Total pages in book: 154
Estimated words: 144411 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 722(@200wpm)___ 578(@250wpm)___ 481(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 144411 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 722(@200wpm)___ 578(@250wpm)___ 481(@300wpm)
“You were a good pair,” I tell him. “You complimented each other. And regardless of how you think she felt, or how you felt, in the end it doesn’t really matter because of Lucas. Because you produced a son whom you love very much. A son who needs his father more than ever.”
He spins his glass around in his hands and gives me a thoughtful and surprisingly sober look. “Are you going to be a father?”
The question catches me off-guard.
“Again, I mean,” Thane adds.
“There is no again,” I tell him sharply. Then I loosen my shoulders. “Meaning, though Hilla is gone, I’ll never stop being her father. That doesn’t stop with death. She will always be my daughter.”
He nods and waits patiently for me to go on.
I sigh. “But I know what you’re meaning—with Maren.”
“Aye.”
“To be honest with you, Maren and I haven’t really discussed it. I have thought about it, of course, of what that could possibly be like. Half-Syren, half-Brethren? The child would be an outright monster, but our monster of course.”
Thane manages a slight smile. “Aren’t all children monsters at some point?”
I laugh. “That be true, they can be. But you know, I don’t think it’s vital to our relationship. I believe Maren has great mothering instincts but being a mother isn’t at the forefront of her mind. Perhaps in time.”
“Perhaps in time.”
“Though I will say, from the amount of seed I’m spilling in her on the daily, I’m rather shocked she hasn’t fallen pregnant yet.”
Thane lets out a groan and gets to his feet, leaning against the table for balance, a look of disgust on his face. “Alright, I think it’s time for bed. I don’t want to hear another word about your seed.”
I laugh and watch as he staggers away. “You sure? I have countless salacious stories I can regale you with!”
He gives me a dismissive wave of his hand and disappears around the corner.
I watch him go, heading up the stairs and into the inn, not into the tavern, and I relax, happy that perhaps I talked some sense into him. Then I turn in my seat and lean back, breathing in the heady scent of frangipani in the air, watching the moon on the water, the silhouette of the Nightwind resting at the foot of the waves. I know she’s eager to return to the sea and continue on, just as I am.
I sit there for some time, wishing I had a cigar, when I hear heels on cobblestone behind me.
“May I join you, Captain?”
I turn and smile at Maren who walks to my table. Her ebony hair is piled high on her head, more out of need to deal with the stifling heat and humidity here rather than what’s fashionable, and her dress is far more elaborate than the one she wears on the ship. It’s rich teal color and silk purple threading at the bust and stomach remind me of her Syren tail and that’s probably why she picked it.
My heart beats faster than hummingbird wings, a sensation that happens whenever she’s around, and I pull out the chair for her and gesture for her to sit down.
“Princess,” I greet her.
She gives me a small, chiding smile. She doesn’t appreciate the moniker anymore but when she looks the way she does, I can’t help but call her that.
“I saw you had what looked to be a heart-to-heart with Thane,” she comments.
“Aye,” I say. “As you know, I’ve had my concerns.”
“And?”
“I think I’ve gotten through to him. Just had to remind him that while wallowing in grief is fine, even healthy, he still has a boy to look after.”
“Good,” she says, her gaze raking over the ship. “I have no doubt Thane will take your words to heart. He’s a good man and a good father.”
With her words on that tangent I clear my throat.
“Have you had any thoughts about getting married?”
She jolts then slowly turns her head to look at me, an incredulous look on her face. “Are you proposing?”
“No.”
Her nose crinkles in consternation. “I don’t like your game, Captain Battista.”
“But if one day I were to propose,” I go on, leaning across the table to her. “Do you fancy you’d say yes?”
She raises her brow, giving me a steady, discerning look. “I don’t know, Ramsay. I suppose I would have to think about it.”
“Hmmphhf,” I say. “Still waiting for an even taller and richer pirate to sweep you off your feet then?”
“I doubt such a man exists,” she says. “What I’m waiting for is a ring.”
“I’m getting you your ring, princess,” I tell her. “Just have to wait for the right ship to plunder.”
“Is that a euphemism?”
“Maren, I think I’ve plundered every hole on your body. Nay, I’ll know the treasure when I see it.”
She laughs at that. “Figures my engagement ring would be something you’ve looted.”