Bound by the Depths: Pirate's Bluff, #2

By Stacey Trombley

The sirens are coming

 

—both from the sea and from inside Whitley's own mind.

 

Her memories are fading. Her siren instincts are rising. And when tragedy strikes, she flees from the Freedom into the sea.

 

Whitley lands back in New York City, with only a few flashes of memory and her siren instincts to guide her. She steps back into high society, only this time with power she isn't afraid to use. She'll find her revenge on any man that ever tried to control her.

 

Until a pirate shows up, singing a song to her heart. Somehow, he's important, she just doesn't understand how. But he's also brought with him a whole host of new problems. Violent pirates, city mobsters and sirens are closing in, each seeking a way to devour her body and soul.

 

Whitley will have to uncover the truth behind her lost memories and unlock the full extent of her dangerous powers. All without losing the pirate who fate chose for her.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Stacey Trombley
• Release date: Aug 26, 2021
• ISBN: 9798201210076

Book preview

Bluff

The ship rocks and sways along with my stomach. Up and down. Over and under.

I’ve never been seasick in my life, but this kind of nausea isn’t from the movement of the waves.

Today is the first day I’ve spent several hours out on the main deck since my injury, but it’s an important day, so I’ve pushed through the pain and dealt with it.

Today, we celebrate a joyous reunion while I work hard not to drag down the festive mood.

My stomach swirls with unease as I watch Whitley from across the deck. 

She simply stares out at the vast open sea for hours at a time, blonde hair and full skirt whipping in the violent wind. It’s not an unfamiliar sight. I remember the first time I watched her watch the sea.

My heart lifts at that thought.

She’s beautiful. And she’s mine.

But there’s so much between us now that I’m unsure of. The prophecy says she’ll be my downfall. My mother has already flexed her muscles and shown us what she could make Whitley do.

My stomach sinks.

I think about how easy it was to fall in love with Whitley, how hard I fought against that pull. But when I finally let go it was the worth every pain—my heart leaps.

I close my eyes as more images bombard me. Her lifeless form floating in the waves. My stomach drops.

That same girl saving my life, even after I thought I’d lost her for good. Up.

I open my eyes and see the silver glint in her eyes that tells me she’s still one of them.

Whitley is a siren now.

I rush to the railing of the ship and heave the contents of my stomach into the choppy waters below.

Well, that’s a first, says a rough female from behind me.  She slaps a hand to my back.

I wipe my mouth as I turn back to face Rosemera. First time for everything, I s’pose.

We’ve been back on The Freedom for nearly two full weeks since the battle with Stede and the sirens. Enough time to receive a message and travel back to the bay outside New York to pick up the lovely Miss Rose— as she was called during her adventures in New York—from a merchant ship she’d bartered her way onto. Enough time for my body to heal from my self-inflicted injury—mostly.

Whitley used the prophesied power to control me, to save my life.

I’m still not sure how I feel about that.

I’m happy to be alive, sure. I’m happy for the opportunity to hope, as slim as it is. But still knowing that Whitley now has the literal power to control me, to enslave me if she chooses, is enough to make my near-mortal wound feel like a splinter.

My mother is the Siren Queen, and now that Whitley is a siren too, it means it’s only a matter of time before my mother regains her dominion over Whitley’s siren instincts. When will my enemies finish licking their wounds and return to finish the job?

I watch Whitley absently staring at the waves—speaking to no one—as sirens circle below, calling to her—I wonder if I have much time left at all.

Is their spell working? Is she considering joining them and leaving me behind?

I love her.

But how much can I trust her?

Rosemera smirks. Want to talk about it?

Not even a little bit. I shake my head.

Will you at least let us in on what kind of danger we’re facing by having you aboard? Who’s after you?

I run my fingers through my hair. Everything. Everyone. And it’s not only what’s after us, but what’s aboard.

If they knew Whitley was now a vessel of siren magic... we’d be swimming with our siren friends in an instant. Or perhaps Whitley would kill the whole crew the second they turned on her. I have no idea what to expect from her now.

How strong is the siren in her? How violent will she become when threatened? How powerful is she?

Well I suppose I know that one pretty well, and it’s not a comforting thought.

