Chapter 3 Hunger
Time didn’t exist in the belly of the ship. There was only the sound of the engine, the creak of timber, and the endless, maddening sway that told me we were moving further away from the water I needed to survive.
Three days.
I had been locked in this cabin for three days.
It was luxurious, in the way a gilded cage is still a cage. The walls were paneled in dark mahogany, the bed was draped in silks that cost more than a fisherman’s life, and a crystal decanter of red wine sat on the desk, catching the dim light of the lantern. But there were no windows. No portholes. Just four walls and a locked door.
I was dying.
Not quickly. Not dramatically. But I could feel it happening. My new legs, which had felt heavy before, now felt like lead weights dragged through mud. My skin, usually pearlescent and hydrated, felt tight and papery, itching with a dryness that scratching couldn't fix.
My stomach cramped, a sharp, twisting knot that doubled me over on the bed.
Eat, my body screamed. Hunt.
I ignored it. I lay on my side, staring at the grain of the wood on the wall, tracing the patterns with my eyes until they blurred.
I wouldn't eat their food. I wouldn't drink their wine. If I was going to be a prisoner, I would be a dead one. I would wither away until there was nothing left for them to harvest. No blood for their elixirs. No voice for their wars. Just a pile of dried bones and sapphire dust.
It was a petty victory, but it was the only weapon I had left.
The lock clicked.
The sound was loud in the silence, like a gunshot. I didn't move. I didn't look up. I knew who it was.
The door opened, bringing with it a gust of cool air and that distinct, overwhelming scent.
Klaus.
He stepped inside, his boots heavy on the floorboards. He didn't say anything at first. He just stood there, his presence filling the small room until the air felt too thin to breathe.
"You haven't touched the tray," he said. His voice was flat, devoid of annoyance, stating a fact like he was reading a weather report.
I kept my back to him. "I'm not hungry."
"That is a lie," he replied calmly. "I can hear your heart. It’s skipping beats. Your blood sugar is crashing. You are digesting your own muscle tissue to keep your organs functioning."
He walked closer. I could feel the cold radiating off him, a chill that prickled the hairs on the back of my neck.
"Turn around, Nerissa."
"Go to hell."
The mattress dipped.
My breath hitched. He wasn't standing by the door anymore. He was sitting on the edge of the bed, right behind me.
"I have been to hell," he murmured, his voice low and vibrating against my spine. "It’s quite boring. This is much more interesting."
He reached out. I felt his hand, large and leather-gloved, grip my shoulder. He didn't wrench me around. He just applied steady, immovable pressure until I had no choice but to roll onto my back.
I glared up at him.
He looked immaculate. His black coat was gone, replaced by a crisp white shirt that was unbuttoned at the collar, revealing the hollow of his throat. His hair was slicked back, not a strand out of place. He looked like a prince. He looked like a monster.
He looked down at me, his sapphire eyes sweeping over my face. He frowned, a tiny crease appearing between his brows.
"You look terrible," he said.
"I'm dying," I snapped, my voice raspy. "It’s part of the process."
"It is inconvenient."
He reached over to the bedside table. I hadn't even noticed he’d brought a new tray. On it was a plate of sashimi and a glass of water.
My mouth watered violently. My stomach gave a loud, treacherous growl that echoed in the quiet room.
Klaus raised an eyebrow. "Your stomach disagrees with you."
"I won't eat it," I whispered, clutching the sheets with trembling hands. "I won't be your pet. I won't let you fatten me up just so you can drain me later."
"If I wanted to drain you, I would have done it on the rocks," he said. He picked up a slice of the fish. It dripped slightly. "This is Bluefin. Caught an hour ago. It’s high in iron. You need iron."
"No."
"Nerissa." His tone hardened. The playful mockery vanished, replaced by the steel authority of a commander. "The Emperor expects a prize. He expects a Siren Princess, vibrant and powerful. If I bring him a skeleton, he will be displeased. And when he is displeased, he kills the messenger."
"Good," I said, staring into his eyes. "I hope he kills you slowly."
He stared at me for a long moment. The silence stretched, taut as a bowstring. I saw something flicker in his eyes, not anger, but a dark, swirling frustration.
"You are a child," he said softly. "Throwing a tantrum while the house burns down."
He moved.
It was too fast for me to track. One second he was sitting on the edge of the bed, the next he was over me.
