Read Online Children of the Sea 03 - Sea Lord by authors_sort - Free Book Online Page A
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deafened by the sudden silence.
A light bloomed, soft and round like a marsh light, illuminating a strong jaw, a long nose, a sardonic mouth.
Conn.
He had a cut along one cheekbone, black in the blue light. He didn’t wipe the blood away. For some reason, the absence of that simple human gesture chilled her heart.
She trembled, waiting for him to take her in his arms, to say something, do something, to restore her world and her faith.
He glanced at Lucy and then around the cabin. His eyebrows arched. “It would appear,” he said, “you are your mother’s daughter, after all.”
5
LUCY PULLED HER KNEES TO HER CHEST AND hugged them tight, struggling not to lose it.
Again. She had survived bad dates before. But this . . .
Conn’s face was inscrutable, his eyes shadowed in the odd, pale light.
She’d had sex with him. Unprotected sex with a stranger. Like some stupid freshman who passed out at a kegger and woke up in an unfamiliar bed with no notion of how she got there.
Lucy cringed. She couldn’t believe what she’d done. She couldn’t believe . . .
Objects hurtling, crashing, shattering in the dark.
She must have lost her mind.
Things like this didn’t happen to her. Things like this didn’t happen.
The room rocked with the rhythm of the water.
“What . . . Where are we?” she asked. Dim memories clung of being carried, lifted . . . fed? “Was I sick?”
But no one ever fed her when she was sick.
Conn stooped—she managed not to flinch—and fished something from the floor. She caught the gleam of a broken lantern as he set it on the table.
“You will feel better soon,” he said, which wasn’t an answer. “The sleep took you harder than I expected. But now that you are awake, the effects will wear off quickly.”
Not sick, then, she thought. Maybe not crazy either.
She remembered—or had she dreamed?—his arm strong and warm around her shoulders, a cup at her lips.
“You gave me soup.”
Had he drugged her? Maybe she was hallucinating. That would explain the things flying around the cabin, the sense of something writhing inside her, waiting to burst out of her chest like the space monster in Alien .
She shuddered.
He nodded. “You needed food. Liquids.”
The room still rocked. Her stomach churned. Nerves? Or motion sickness?
“How long was I out?”
Conn did not answer.
“How long?” she insisted. Hours? Days?
Page 31
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What had he done to her? For her? Under the covers—some kind of fur thing, heavy and warm—she was nearly naked.
She watched his hands in the near dark. A match scraped and flared. Warm, yellow, honest light replaced the eerie blue glow. Stupid to feel cheered by a lamp under the circumstances. But the familiar light comforted her anyway.
Until she saw the condition of the cabin.
Holy crap.
It looked as if a strong wind had scoured the room, or a bomb had exploded. Broken dishes, boat cushions, maps, and magazines splayed like bodies in the wreckage. An empty coffeemaker and a broken bottle rolled together under the table. Red wine, black as blood in the dim cabin, puddled on the floor. The soured fruit smell in the close, still air rose to her head and made her sick.
She ran her tongue over her teeth. She wanted a toothbrush.
Conn lifted a chair one-handed and set it upright. His head brushed the low ceiling. “Do not apologize,”
he said. “This ship was furnished to withstand storms. The damage is less severe than it appears.”
She felt a spurt of outrage, completely ridiculous under the circumstances. Like getting upset over a late assignment when the classroom was on fire. “I wasn’t going to apologize. I didn’t do anything.”
One eyebrow arched upward. “Who else?”
“Um.” She stared at him, stunned. “I was unconscious . I didn’t ask to be brought here. You need to take me home.”
He righted another chair, holding it out from the table in
A light bloomed, soft and round like a marsh light, illuminating a strong jaw, a long nose, a sardonic mouth.
Conn.
He had a cut along one cheekbone, black in the blue light. He didn’t wipe the blood away. For some reason, the absence of that simple human gesture chilled her heart.
She trembled, waiting for him to take her in his arms, to say something, do something, to restore her world and her faith.
He glanced at Lucy and then around the cabin. His eyebrows arched. “It would appear,” he said, “you are your mother’s daughter, after all.”
5
LUCY PULLED HER KNEES TO HER CHEST AND hugged them tight, struggling not to lose it.
Again. She had survived bad dates before. But this . . .
Conn’s face was inscrutable, his eyes shadowed in the odd, pale light.
She’d had sex with him. Unprotected sex with a stranger. Like some stupid freshman who passed out at a kegger and woke up in an unfamiliar bed with no notion of how she got there.
Lucy cringed. She couldn’t believe what she’d done. She couldn’t believe . . .
Objects hurtling, crashing, shattering in the dark.
She must have lost her mind.
Things like this didn’t happen to her. Things like this didn’t happen.
The room rocked with the rhythm of the water.
“What . . . Where are we?” she asked. Dim memories clung of being carried, lifted . . . fed? “Was I sick?”
But no one ever fed her when she was sick.
Conn stooped—she managed not to flinch—and fished something from the floor. She caught the gleam of a broken lantern as he set it on the table.
“You will feel better soon,” he said, which wasn’t an answer. “The sleep took you harder than I expected. But now that you are awake, the effects will wear off quickly.”
Not sick, then, she thought. Maybe not crazy either.
She remembered—or had she dreamed?—his arm strong and warm around her shoulders, a cup at her lips.
“You gave me soup.”
Had he drugged her? Maybe she was hallucinating. That would explain the things flying around the cabin, the sense of something writhing inside her, waiting to burst out of her chest like the space monster in Alien .
She shuddered.
He nodded. “You needed food. Liquids.”
The room still rocked. Her stomach churned. Nerves? Or motion sickness?
“How long was I out?”
Conn did not answer.
“How long?” she insisted. Hours? Days?
Page 31
Generated by ABC Amber LIT Conv erter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html
What had he done to her? For her? Under the covers—some kind of fur thing, heavy and warm—she was nearly naked.
She watched his hands in the near dark. A match scraped and flared. Warm, yellow, honest light replaced the eerie blue glow. Stupid to feel cheered by a lamp under the circumstances. But the familiar light comforted her anyway.
Until she saw the condition of the cabin.
Holy crap.
It looked as if a strong wind had scoured the room, or a bomb had exploded. Broken dishes, boat cushions, maps, and magazines splayed like bodies in the wreckage. An empty coffeemaker and a broken bottle rolled together under the table. Red wine, black as blood in the dim cabin, puddled on the floor. The soured fruit smell in the close, still air rose to her head and made her sick.
She ran her tongue over her teeth. She wanted a toothbrush.
Conn lifted a chair one-handed and set it upright. His head brushed the low ceiling. “Do not apologize,”
he said. “This ship was furnished to withstand storms. The damage is less severe than it appears.”
She felt a spurt of outrage, completely ridiculous under the circumstances. Like getting upset over a late assignment when the classroom was on fire. “I wasn’t going to apologize. I didn’t do anything.”
One eyebrow arched upward. “Who else?”
“Um.” She stared at him, stunned. “I was unconscious . I didn’t ask to be brought here. You need to take me home.”
He righted another chair, holding it out from the table in
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