Only a week ago she quite literally destroyed an entire ship. Killed an entire crew. The storm clouds rumbled with her eyes. Lighting hit where she told it to.

I shiver at the thought.

Not even Rosemera can know the full truth about her.

Well that’s vague.

Secrets are my thing. Don’t expect me to change now.

S’pose not. She winks, then steps up to the railing, searching the blank horizon herself. It’s quiet for a long moment. You can trust me though, you know?

I bite my lip. As well as anyone, sure, but trust doesn’t come easily for me.

Where’d she get the dress? I ask Rosemera to change the subject. The last dress Whitley wore is somewhere on the bottom of the ocean. She boarded this ship with only a chemise, but now she has on a blue dress I’ve never seen.

Rosemera raises her eyebrows. You know very well. Next time you’re on this ship without me, do yourselves both a favor and raid my clothing stash with or without my permission. To think of that girl in a rotting chemise on a pirate ship... She shakes her head.

I give her a weak smirk. Whitley’s clothing was the last thing on my mind when we boarded this ship. I was injured. I shrug.

How are you, by the way? Her tone turns cool. I heard it was pretty close.

I bite the inside of my lip. Yeah. It was pretty close. I’m fine though. For now.

What now? she says light as a whisper, then pauses.  Are we just running or heading somewhere in particular?

I itch my eyelid, skin dry and uncomfortable. Everything is uncomfortable right now. We should head somewhere. The open water isn’t... ideal. But don’t ask me where. I don’t know of anywhere that’s ideal at this point.

Any port, then? Pirate port? States? Islands?

Whatever is closest.

She raises her eyebrows and I sigh.

Let’s go with states, then, I answer, simply to appease her. Somewhere small. Inconspicuous.

Rosemera nods. I’ll find a place.

She walks away, and I turn back to find Whitley still in the same spot. Still just watching the water with a blank face.

I press my eyes closed and try not to compare her to the last siren I trusted. Charlie’s death will be on my hands for the rest of my life, and the last thing I want is to repeat that mistake.

I’ve told myself over and over that Whitley is different.

But truth is, I’m still nervous. I’m putting these men at risk by having a siren aboard—and they don’t even know it.

The wind rushes at us both, curls around our bodies like a quick whip, then floats back out to sea. Whitley doesn’t seem to notice the strange wind patterns, or me for that matter, even though I’m close enough to touch her now.

After several long, dragging minutes of standing beside her and getting no reaction whatsoever, I march down the deck and into the captain’s quarters. Rosemera and Captain Taj jump at my sudden arrival.

There he is! Captain Taj says with a laugh, his bull-like nose ring bouncing. He’s been joyous since we retrieved Rosemera unscathed. I’m sure he’d thought her lost as well.

We were just choosing our destination, Rosemera says, looking back down at the map. Did you have something to tell us?

No. Just... figured I could lend a hand.

One of her eyebrows quirks up. You’re terrible at charting.

That’s not true. I know exactly where the islands are.

Your instincts are good, but you can’t tell us speed or angles or distance.

I shrug. I don’t need those things.

You don’t, but unless you’re at the helm every second of the trip, it’s not very useful, is it? When you can’t explain to someone else how to steer us the right direction.

I swallow. I just want something to occupy my mind.

You mean that lass can’t do that for you? Captain Taj wiggles his eyebrows suggestively, and I roll my eyes, ignoring the pit in my belly. Last thing I need is to lose control of my stomach for a second time today.

Hush, Dad, Rosemera says. Leave him be.

The Captain shrugs. Why don’t I leave you two to it, then? The tightness of his jaw tells me he’s annoyed, but I can’t bring myself to care. He doesn’t get it. Rosemera does.

As soon as the door clicks shut behind the captain, Rosemera sets to work. She explains a few steps here and there, mostly about her choice of ports. I couldn’t actually care less. It’s on the coast. I’ve never heard of it.

I’m in.

But I allow her go on. At least she’s entertained and I have the chance to distract myself.

There’s a little port a few miles inland of that Carolina town at the Forks of the Tar River. You know the one I speak of?

