Chapter 16

The ocean was everywhere.

I'd swallowed some of it when I fell, so it was inside me too. Burning my throat and nose. My lungs were screaming for air, but I was busy with other matters.

I was fighting like hell to get my wings closed.

Every open inch seemed to give the waves more space to grab, more level to toss me around. My head was spinning, and I sent a silent apology to every cloth I'd ever tossed into a washing machine. I wouldn't wish this even for my worst enemy.

Lighting stroke like fireworks, which was a blessing, even if it had blasted my eardrums on the first round, and I heard nothing but constant hum now. But at least I knew where the surface was.

If I'd only get these wings closed, if I'd get a mouthful of air…

I kicked against the cold in my bones. Against the waves tossing me around. Against the wings that weighted a ton, and refused to close.

My head broke the surface, and I drew a mighty breath that made me cough, seawater running down my nostrils. I managed two more before a wave crashed over me and I was under again.

The waves put me through a wringer again, but this time I was better prepared. This time I had air in my lungs. So I let them do as they pleased, conserving my energy. I was confident in my swimming, despite the situation. When I was closer to the surface again, I started kicking, and my hair popped above surface again.

Breathing in more carefully this time, I tried to keep myself steady, searching for the ship. If I drifted too far…

I didn't let the thought sink in. If I drifted too far from the ship, if I stayed in the cold water too long, I'd die. Maybe I died once before, maybe this whole adventure, this world, was just a fever dream, but I wasn't ready to go. I had so many more things to see, so many stories to hear and tell.

I spotted the ship above one of the bigger waves.

In this situation, every distance was too far, but I didn't let the despair sink in. I could do it. I had to do it.

And so I started swimming. Diving through the waves rather than facing them head on, I fought for every inch, every foot I managed towards the ship. And hoped like hell it wouldn't drift further. Judging by the cold settling in my limps, I wouldn't last much longer.

After diving through one of the biggest waves yet, the ship was suddenly much closer to me. Perhaps it was Mother's whim or mercy. I didn't care much at this point, as I spotted a familiar form circling the ship frantically.

That idiot, I cursed, even as relief washed over me. It would do no good for us both drown here. He took his bodyguard duties too seriously, and I would definitely lecture him on that later. If I – we – survived. When we survived.

I screamed his name. My throat was ravaged by seawater, and the sound I let out was hoarse and broken. But he heard. By some mercy of Mother – perhaps the same that had brought the ship closer – he heard. He turned mid-circle, his answering call so loud, so desperate, that it carried over the storm and my still ringing ears.

He dropped like a stone, and started gliding towards me, his wings pushing, pushing against the storm, and winning. And then he was above me, reaching his hands out as I kicked and kicked, pushing myself as high from the water as I could.

But the storm had a will of its own, and wasn't ready to release its prey that easily.

We managed to link hands a couple times, but our skin was slick from water, waves and wind pushing us apart over and over again. At last we got a proper hold, grabbing each other's wrist so hard it would bruise. But with the storm, with the elements against us, even his mighty wings couldn't pull me up from the water.

"Take a breath!" He shouted. The only warning I needed. I inhaled and nodded, and then he pushed me under. It was a common trick to get unconscious people more easily out of a deep pool. underwater, bodies were lighter. So pushing someone down and then up gave more leverage, and made it easier to haul someone up.

But something went wrong – terribly, terribly wrong – and now we were both tossed around in this infernal storm. Jonah had fallen. Maybe it was the wind, or the waves, but he'd fallen. At least our grip held, but there was no saving us now. The waves would haul us further from the ship. I had no strength left for anything other than holding his wrists. We would both –

His grip suddenly tightened, and we came to a halt.

And then we were pulled against the waves. Towards the ship, if I had any knowledge of our direction. How? How was this possible?

Jonah must have sensed my question, and looked down his torso.

Where a thick rope was tightly tied around his waist.

I almost laughed, few bubbles escaping my mouth. Jonah shook his head, and by straining his arms, managed to pull me against his chest. He changed his grip, one hand after the other, to lock his hands around me. I did the same. In some twisted way, it reminded me of a game I'd played on first grade with my friends. It was called "The Toffee Vendor". In the game, one was chosen as the vendor, and rest of the kids laid in their stomachs, gripping each other's hands. It was then the vendor's job to pull us apart. And the kids pulled apart turned into vendors, trying to break the 'toffee' even more. I had always excelled in it – being the toffee. Often, the whole class had been required to pull me and my bestie apart.

That's why, despite the time it took, despite my screaming lungs, I held on. Held on as we were slowly, slowly pulled towards the ship. I had no idea who was in the other end of that rope, didn't care. I only had to trust they would pull us up. I fought to stay conscious. Most deadly thing right now would be passing out, and losing my grip. Even if Jonah was holding me like a vice.

