Crown of Salt and Bone by Katherine Quinn

Author:Katherine Quinn
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781648983702
Publisher: City Owl Press

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

DARIUS

Darius woke to a warm hand on his bare chest.

Before he even opened his eyes, he snatched the wrist the hand belonged to, a small gasp sounding. A feminine gasp.

His eyes shot open.

“Let go,” Mila demanded, scowling down at him as if he were nothing. As if he weren’t a god. One corner of his mouth quirked.

“Not before you tell me what the hell you’re doing and how I got here.” Darius wearily scanned the cabin, the rows of bunk beds all empty. He lay on a lower bunk, a subtle hint of citrus clogging his senses.

His body ached everywhere, his magic a dulled thrum.

“Margrete got your arrogant ass to the ship, even though I would’ve left you to rot beneath the waves.” She scoffed. “And as far as why you’re here in this room, you were in pretty bad shape. While I protested, the others didn’t want to shove you between some barrels in the hull. I decided to stay and make sure you didn’t stain my sheets,” she snapped, yanking on his hold.

Her bed.

That’s where the citrus scent came from. “And you’ve been passed the fuck out for the last two hours. I didn’t think gods fainted like noble ladies at court who’d overheard a curse word.”

Now the other side of his mouth joined in, and he found himself indulging in a rare, full smile. Before she could snap at him again, Darius released her wrist, noticing she’d clutched a damp rag between her fingers. She was cleaning him.

A porcelain bowl stood on a stool beside her, the water stained with his blood. When he glanced down at his bare torso, he noticed she’d scrubbed off most of it, though a patch remained where one of the scales had pierced his chest. That must’ve been what knocked him on his ass. It appeared as if his assumptions had been correct—the monsters that he and Malum created weren’t average beasts.

Which didn’t exactly bode well for him and his confidence.

Mila ran a hand through her short, red hair, her expression remaining one of annoyance. She was glaring at him as though she expected him to speak, to thank her. Maybe he should thank her—but his lips stayed sealed.

Without a word, she tossed the bloodied rag into the bowl and began to stand. He should’ve just let her go, but Darius grasped her wrist once more, the movement surprising even himself. Electricity shot up his arm as they collided.

“Why?” he grated out, loathing that he was reduced to this state. Why would someone who seemed to hate him even more than Margrete take the time to wash him?

Their eyes locked, his blue meeting her lush green.

“It’s what my father would’ve done,” she forced out, and this time when she jerked away, he let her. Something shifted over her face, something sour, and she glared down at him. He practically choked on her anger.

“He died because of you,” she breathed, her voice softer than a falling tear. But she didn’t need to raise it—venom laced each word.

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