Captain Bjorn (Tales from The Compass Book 1) (7 page)

Easy. A raw, wounded laugh left me.

I twisted to my father and stared at the lines that creased his face. He’d always chuckled. Always seen the best in things. He was like Marc: the cup was always half full. I brushed back a lock of gray hair and kissed his forehead.

He was like me: Spontaneous. Reckless. Frustratingly stupid.

“Love you, Father.”

With that I turned, pushed past Serrin and walked away. “I’m not changing my mind.”

Bjorn was gone when I returned to the ballroom, and the next few dances were miserable affairs. My throat hurt too much to speak, and the spinning dresses and laughter tied me up in knots.

Father seemed to stare at me wherever I looked. Even when we finally stumbled home and into our beds.

I turned in the sheets, seeking comfort.

The words came out a whisper. “Would you give up an innocent life if it meant saving all you held dear? If it meant having Father back?”

Twisted toward Marc, I sought his outline across the room. He faced the window, something he never did when we slept. “No,” he said, “Father would never want that kind of price over his head. I could not give it.”

Said so swiftly. So assuredly.

“You wouldn’t even be tempted?”

“What kind of son would I be if I wasn’t?”

I breathed out the tension clogging my chest.
Thank you, Marc.

Marc cleared his throat. “Do you fancy Laurie?”

“She’s witty and generous,” I said.

“And beautiful,” Marc added.

Ah. “Yes. I should think many a man would fancy her.”

“But do you?”

I hesitated. “I suppose, if I were to marry, I would wish for a wife like her.”

“She likes you.”

I frowned and turned on my back, linking my hands at my chest. “Speak plainly, brother. Do
you
fancy her?”

The room darkened; the only sound was his sheets stirring as he shifted. Then soft, barely a whisper. “Yes.” He let out a breath. “Now I beg of you, return the favor.”

I waited for him to look at me. When he did, I spoke. “I love the wind rushing through my hair, the pumping of my heart, the thrill of adventure. I wish for love, but I do not wish to marry.”

Marc sighed, and the bed groaned as he faced me. “Love. I never thought . . .”

“What?”

“That it could be so frustrating.”

* * *

Marc fell into a deep slumber, while I tossed and turned and stared at the swaying shadow of the tree on the wall. The memory of Bjorn’s gaze warm at my back came unbidden.
I unnerve you.

I squeezed my eyes shut—

Memories shuffled themselves like cards: Bjorn pulling me back from the cliffs; bracing me in the Crow’s nest; cradling me in his arms while the rest of the ship spun from too much rum.

His finger at my throat.
Sorry for your losses.

His voice in my ear.
You secretly want . . . to be a pirate. To fly.

His dark gaze.
Frustratingly stupid. Inconvenient.

“Bastard.”

I flipped on my back, holding my breath at the delicate stir of sheets over my skin. Out of bed I rolled and fumbled into some clothing, then escaped into the night.

In less than twenty minutes, I reached his ship, where one pirate stood guard and others lurked about. Boots
sishing
against ice, I strode up to the guard, a firm address on the tip of my tongue. One look at me and he jerked a thumb toward the captain’s cabin. “Still up, in there.”

The drapes behind the cabin windows glowed. Shadows flickered, and the nearer I drew, the more my stomach did the same. Hand resting against the rough, blue door, I hesitated—

It swung in.

Bjorn’s chest swelled with a surprised breath as he took me in. “Aaron.”

I pushed inside and he stepped back. A lantern on a corner shelf beckoned me. Bjorn closed the door, and I turned, looking to the bottle of whiskey and cards on the desk, to the untouched bed.

“Get out of my head,” I said, gripping for my sword where there was none. “Stop haunting my thoughts. I don’t need your voice rasping at my ear. Don’t need your sure-footedness.”
Your tight hold. Your subtle smile.

Bjorn crossed the cabin, and the lurch of a wave tipped me a step toward him. “It’s distracting. I don’t sleep.”

With steadier feet, Bjorn circled me and a soft laugh bloomed over my shoulder, warm through the shirt I wore—
his
shirt.

“I wonder,” he said. “Am I as distracting as you? Keeping me from Serrin?”

I sucked in air. “You know—”

“You told me as much when you were drunk.”

Shame beat through my chest, my cheeks warming. “For that, I deeply apologize.”

He stood behind me, close enough that one gentle wave would crash us together. “Your sorry came so softly from your lips when you confessed.”

I shifted, and the ship rocked me back. Closer. The bed where he’d left me to sleep off the rum seemed to call me nearer. “Why didn’t you throw me overboard? Weren’t you angry?”

“Yes. I was.” This came bitten off, and Bjorn finished rounding me. His gaze met mine, its touch cool before giving way to something softer. “Yet I could not lift a finger against you.”

I laughed, but it was hollow. Pained. “You’d have had every right.”

“And I would have certainly regretted it.”

A fluttering unease stroked me where it should be lashing. Bjorn looped around me again, boots clicking, the sound seeming to jump from the floor to scuttle up my legs. “I saw your home, your family, your love for them . . . I understood why you did it.” The clicking stopped and his whisper brushed my hair. “And then . . . tonight.”

“Tonight?”

The ghost of arms around me as we danced stifled my next breath. He leaned in and spoke at my ear. Breath fanned a shiver from me. “Tonight you made me ache.”

My throat was so tight it stung when I swallowed. “It was just a dance.”

“Not the dance. You made me ache the moment I overheard you with Serrin.”

What? He’d . . . heard?

Another swell of the boat, and Bjorn circled until he looked at me. Like he could see everything. Every shiver. Every wave of heat. Every suspended breath.

His fingers, warm and calloused, touched mine. “You told him no.”