I blinked my mind into focus. Town at the Forks of the Tar River. Right. Where you picked Whitley and me up...before.

She nods curtly. Father took us nearby just a few weeks prior to our recent adventure. It’s small, but they... don’t look very closely at our crew or merchandise, if you know what I mean.

Sympathizers? I ask. There are very few privateer sympathizers in these parts, but travel farther into the gulf, and the options become more wide spread. Farther north, and you’ll be hung for looking at a ship wrong.

No, just men looking for opportunity, unconcerned with the source.

I nod.

Well, like I said, they didn’t ask too many questions, and the men enjoyed it well enough—the bar maids are rather friendly. Oh! It’s the spot Lars got so drunk we had to drag him back aboard and he woke up below deck dressed entirely as a woman, makeup and everything. Rose smiles and I just enjoy remembering that life continues. People laugh and dream and drink and prank and fight and love.

Sounds perfect, I tell her.

Her shoulders relax suddenly, almost as if she was nervous I would deny her suggestion.   When I don’t respond, she stops talking and sets to work. Pen behind her ear, divider and string on the page, as she calculates our heading, charting our entire trip.

I watch in awe as she works. I’d never learned this skill, mostly because it seemed silly to learn the manual way, when I can do it by simple instinct. Another perk of being the Son of the Sea.

Orphan of the Sea is more like it. Abandoned. Unwanted. Used.

Any of the above would be more appropriate than implying the sea, or anything in it, cared one lick about my wellbeing.

If we keep these ideal winds—likely—we’ll reach port in a day and half.

She thinks we’ll keep our steady winds because I’m aboard, but she doesn’t realize that the sea is no longer on my side. Even that is against me now.

I wouldn’t count on it.

She doesn’t ask what I mean. She just lets me storm out of the room, I slam the wooden door against the frame violently, but I immediately feel foolish for my melodrama. Rosemera’s sure to think me crazy—all riled up over a pretty lass.

We must get to port and then I can consider our options.

The water still calls to her. Which is why I hate how much time she spends absently staring at the waves. The magic of the sea is calling her home, and at some point, it will succeed.

That’s my worst fear.

If we can get to land, the sirens will have less opportunity to steal her from me.

She hasn’t leapt into the sea yet, so that’s a good sign. But she hasn’t so much as looked me in the eyes in twelve hours. That’s not so much a good sign.

If she doesn’t love me, if she doesn’t want me... why else would she still be here? Why else would she have saved my life?

Some piece of her old self is in there. I know that much.

The question is, is it enough?

Whitley

The waves crest and fall. I watch them, mesmerized at their rhythm. The sun glints off the liquid like crystals. Shooting. Falling. Soaring.

I don’t know how long I stand there.

Minutes? Hours?

Days? Years?

The magic of the sea surrounds me, haunts me. While I sleep, it’s their songs that I dream of. And with every passing moment everything that makes me who I am is slipping through my grasp.

A GENTLE HAND LIES on my shoulder. My body doesn’t react, but my mind does. I blink into focus and register my surroundings. I am on a ship. The person touching me is Rosemera—not a threat.

I don’t turn.

You should eat something, she says coolly.

Why? I wonder. I don’t remember the last time I ate. I don’t remember what food tastes like.

Behind us, pirates laugh and stumble over the deck. They are celebrating Rosemera’s return, I remember. Rum is passed hand to hand. An off-key song is sung near the helm.

It’s been a while since we made port, but we have a decent few meals left. Salted pork. Bread.

I don’t respond.

Mr. Copper made a rather delicious stew. I could have some brought to you?

I blink several times, trying to force my mind into focus. I should at least respond. That would be the polite thing to do.

No, thank you, I force out.

Are you sure? You haven’t touched a morsel since I boarded.

How long ago was that?

She pauses for a long moment, her eyes narrowed. Twelve hours, miss.

I nod. That’s all? That’s good at least. I’m not missing too much time.

Rosemera’s eyes drift to my forearm. A shimmer of light reflects off of my skin. It’s subtle. The sailors haven’t yet noticed the remnants of magic evident on my body.

What happened to you, Whitley?

I wince at the use of that name. My name, I remind myself.

