes boring into me.

“Didn’t you lose consciousness in the water?” His fingers thread through my hair, pressing just near the spot that aches me. “Don’t think I forgot about it.”

I reach up, running a hand over the dull ache at my skull, the pain I shoved aside in the midst of chaos, just focused on keeping him alive. But now, here, with him warm beside me, I let myself feel it.

“Well… I probably could use a little attention,” I murmur, my voice low.

He glances over, eyes glinting. “Yeah? What is it you want, love?”

“I don’t want to be selfish.”

He laughs, a dark, quiet sound. “Since when?”

I huff, biting my lip. “Do I have to say it again? You nearly fucking died, Zayan.”

His smirk softens, and he reaches out, brushing a strand of hair from my face with a gentleness that twists something deep in me. “Yeah, exactly. So let’s live a little,” he purrs, voice dripping with heat. “Trust me, whatever you want… it’d be nothing but my pleasure.”

My teeth sink into my lower lip, my body sparking at his words. I’m soaked, the taste of him still on my tongue, and every inch of me aches to be touched. I want so much that I can’t just settle on one thing.

I want everything.

But there’s one thing I want the most.

“I want you inside me,” I whisper, unable to hold back.

His grin spreads, eyes darkening with pure, unfiltered desire. “Then come here, love,” he purrs, his voice thick with need. “Angle yourself just right so I can slide in deep.”

No surprise, he’s already hard again. I don’t know how the hell he can manage it after nearly passing out hours ago, but now he looks like he’s in his prime, a strong young man ready to claim what’s his.

“You’re impossible,” I tease, my heart racing.

“And you’re fucking irresistible,” he shoots back, the heat in his voice making my skin tingle.

I don’t want to lose sight of him. Instead of turning around to let him take me from behind, I wrap my legs around his hips and lie back, staring up at him. His hand grips my knees, and with the other, he lines up his cock with my opening.

And when he enters me… Gods, when he fills my pussy, I can barely stifle the moan that threatens to escape.

But unlike Zayan, I can be a loud motherfucker, and I don’t want anyone else to hear us. This moment is ours alone. So, with every ounce of willpower left in my body, I turn that moan into deep, shaky breaths, muffled enough to stay hidden in this room.

It feels like he wants it too—us locked in our own little bubble, away from the Trials, the fucking goddess, and the constant struggle for survival.

The rhythm he sets is intoxicating, a slow, unhurried dance that pulls me deeper into him. In and out. In and out.

“Do you know why I didn’t die, Gypsy?” he groans after a while, his voice raw.

I can only shake my head, too lost in pleasure to form words.

“Because I wanted to do this with you again,” he murmurs, his eyes fierce and hungry. “I needed to come back to you and this perfect fucking pussy of yours.”

Oh, gods…

I press my thighs tighter around him, pulling him closer, deeper, craving every inch of him inside me. I can’t think, can’t breathe—everything fades away until it’s just him filling me completely.

“You’re everything to me, Gypsy,” he groans, voice low and breathless. “You have no idea how much I need you.”

The pressure inside me builds, an overwhelming force that makes me feel like I’m about to shatter. My nails dig into his shoulder, desperate for something to hold on to as pleasure coils tighter and tighter, ready to snap.

And then the orgasm hits me, crashing over me like a wave, tensing every muscle in my body before shattering me into a million pieces. I curl my toes, roll my eyes back, and press my head hard against the bed.

But nothing can stifle the loud, airy moan that tears from my throat, echoing in the room long after I’ve peaked. Zayan feels it, his rhythm faltering as I tighten around him, my body clenching in ecstasy. His eyes widen at the sight of me lost in pleasure, and it pushes him over the edge.

He grips my hips harder, pulling me even closer, burying himself deep inside me as he reaches his own climax. A guttural sound escapes him—a mix of a groan and a sigh—as his body shudders against mine, heat flooding me from within.

It would all be perfect, absolutely perfect, if it weren’t for the fact that the doors to the quarters are wide open. Fabien and Vinicola stand right in the doorway, eyes wide and horrified.

“Is he… Fuck!” Fabien stops dead in his tracks. “They were fucking!”

“Oh, thank goodness,” Vinicola yelps. “Oh, thank goodness! He is okay!”

Fabien yanks Vinicola by the collar, dragging him away from the doorframe. “Give them some space, you dimwit,” he groans, closing his eyes as he pulls harder.

But even after he slams the door shut, and I glance at Zayan, grinning from ear to ear, I can still hear Vinicola’s voice ringing through the wood. And let me tell you, that bard can scream.

“It was a good cry, everyone! Mr. Zayan is okay!”

A loud cheer erupts outside the door, and the whole crew celebrates. Zayan and I share a smirk, too.

And we celebrate as well. In our own way.

Two more times, to be precise.