Passenger (Passenger, #1)(15)

“She’s hurt,” Nicholas said sharply. “What the bloody hell is she doing?”

She spun in Nicholas’s direction as if she had heard his words. He should have barreled forward and plucked her out of the mess of gore and violence, but it felt as though the whole deck, the whole ocean, gave a rolling shudder. Captain Hall knocked into him with a surprised grunt.

The girl backed away steadily as they advanced toward her, until finally she bumped into the bulwark lining the edge of the deck and had nowhere left to go. Her eyes darted around her before fixing on a nearby spear. Without a second thought, she swept it up from the deck, shouting, “Stay away from me!”

There was a sudden, almost painful tightening of his body as he caught sight of her face, her fierce expression as she swung the weapon back and forth in desperation. Hair thick and white-gold, generous brows, eyes with an almost feline tilt to them. A long nose, balancing out the generous curve of her lips. Awareness of her moved through him like slow, warm honey. She was, in a word—

No. None of that, now. Dangerous thoughts. But he could appreciate that she was, apparently, a fighter—though she seemed surprised herself at the fact, looking uneasily between the weapon in her hands and the two dozen men gaping at her. The last half-hearted scuffles had been abandoned in favor of dumb shock at her unexpected appearance. That was reasonable, he supposed. And now the effect of seeing her bloodied and fierce, like a queen on a battlefield, was rather singular. It spoke to his own blood, made it sing its secrets. She was…

A job. Nicholas shook his head, stomping out the blaze of heat that cut across his chest. Payment owed for services rendered.

A sharp, deafening crack broke through the faint hum in his ears; Nicholas swung his attention up, toward the aft of the ship. A section of the mizzenmast, the third mast of three, had finally snapped under its own weight, just as he’d feared it might.

And it slowed, time did. He let out a sound that was less a warning and more a terrified shout as the wood splintered and the sails collapsed in on themselves with a thwack and flutter. The lines supporting the mast snapped as if God himself had cut them, and the whole of it—the topgallant, the topmast, the rigging, the metal hardware—came crashing down over them.

Nicholas ran.

The sailors who dove to escape the mast’s crushing weight weren’t able to move far or fast enough to avoid the tangle of sails and rigging. Captain Hall roared out, “The girl! Find the girl!”

The men from both crews fell on the wreckage with their axes and swords, cutting it away, searching beneath it. Nicholas knew better. She’d been standing near where the mast smashed through the bulwark, but not in its path. The impact wouldn’t have struck her directly, but knocked her back—

He leaned over the rail, searching the dark water between the hulls of the two ships, and—yes, there—a ring of white where something had fallen, struck the surface, and promptly sunk.

“Nick!” he heard the captain call, but he’d already shrugged out of his jacket and waistcoat and vaulted himself over the rail and into the sea.


THE ICY WATER DRANK HIM DEEP, ROBBING HIM OF THE BREATH he’d taken before the descent. Sunlight broke through the surface of the water, casting a warm glow about the wreckage and bodies sinking slowly to the ocean floor. He suspected the presence of sharks.

Still, there was plenty for the creatures to gorge on before they tasted his flavor. With that less-than-comforting thought, he dove deeper, his muscles afire from the stinging assault of cold water. Just before he sent up a small prayer for assistance, he saw her.

She must have exhausted all of her fight on deck; now the girl was as limp as seaweed caught in a current as she was dragged steadily down. He saw the problem immediately. Her legs and the gown were caught in netting, which in turn had wrapped itself around a heavy piece of the hull. Her arms floated up, as if still straining toward the surface.

Nicholas removed his knife and went to work sawing the net, her gown, anything but her skin. His chest felt tight enough to snap, burning with its need for air. The moment he had her free, he drew his arms around her and propelled them both up, kicking furiously with the last of his strength and sense.

They exploded up through the surface of the water, and he greedily sucked in the first few gulps of briny air. He choked up some of the water he’d swallowed, stomach flipping with an unfamiliar panic. He brought a hand to one of her cheeks, still scissoring his legs to keep them afloat. A frisson of horror went down his spine when he felt the icy quality of her skin.

Hall’s voice boomed above the others, calling down to him, “Nick! Grab the line!”

He caught the rope handily and went to work securing it around them. Despite the slither of dread in his guts, he spoke sternly to the girl.

“You will not die,” he ordered her. “I expressly forbid it. Not on my ship, do you hear me?”

If he lost this girl, he’d lose everything.

“Heave ho, heave ho,” he heard Hall order. “Almost there!”

Nicholas spread his hand out across her back to steady her as they came up level to the bulwark, and he turned to brace his feet against it. None of this made the least bit of sense to him—why had she run out? And this blood…was it even hers?

His shoulders were gripped by the solid force of half a dozen hands, and he and the girl were hauled onto the ship’s deck.