The Demons in the Deep: Extended Edition: with Bonus Scenes (Savage Seas) by Rebecca F. Kenney

Author:Rebecca F. Kenney [Kenney, Rebecca F.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2022-07-12T18:30:00+00:00

14

Rake had felt the eyes of a crowd on him before, back on Kiken Island when the villagers of Anchel had first discovered his partnership with Kestra and Flay.

But that crowd had been tiny compared to the audience staring at him now.

People lined the entire length of the seaside boardwalk, standing several bodies deep, a multicolored mass. They clustered on balconies and rooftops, squeezed onto the tops of carriages, stood on towers of crates in the shipping yards. Pennants, large and small, snapped and waved from hundreds of upraised hands. Each pennant corresponded with the sail color of a boat competing in the race.

The Kestrel’s sail color was bright blue, blue as the sky overhead, blue as Flay’s eyes.

Rake could not help staring at the young captain. He was shirtless, his lean muscled torso gleaming bronze in the sun. His right hand gripped the wheel, while the remainder of his left wrist was encased in a leather covering Mai had designed for the occasion. He’d pulled back his golden hair into a low knot, below the curling brim of his captain’s hat, and a sword dangled from his belt. He looked every inch the magnificent, vibrant man Rake had seen poised on the railing of the Wind’s Favor weeks ago—a lifetime ago.

“We’ll be going all the way around the island. Ten targets to hit,” Flay was saying. “The other ships will try to knock us out of this race, but we’re not going to let that happen, even if it means Goldfish has to jump out and push us.” His eyes crinkled at the corners. “Right, Rake?”

“Yes, Captain.” Rake adjusted his tinted goggles. The rosy hue of their lenses made the blues of the world so much brighter.

“Graves is our steadiest hand—he’ll be painting the targets,” Flay continued. “Corklan is on sails, and Baz is on weapons. Rake, you’ll pull that rope like I showed you, and stand by to assist on sails or guns.”

Rake bowed his head briefly in assent. Kestra had drawn him aside before the race and whispered, “Flay may need help steering. And he may be too proud to admit it, so watch him and lend a hand if you think he needs one, even before he asks. There’s too much riding on this for his pride to get in the way.”

Rake had promised. And then he had moved away from Kestra, without feeling the temptation to sniff her lustrous hair or stroke the softness of her thick curves. He was proud of himself. He was learning to let Kestra and Flay belong to each other.

He could admire without lusting, he thought, as his eyes skimmed Flay’s body. He wanted Flay’s corded neck, without gills to mar its slope. He wanted Flay’s fingers, clawless and strong, with rounded ends that could caress a woman without hurting her.

As the captain took off his hat and let the breeze toss his hair, Rake wanted the round curl of Flay’s ear and his human-sized mouth with its square white teeth.

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