Total pages in book: 105
Estimated words: 97188 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 486(@200wpm)___ 389(@250wpm)___ 324(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 97188 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 486(@200wpm)___ 389(@250wpm)___ 324(@300wpm)
Lizzie has resumed her blank expression, but there’s something in her eyes that looks almost bleak. “She sounds . . . nice.”
“She is, but she’s not a pushover. You can’t be if you’re running a tavern. The people who cross her only do it once. When my mother draws a line in the sand, the entire village backs her up. It’s only happened a few times over the years, but it’s memorable all the same. She’s terrible at baking, but she can brew the finest beer you’ve ever had. And she sings in the evenings when she cleans up after we’ve closed the doors. She’s got a lovely voice, though I couldn’t tell you if that’s because she excels at music or if it’s just because I love her.”
That carefully blank look on Lizzie’s face is morphing into curiosity again, and I know exactly what she’ll ask next. Which is why I ask my own question in a rush. Reckless with the desire to avoid where we’re headed. “Do you still love Evelyn?”
Just like that, the curiosity snuffs out of Lizzie’s deep brown eyes. “I’m bored of this game. I’m going to take a nap.”
I watch in stunned disbelief as she reclines back on the bench, somehow contorting gracefully into the space, and closes her eyes. There’s absolutely no way that she falls asleep so quickly, but it only takes seconds for the rise and fall of her chest to settle into a gentle cadence.
I suppose that’s one way to get out of an argument question. It’s absurd, but I suppose it’s better than throwing herself over the edge of the boat and diving deep until I’ve forgotten what I asked. I’ve used that method to exit uncomfortable conversations a time or two in the past. Impossible to speak when you’re in your seal form and beneath the waves.
Does she realize that her abrupt end to the game is answer enough? She obviously still cares very deeply for Evelyn, and why not? In the days that I sailed on the Audacity, Evelyn quickly became a bright spot in the experience. She’s beautiful and bubbly and quick-witted, and she doesn’t bend when it comes to things that she cares deeply about. What’s not to love about that? She’s certainly clever enough and powerful enough to ensure no one would steal something valuable from her.
In fact, Evelyn is the one who does the stealing. I watched it happen half a dozen times. She’d be talking or flirting or making jokes with one of the crew members or Nox or Bowen. Her hands move when she talks, and most of the time, they wouldn’t notice that those movements resulted in her slipping an item off their person and into her pocket. The first time it happened, I almost said something, but before she moved away, she gave a sheepish grin and returned the stolen article.
And she returned it every single time.
She’s interesting to me in a way that I don’t know what to do with. There’s something almost like jealousy in my chest, but that doesn’t make a bit of sense. What do I have to be jealous of? I certainly have no designs on Bowen. The man’s terrifying, and his joining the rebellion has not made him less so. Even when he’s trying to be kind, there’s something about him that’s so rigid it makes me worry he’ll trample me if I step out of line. Perhaps not intentionally, but it happens all the same.
Except I’m not being honest with myself, am I? It’s not Bowen I’m jealous of. It’s Lizzie. Because this vampire that I don’t quite understand and yet am drawn to all the same is someone who intrigues me on a level that I’m not prepared to deal with. Even if I was, her heart is obviously with another person. That person might no longer be hers, but it means she has no room for anyone else.
I would be a fool and a half to pursue anything with Lizzie. It would only end in heartbreak. And I’ve had enough of that to last me a lifetime.
chapter 11
Lizzie
I don’t mean to actually go to sleep, but when I wake up, it’s to a world gone strange. Wind lashes my face. The sky is no longer an irritatingly perfect blue but a worrisome gray tingeing on purple. Worst of all, the boat is seesawing hard enough to make my stomach take up residence in my throat.
“Lizzie!”
I sit up and immediately wish I hadn’t. There isn’t a bit of land in sight. There isn’t anything in sight . . . but the storm barreling down on us in the distance. I can actually see the sheets of rain angling from the clouds to the sea. “No.”
“Lizzie, I need you.” Maeve doesn’t appear afraid, but her mouth is tight and her skin has gone paler than normal, her freckles standing out in stark contrast. “We have to lash down the supplies, and I need the sail taken down. If the winds are as bad as they look, it’s liable to snap the mast, and then we’re in real trouble.”