Skye writhed on the floor of the boat, unable to guide him. Drake didn’t slow the boat. If he found Heather and Ashley, he could stop the attack. It was the only way to help Colton and Skye. He kept his gaze glued to the horizon, searching for any other vessels. His cell buzzed in his pocket, interfering with his internal panic.
Bale’s name lit the screen. “Yeah?” Drake bellowed over the motor.
“Where are you?”
“Atlantic. Ashley’s got Heather out here someplace.”
“Do you have GPS navigation on board?”
Drake glanced down at his console. “Aye.”
“Good. Kingsley’s been searching the satellite images, and we may have found something. I’m texting you the coordinates now.”
“All right.”
“I’m waiting on a helicopter pilot. I’ll be right behind you.”
“Aye.” Drake ended the call and clicked his messages. He slowed the boat long enough to enter the coordinates. The digital compass pointed him to the northwest.
She was less than five nautical miles away.
“We’re close,” Drake said to Skye and Colton who were holding onto each other as they endured the banshee scream.
Drake pulled back the throttle and followed the coordinates. “Fight, love. I’m almost there.”
…
Heather’s head throbbed. She ground her teeth, her vision clouded by the constant stream of tears as her father’s ghost encouraged her to throw herself overboard, telling her she deserved to die, and then in turn promising her they could be together forever.
Lies. It was all lies. She had to make it stop.
Drake’s nephew crawled into the boat, his dark-rimmed eyes full of fear. “Uncle Drake doesn’t love you,” Thomas said. “He left me to drown, just like he’s leaving you. We’re both going to die at the bottom of sea.”
“I’m not dying today.” Heather grunted, wrenching one hand free from the duct tape.
Her shoulders ached as she reached up to cover her ears. Nothing silenced the banshee’s wail. She lowered her hands, waiting to see if her sister noticed she was free.
Ashley’s inhuman red eyes never blinked; her mouth in a perpetual O shape made her seem more statue than human. A figurehead.
“Uncle Drake isn’t coming,” Thomas whispered. “He doesn’t know what love is.”
“Not…true.” Heather shifted from her sitting position onto her knees, trying not to rock the boat. She had no idea what would wake her sister from her trance.
“He’s abandoned you.” Her father hissed, mouth tight, forcing the words from his lips. “He never told you he loved you. You’re in so much pain. Just let go. Join me.”
Lies. All of it. Her father, Thomas, and countless other lost souls that her sister had called up shouted at her. The louder they grew, the more vividly she saw Drake’s smile. Memories of dancing with him in her attic flooded her mind. The way he’d stood by her, even after overhearing her tell One-Eyed Bob her decision to end their relationship, had everything to do with love; honest, unconditional love. He didn’t need to say the words. He proved his love. It was real.
And damn it, she was going to live long enough to tell him she loved him, too.
Heather scrambled forward, racing toward her sister. Ashley blinked, her mouth snapping shut as Heather knocked her back against the idling motor of the boat.
“You bitch!” Ashley shrieked, gripping Heather’s sore shoulders. “Why do you have to make this difficult?”
“I’m not dying for you!” Heather slapped her sister’s face.
Time stopped for a moment as Ashley reached up to wipe a drop of blood from the corner of her mouth, her lips twisting into a cold smirk. “Just remember, I tried to make this painless for you.”
Before Heather could reply, Ashley snatched a dagger from her bag and buried it in Heather’s abdomen. She stared at the handle as blood soaked through her shirt, the crimson circle slowly growing. Part of her mind rejected the pain blossoming through her torso, unable to comprehend what was happening.
Ashley hovered over her, her grip tight on Heather’s shoulders. “Give my regards to Dad and Davy Jones.” She dragged Heather to the edge of the boat, shoving her farther over the side toward the water. “You’ll make a beautiful figurehead.”
The word snapped something in Heather’s mind and shattered the shock, replacing the disbelief with raw, pure rage. She struggled to push her sister away. Adrenaline raced through her weakened muscles, and one thought became her mantra.
I’m not dying today. Not today.
She blocked the pain from her consciousness; survival was all that mattered. Ashley gripped her shoulders, shoving her over the side of the boat. Heather kicked her legs, hooking a foot under one of the seats. Anything to stay topside.
“Get in the water!” Ashley screamed and pressed down with all her weight. Heather’s head dunked into the sea. No. She had to fight. I’m not dying today.
In one desperate move, Heather grabbed the handle of the dagger in her stomach, jerked it free, and plunged it into the side of her sister’s neck.
Ashley’s eyes widened, her lips struggling to form words. Her body went limp, and Heather’s flash of strength faded. Ashley’s body weight fell onto Heather as the boat tilted.
They both slid into the ocean.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Colton and Skye both sat up just as a skiff came into view. Drake kept his eye on the boat, gunning the engine. “Banshee’s gone silent?”
Skye rubbed her forehead. “For now.”
As they neared the boat, Drake’s pulse raced. It was empty. “No. Fuck. No.” He glanced at Colton. “Take the wheel.”
He swapped places with his quartermaster, dread taking up residence in his gut. He was too fucking late. Drake yanked his shirt over his head and patted the pocket of his jeans. The root was still there. He took his gun from the holster and dropped it onto his shirt as Colton slowed the boat.
Drake dove into the warm Atlantic, pushing his exhausted body to the limit. He was a strong swimmer, but he hadn’t been this tired in centuries. Blood stained the side of the small skiff, and his heart sank. He spun around in the