I gasped as his weight settled on my hips. He straddled me, his knees bracketing my waist, pinning me to the mattress. He wasn't crushing me, but he was heavy.
"Get off me!" I panicked, shoving at his chest. It was like shoving a wall.
He caught my wrists in one hand. He pinned them above my head, holding them there with effortless strength. His grip was cool, the leather of his glove biting into my skin.
"I tried asking," he said, his face lowering until his nose brushed mine. "I tried reasoning. Now, we do it the hard way."
My heart was hammering so hard I thought it would burst. This was it. He was going to hurt me. He was going to force himself on me.
"Open your mouth," he commanded.
"No!" I turned my face into the pillow, squeezing my eyes shut.
"Nerissa." His voice was a warning growl. "Don't make me pry your jaw open. I don't want to bruise you."
I kept my mouth shut, grinding my teeth together.
He sighed. I felt his free hands slide under my jaw. His thumb pressed into the soft spot beneath my ear, hitting a pressure point I didn't know existed.
A sharp jolt of shock forced my gasp. My jaw slackened involuntarily.
He didn't wait. He slipped a piece of the raw fish into my mouth.
"Chew," he ordered.
I wanted to spit it out. I wanted to bite his fingers. But the taste exploded on my tongue. Rich, metallic, fatty, salty. It tasted like life. My body betrayed me instantly. I chewed. I swallowed.
The relief was instantaneous, a warm rush hitting my empty stomach.
"Good," he whispered. "Again."
He picked up another piece. I didn't fight as hard this time, but I kept my eyes defiant, staring up at him with hatred.
"You enjoy this," I accused, my voice thick. "You enjoy controlling me."
"I enjoy competence," he corrected. He slid the next piece between my lips. His fingers lingered, brushing against my lower lip. The leather was rough, but his touch was surprisingly gentle. "And starving yourself is incompetent."
He fed me. Piece after piece.
It was humiliating. It was degrading.
It was the most intimate thing that had ever happened to me.
He was inside my personal space, his body heat or lack of it seeping into mine. I could smell the soap on his skin, the scent of the sea clinging to his hair. I could see the individual lashes framing those impossible blue eyes.
He watched my mouth as I ate. His gaze was intense, focused, like he was studying a complex equation.
When the plate was empty, he didn't move. He didn't let go of my wrists. He stayed there, straddling me, his breathing slow and even while mine came in shallow, ragged gasps.
The hunger for food was gone, replaced by a different kind of tension. A thick, electric charge that hung between us.
"Why?" I whispered, the fight draining out of me now that my blood sugar was rising. "Why do you care? You're a monster. You hunt my kind. Why does it matter if I die?"
He looked down at me, his expression softening slightly. He released my wrists, but he didn't move off my hips. He braced his hands on the pillow on either side of my head, caging me in.
"Because," he said quietly.
He leaned down. For a terrifying second, I thought he was going to kiss me. I stopped breathing.
But he didn't kiss my lips. He turned his head and pressed his ear against my chest, right over my heart.
He closed his eyes. He stayed there, listening to the frantic rhythm of my heartbeat.
"Because of the noise," he murmured against my skin.
"What noise?" I breathed, too afraid to move.
He lifted his head, looking deep into my eyes. The sapphire glow was dimmer now, softer.
"For three hundred years," he said, "my world has been silent. No heartbeat. No breath. Just the static of the dead. It’s... quiet. So quiet it drives you mad."
He reached up and traced the line of my jaw with his thumb.
"But you," he whispered. "You are loud. Your heart... it sounds like a drum. Your blood... it sings. Even when you aren't singing, you vibrate with life. It’s deafening."
He leaned closer, his lips brushing my forehead.
"You make me remember what it was like to be alive," he confessed. "And I am selfish, Nerissa. I want to keep hearing it."
He pulled back abruptly, the moment shattering. The mask slammed back down over his face. The cold, arrogant Lord Falkenstein returned.
He stood up, adjusting his cuffs as if he hadn't just been lying on top of me.
"Rest," he commanded, his voice back to its usual flat baritone. "We dock at the Citadel tomorrow. You’ll need your strength. The sharks on land are far worse than the ones in the water."
He picked up the empty tray.
"And Nerissa?" He paused at the door.
I pulled the blanket up to my chin, feeling flushed and confused and angry. "What?"
"If you try to starve yourself again," he said, looking over his shoulder, a dark promise in his eyes, "I won't be as gentle next time."