I was surprised to find my throat closing up. Something of my emotions must have shown on my face, as well, because Guthrie opened his mouth, but he seemed to be at a loss as to what to actually say. He closed it, regrouping, and then he did slide his hand from my light grip.
“You’re not hearing me. Either of you. The point is, whether you want to or not, you can’t do a thing to keep this asshole demon from snuffing me out like a candle flame anytime he wants.”
“We can try.” Rans’ voice had softened from its earlier gruffness, but his eyes were still intense.
Guthrie’s jaw worked. “Yeah, you can try. And you can get killed in the process, you fucking idiot.”
Now I was the one getting angry. “Or we can get killed some other way, because in case it hasn’t been made clear, we’re all pretty much screwed at the moment. So excuse me if I’d prefer go down trying to protect the people I care about!”
“You don’t even know me, Zorah,” Guthrie murmured.
I huffed out an irritated breath. “Funny, you’re the second person to tell me that in the last couple of days. And guess what. The other guy was missing the entire point, too.”
“Bickering is pointless,” Rans said, sounding suddenly tired. “Guthrie, mate—unless you’re planning on raiding the cruise ship’s silverware and staking yourself with a butter knife, our current plan is still the same. We’re staying off the radar, and staying near saltwater. The situation with Nigellus and the tithelings makes it unlikely that Myrial will reap you, for now. You’re simply too valuable as a chess piece.”
“Is that supposed to be comforting?” Guthrie asked.
“It’s supposed to be realistic,” Rans replied.
I tried to find a bit of optimism to cling to. “Like I said, we made things more complicated by saving you, but maybe that added complexity will open up more options for us as time goes on. I mean, we still don’t know how things between Nigellus and Myrial will shake out, for instance.”
Guthrie lowered his sunglasses and massaged his temples as though his head ached. “Fine. It’s not like I could successfully stake myself even if I wanted to, right? Myrial would stop me from dying, like always. I’m back on ice, same as I was before. And you two stubborn idiots are going to do whatever you’re going to do.”
“That’s the spirit,” Rans said, and clapped him on the shoulder. “Come on, then. You’ll feel better once you get out of this sunlight. Bloody tropical paradise, am I right? No respect for vampire sensibilities.”
We left the little restaurant and wandered along the cracked pavement of the road leading back toward the cruise terminal. I could hear the water slapping against the shore nearby. The cry of seagulls split the air. A sign to our right pointed to the Port Zante Marina. Rans noticed my interest as I craned around, trying to catch a glimpse of the boats moored in the protected, manmade harbor. He steered us closer so we could wander along the wooden dock.
I’d never had much contact with boats beyond the ferries and barges that floated along the Mississippi, back in St. Louis. Dad’s place in Chicago hadn’t been all that far away from Lake Michigan, but aside from seeing the water in the distance from a car, I’d never been there. The boats moored in the marina ranged from battered fishing vessels to small sailboats, boats with outboard motors, and a couple of sleek yachts.
It was a peaceful view, but after the uncomfortable conversation at the food shack, I couldn’t seem to relax enough to appreciate it. I felt jittery and off-kilter, replaying bits of the argument on an endless mental loop. Rans’ fingers brushed mine, and I tangled our hands together, grateful for his presence. He gave me a reassuring squeeze.
“You know, we never did double-check your tolerance for saltwater,” he said, frowning.
I gestured ahead, to where the dock we were walking on terminated in a rocky spit of land that separated the small harbor containing the marina from the ocean beyond. “I told you it’s fine. But here’s an ocean, so I’ll prove it to you.”
“What’s this?” Guthrie asked, looking between us.
“Demons are vulnerable to salt, right?” I said with a sigh. “And I’m one-quarter, so he’s worried it’ll, I dunno, burn me or something. Which, I hasten to add, it won’t. Otherwise, the tequila shots would have gotten me years ago.”
I picked my way down the rocky slope and crouched, swishing my hand in the water. Standing again, I flicked a few droplets against Rans’ tailored shirt before sucking on my finger for good measure. “There you go. One small step for a succubus hybrid, one giant leap for... something or the other. Happy?”
“Ecstatic,” Rans said. “Strike one item off the list of things to worry about, at any rate.”
We climbed back up to the road leading to the larger dock where the cruise ship was moored. I was still unaccountably edgy. Somehow, the unproductive discussion with Guthrie didn’t quite seem like sufficient reason for my disquiet.
The cruise ship loomed like a floating city beyond the terminal building, a couple of private boats moored nearby appearing almost comically small by comparison. I wondered why the boats were here, rather than at the marina less than a quarter mile away. We approached the dock leading to the ship’s gangway, and I realized I was scratching absently at my arm. My skin crawled with invisible ants.
I stumbled to an abrupt halt. My heart stuttered and pounded into double time. The two vampires whirled to look at me.
“Keep walking,” I said, aware that I’d probably already given the game away to anyone watching the