“You care for Jack as much as I care for my family,” I said. “I should have said no from the beginning.”

“But your father . . .”

My throat closed again, and our fingers knotted. “He was already gone. You are not—”

Bjorn stilled.

“Bastard,” I said under my breath.

“Aaron,” he said, too soft. Ticklish. The same tickle that robbed me of sleep.

I shook my head. “My home. Mother . . . Marc . . .” The words died on my lips. “
This
cannot happen.”

“This is already happening.”

“It was just a dance.”

Bjorn squeezed my fingers and leaned in close. His nose bumped mine. “If you think we hadn’t been intimate before that, you’re deluding yourself. The way you look at me is more sensual, more deeply touching than any kiss I’ve known.”

He pulled back, releasing my fingers, and moved behind his desk. He poured two measures of drink and slid one across the desk toward me. After sipping, he picked up the cards and shuffled. “We set sail at dawn.”

Sail?

Sail. Of course.

He raised that infuriating brow. “Care for one last game?”

“It was . . . just . . . a dance.”

* * *

I fled the ship. Charged past Dwharfs, climbed the steep steps up the cliffs, and hurried for the woods. For . . . home.

The night crowded me, thicker and meaner in the trees. Close to the place where Gus had slashed Bjorn, I halted. Nothing remained of that night but trampled red leaves. And the echo of fear.

I shivered and stumbled back against a large tree, lashing out at a branch—

The tree swallowed me into a gaping mouth and I fell, sliding down a deep tunnel. I knocked my head on a protruding root and swallowed a cry. Pushing up from the rough ground, I blinked in a light nearby.

What was this place? A cave?

Except . . . voices.

I crawled toward the light and the tunnel bent, opening into a round, furnished room. I stilled, hoping to hide behind the bulk of tree roots.

Back to me, Serrin stood at the edge of a narrow bed, staff pressed against a man’s chest.

Was that Jack sleeping there?

I gripped the stringy wall. Cursed my lack of sword.

“Who found me?” Serrin said, calm and steady.

Into the room, I shifted.

He glanced over and then refocused on Jack. “Aaron. I thought as much.”

“A hollowed tree,” I said. “This is where you keep your treasure.”

“Something like that.”

Pinched between his fingers, Serrin held something toward the light of a rigged lamp dangling above the bed. A crystal glimmered. Not the one Serrin used on my father—this was far larger.

“So much power,” he said, frowning. “And yet, he never fights back.”

“Does he ever get the chance?”

Serrin clasped his hand around the crystal and lowered his arm, while he trailed the staff up to Jack’s throat, chin, mouth. “I never thought he’d play me.”

“All this because he played you?”

“Because of what I lost.” Serrin closed his eyes the length of one deep breath.

I looked around at the empty space and its modest adorning. “You don’t seem to care for gold . . .”

“That’s replaceable.”

I understood. “Jack has something to do with your missing brother.”

Serrin drew the staff to his side, palming the snakehead as he beheld Jack’s sleeping form. “We all have something that makes us weak.”

I slid closer to the bed, legs pressing against the rough wooden structure filled with hay. “If he hasn’t helped you find him,” I asked. “Why keep him like this?”

“I thought revenge was best served sleeping.” He drummed his fingers over the staff and cocked his head. “I believe I was wrong.” At the wedge of skin at the collar of Jack’s shirt, Serrin set down the crystal. “Fear is worse—the anticipation of what could come.”

Warmth and color leached into Jack as Serrin touched him, fingers splayed as he pressed against the man’s chest.

Jack gasped, choking on air. Eyes opened, and he latched onto Serrin’s form. The two of them stared at each other in an unspoken conversation.

Abruptly, Serrin turned. “Aaron.” His smile was winter. “You were a pleasant surprise. Perhaps we’ll meet again someday. I hope you like my parting . . . gift.”

Panic stole over me and I froze, staring at the snake staff. “Gift?”

His hand shot out and an icy grip stole over my throat and clawed deep inside. I garbled out a cry as the cave swam and the lamplight grew brighter, brighter, brighter—

* * *

Warmth flooded my veins, and I jerked awake, a low voice calling my name. “Aaron?”

I blinked in time to see Serrin’s blurry figure disappearing around the bend in the tunnel.

“Aaron?”

The voice pulled me toward it. Low, and yet not quite right. “Bjorn?”

A figure loomed over me. “It’s Jack. Breathe. The feeling will come back to your hands and feet soon.”

“What . . . what?” I scrabbled off the floor, feet tingling. Jack steadied me with the same broad strength as Bjorn. How much Jack took after his brother, only his hair seemed fairer, his nose dented at the bridge from a break or two. “Bjorn,” I whispered, and then snapped my attention to the tunnel. “Serrin!”

Jack grunted. “He’s gone. For now.”

Gone. I let out a relieved breath. “He just left you?”

Jack said nothing, but clenched his jaw and moved to the tunnel.

“He took my crystal,” I said, feeling my throat for the crystal lump there. “Why? Why make me sleep?”

Jack shut his eyes briefly. “To talk to me,” he said gruffly. “Privately.” Then he forged his way out of the hollowed tree.

I rubbed my crystal, shivering at what Serrin had done, wishing Jack would give me something more. But his jaw was set hard, unyielding. Whatever had passed between him and Serrin was for him only.

Fresh air welcomed us above ground and threads of moonlight lit the path toward home.

“Which way to your place?” Jack asked.

“That way,” I said, and then gazed in the opposite direction. Toward the cliffs where Bjorn had stumbled over me. Toward the wharfs where his ship still docked.

But for how much longer?

I hesitated, and Jack seemed to read it. “Serrin’s long gone,” he said. “He’s always three steps ahead. Has
eyes and ears everywhere
.
”