I should know it. It should be a central part of who I am. And yet... I have a hard time keeping a grasp on that. I am Whitley. I am here with him. I don’t trust sirens.

The rest is... hazy.  

I’m not sure, I say, which is true. Somewhat.

Perhaps I do know what happened, but if I think that through completely, I suspect this blissful calm will recede and the storms will blow in.

He’s pretty distraught, you know. Bluff?

My stomach twists in such a painful way when she uses that word—that name—that my knees buckle and I almost lose my balance. I grip the railing to keep from falling.

Bluff.

Something clicks back into place, like a spell beginning to recede. Already the pain is flooding through my limbs. A blast of fear. A river of regret.

Why? I whisper.

I was hoping you’d tell me that.

I narrow my eyes, working through the haze over my mind. As quickly as the hypnosis of the waves fell away, it rushes back in. I pull my gaze away from the sea for the first time and lock eyes with Rosemera. I look over her tangled hair and dark sun-kissed skin, covered in lovely freckles.

He’s upset about me. About my current... state. He thinks the girl he fell in love with is gone forever.

I don’t intend to tell Rosemera any of this, but I am grateful she was able to help me clear my mind enough to function.

Perhaps I should talk with him.

Perhaps. Her eyes narrow as she scrutinizes my face. You sure you don’t know what happened? she says, concern gone, her expression is now filled with suspicion.

I’m fairly certainly she shouldn’t know about the magic floating through my body now, but I can’t find the will to care if she puts the pieces together on her own. I simply won’t say the words. If she knows, she knows.

Where is he? I ask.

She purses her lips. He went up to the crow’s nest.

I force a smile. In that case, I’ll take some of that soup you offered up to him.

Her expression softens, though not completely. She hesitantly nods and turns away.

Bluff

The wind rushes at me, tossing my hair about recklessly. The soft tickle over my skin would feel good, if there weren’t also a bite of cold laced through the air.

The squeak of ropes followed by the grunt of effort alerts me to someone approaching. I peer over the edge of the crow’s nest and nearly topple all the way down to the main deck when I see wild blond hair flying and blue skirt billowing in the violent wind. Whitley is climbing up to me.

Suddenly, my heart leaps. I can’t control the spinning of my mind. I image all the wonderful things this could mean—what could happen once she gets up here. The last time we spent the night in the crow’s nest, I was determined to stay away from her. This time, I long for the chance to get as close as possible.

Something has broken her from her reverie and I couldn’t be more thankful, even just for the chance to talk with her again.

It takes longer than I’d like for her to reach me. I hold out a hand as she comes into reach, and she hands me a tote, it’s heavier than I anticipated. I fling it behind me, then reach for her, but she shifts to the side, pulling herself up on her own.

I turn to the bag she handed me. Inside is a glass bottle.

Rum? I ask with a smirk, cheeks growing warm, remembering the last time we spent the night in the crow’s next.

Whitley’s eyebrows pull down in confusion. Soup. It was the only way we could figure to bring it all the way up here.

I nod slowly. Right. So no rum then?

Her expression is hard, annoyed. Shoulders stiff. Was I supposed to bring rum?

No, I just thought because that’s what we had last time we spent time here... Never mind.

She looks down at her hands, mouth tight. We spent time here? she says, more to herself than to me.

You don’t remember?

She meets my gaze with her silvery eyes and shakes her head.

Some of my memories... are slipping, she admits. That makes sense. She lost pieces of who she was when she turned siren. Somehow, she held on to some of her humanity, but how much is hard to say.

I throw my head back, looking up into the bright sky, and leaning against the wooden planks. Does she remember any of it? Does she remember falling in love with me?

I take in another long breath and then pull the stew from the bag, pour a bit into each bowl and hand one to her. She stares at it like it’s foreign. Red liquid sloshes with the movement of the ship. I press the bowl to my lips and slowly tip. It’s warm, but not hot and too salty. Pirate stew. Can’t expect much from it.

She watches me with her unnatural eyes. I try to pretend not to notice and simply stare straight ahead, sipping quietly.

Finally, I turn to her. Are you going to eat?

She blinks, like she suddenly remembered