“Walk.”
The words are harsh on my tongue and tinged with venom. She stumbles but doesn’t release the grip on the blanket around her. Outside of my quarters, the crew has begun preparing for the day. All work stops, all friendly chatter and joking quietly as they watch me half drag someone I just rescued down towards the baths on the opposite side of the great hall.
Having the brig next to the bath made sense at the time when it was erected. The marble walls are solid, and only one heavy iron door allows any amount of light through. The brig in this dimension is sound and smell proof. It’s mostly clean since it hasn’t been used for decades. The original purpose of it was to protect a former crew member during her lunar shifts. A few of the sirens tried to convince the werewolf she’d be fine, they’d be fine, but up until her dying day, she didn’t trust herself.
The inch-deep claw marks on the walls prove the werewolf was right.
Delphini pushes back against me as I move to shove her inside. The heat of her body, my own acceptance of that heat, makes me pause for a moment. But I feel the eyes on me. I can’t let them know what she is now that she is alive again.
“No, wait,” she begs, and it twists something inside of me. “We can talk about this like civil human beings.”
“That’s just it.” I sneer, pressing my cheek near her ear for this last warm caress. “We aren’t human.”
The door slams shut as she turns around. For the first time, I wonder if I should go against Love. Centuries of being with them, I have never doubted, never faltered, from the core tenets of our relationship. But how could they do this to me? To choose her? We have worked so hard to try and bring them here. Even as hunting has grown harder and harder without exposure to the human world, I haven’t stopped trying to bring them here.
A human will only cause chaos and destruction. It’s all they know. We can’t risk her ruining our plans.
My fist smashes into the iron door. It creaks with force but doesn’t dent. The great hall is silent, but I have never been one to downplay my anger or hide these emotions from the crew so they don’t see this as the defeat it is.
“Nobody speaks to the prisoner, and nobody fucking touches this door.”
“Aye, captain.” After watching this display, a chorus of voices call out, some more sure than others. Good, this will keep her safe.
The door leading to the ship’s lower deck opens up, and Nargol, an orc gunner on night shift, pops her head through. Thick braids fall across her shoulders and the tentacle etchings that cover her pale green face glow a slight pink colour as she passes the barrier.
“Oh, Aiofe, your gooner is here.” Her deep sing-song voice is loud enough to raise the dead.
I close my eyes in frustration. Of course, those fuckers would send that lovesick idiot here this morning. They go weeks without more than a text message, and the first person they think to send is Sampson. I don’t know what Aiofe sees in the Dwarven male, but at least he is polite and, as she puts it, “submissive and breedable,” unlike his twin, who is a dickhead.
Aiofe leans against the door to her small quarters, toothbrush still between her lips. She nods to Nargol, a slight but knowing smirk on her lips as she slips back into her room. That is the most expressive I’ve seen her in a while. That is also why I hold my tongue about her relationship with an outsider and a male one at that.
Their happenstance meeting at Our Lady of Mercy is a rare case for the crew here. All of us have suffered at the hands of men, some monsters, and primarily humans. We have been discarded and forgotten by the gods before Love even found us. Unsurprisingly, most of the crew don’t venture from the ship or the waters surrounding the Docklands. We have built a haven here.
Grabbing my hat and gear from one of the many hooks by the portal door, I breeze by Nargol and ascend to the main deck. My bare feet don’t make a sound as I walk across the deck. The gangplank, bright orange and wide enough to be accessible, is still tucked against the railing. I tie a leather scabbard to my hip and buckle the heavy, studded belt around my waist. It’s wide enough to be an under-bust corset, but the hardened material holds more secrets and protects me from a knife to the gut. It’s saved me more than once.
“Sampson,” I call, leaning over the railing to look down at the dock. “We weren’t expecting you.”
The Dwarven is shorter than me by a few inches. His dark red hair is greying at the temples and along his thick, full beard. He dressed impeccably as always, a full suit and all that shit. He even has a fucking hat in his hands like this show will impress anyone in this decade. As the morning sun bursts over the horizon, I can see the soft smile he gives me.
“Good morning, Captain Moore. I am glad I can deliver this message to you directly.” He clears his throat and breaks eye contact. “Certain beings are concerned about your poor attendance.”
“Are they now?” I run my tongue over my teeth and plant my elbows on the sea-weathered rail. This does give me an idea. “What day is it?”
“Thursday,” he answers quickly, like I might fling a dagger or something at him if he doesn’t. Sensible.
“You can tell your boss I’ll see him on Tuesday then.” I turn without waiting for a response. Sampson will tell Ray, and that lizard will tell Deg’Doriel. Now I just have to hide the human until then. She can’t be my problem, but she can be the human for those buffoons to deal with.
I can’t garner a reputation for saving humans, not again. That lad two centuries ago was the last one, a special circumstance.
Aiofe leans against the stair railing. She’s wearing the brown leather harness Sampson gifted her a few years ago. She’s kept it in excellent knick, and we all know how it fucking delights the Dwarven if her stories of victory are anything to go by.
“You need the afternoon shift?” I ask.
“No one comes between me and the job, captain, you know that,” she answers, but doesn’t move from her spot. “All good?”
What a weighted question. When have things indeed been good for us? Between the harshness of our existence, our pasts that never truly wash away, and the ever-looming knowledge of what is to come, what does good really mean? We live. Tourist season is starting up, which means more cash in our pockets. After thousands of years of waiting, my promised soulmate has arrived, but I can’t accept her.
“Enjoy your walk around the dock, Aiofe.”