Finally, we broke the surface. And this time it was a different kind of torture. I had enough sense to wrap my legs around Jonah before we were fully out of water. Because the rope was tied around his middle, we would hang uncontrollably until reaching the deck. Which seemed like a long, long way above the water.

We slammed against the hull several times. I don't know how, but Jonah managed to take worst of the impact every time. He grunted in pain, but only tightened his grip again. Any more, and I wouldn't be able to breathe anymore. But I guess staying alive would be worth it.

And then we were hauled over the board, with rough hands and cursing.

"Get inside, you lucky bastards", Simmons grunted, and ran off. The four others who had helped to haul us up disappeared as well. The ship was still shaking, rain and seawater covering the deck, but somehow things seemed calmer. Or was it just because I'd just been through worse in the water?

"Aodh managed to turn the bow towards waves", Jonah panted, struggling to get up. I was still hanging onto him like a baby koala, but couldn't release my grip even if I wanted to. It was a good thing then than Jonah managed to get up, and stagger inside. He relied on the walls when advancing inside, and didn't relax before the door to our cabin was shut tight.

"You can let go now", he finally said.

"No I c-can't", I said through clattering teeth.

"But we need to strip before getting into bed." He sounded dead serious.

"Per-vert", I managed.

"No – I didn't mean – ", he stuttered after a stunned silence. Apparently he hadn't considered it that way. He swallowed, gathering himself back together. "You need to warm up. Skin contact is the most efficient way here."

"Right."

It took him a moment, but he managed to untangle me. Mostly because I wasn't actively gripping him anymore, just frozen stiff. After my grip was removed, I gained some movement and managed at least strip myself. Well, I kept my underwear. Jonah was gracious enough to turn around while I did it, and waited until I slid under the blankets.

There was nothing smug or teasing in the way he removed his battle leathers, but I was still admiring the view. Wouldn't admit it in a million years though.

One thing I'd never considered about wings: they made spooning almost impossible. Especially if the purpose was to warm up. Which is why I was suddenly face buried in his muscled chest, our bodies touching in places I never would have dreamed of. I was so flustered my body was beyond blushing.

But his warmth was also too delicious to resist. Which is why I didn't mind. Obviously, warmth was the only reason I accepted this, I lied to myself. It had nothing to do with his ridiculously nice muscles, or the hand that wrapped around me while trying to avoid touching my wings. He didn't succeed completely, and shivers went down my spine from more than just cold.

"How long do you think the storm will last?" I asked, and he shuddered.

"Could be few hours, could be days", he answered. His voice sounded deeper than normally. Maybe because of all that shouting. Maybe because I was a lot closer than normally. There was a nasty scar on his left pectoral, half hidden by the swirling tattoos.

"Where'd you get that scar?"

"Some folks at the Rite. They didn't live to tell the tale."

"Hmmm." I followed it with my finger, before realizing how improper I was. "Sorry."

"'S alright." There was a pause, and then he asked, "Are your wings alright?"

"I guess?"

"May I?" He barely got the question out, his voice was so thick. I had to consider it for a long while. What it meant for him, to me. If I should allow that level of intimacy, considering the situation we were in. But it would also be wise to check for injuries.

Yeah, keep telling yourself that.

"Yes", I permitted, against my better judgement.

His touch was featherlight and so, so careful when he laid his hand on my second shoulder, gently sliding his hand over the edge of my wing. By the time he reached the alula, my wing opened for him, my whole body almost vibrating. There were so many nerves on wings. I understood now why it was such a taboo to touch them for Illyrians.

Especially when he laid his hand on the underside of my wing.

I must have gasped – had definitely gasped – because he withdrew his hand as if my feathers had burned him.

I closed my wing, more than a bit embarrassed. "Do you need to see the other one?" We'd have to change position for that.

"If there's no pain, I don't think it's –"

The ship tilted again suddenly, as if the storm wanted to remind us of its existence. It made Jonah roll on top of me, his hands ensuring I didn't get crushed under his weight.

Neither of us moved. There was tension in the room I refused to acknowledge. My heart was beating fast, and I could have sworn his scent changed somehow. Got stronger. Instinctively, I inhaled deeper, trying to distinct the change, and his pupils dilated.

"Fuck", Jonah said under his breath, and got out of the bed abruptly – pulling the wet clothes over himself. "If you're warm enough, I should go help the others. Be careful with the waves."

And just like that, he was out, only his scent lingering behind. I still couldn't make out what had changed. But it felt nostalgic somehow. Like a memory half forgotten.