“Most people don’t,” said Holland calmly.

“Did you ever consider sparing his life?”

“No.”

“Did you even hesitate before you killed him?”

“No.”

“Why not?” she snarled, the air trembling with her anger.

Holland held her gaze. “Because it was easier.”

“I don’t—”

“Because if I stopped I would think, and if I thought, I would remember, and if I remembered, I would—” He swallowed, the smallest rise in his throat. “No, I did not hesitate. I cut his throat, and added his death to the ones I count every day when I wake.” His eyes hardened on her. “Now tell me, Delilah, how many lives have you ended? Do you know the number?”

Lila started to answer, then stopped.

The truth—the infuriating, maddening, sickening truth—was that she didn’t.

* * *

Lila stormed back to her own cabin.

She wanted to sleep, wanted to fight, wanted to quell the fear and anger rising in her throat like a scream. Wanted to banish Holland’s words, carve out the memory of the knife between her ribs, smother the terrible instant that reckless energy of danger turned to cold fear.

She wanted to forget.

Kell was halfway to his feet, coat in one hand, when she came in.

Wanted to feel …

“There you are,” he said, his hair mussed from sleep. “I was just coming to look for—”

Lila caught him by the shoulders and pressed her mouth against his.

“—you,” he finished, the word nothing but a breath between her lips.

… This.

Kell returned the kiss. Deepened it. That current of magic like a spark across her lips.

And then his arms were folding around her, and in that small gesture, she understood, felt it down to her bones, that draw, not the electric pulse of power but the thing beneath it, the weight she’d never understood. In a world where everything rocked and swayed and fell away, this was solid ground.

Safe.

Her heart was beating hard against her ribs, some primal part of her saying run, and she was running, just not away. She was tired of running away. So she was running into Kell.

And he caught her.

His coat fell to the floor, and then they were half stepping, half stumbling back through the tiny room. They missed the bed, but found the wall—it wasn’t that far—and when Lila’s back met the hull of the ship, the whole thing seemed to rock beneath them, pressing Kell’s body into hers.

She gasped, less from the sudden weight than from the sense of him against her, one leg between hers.

Her hand slid beneath his shirt with all the practiced grace of a thief. But this time she wanted him to feel her touch, her palms gliding over his ribs and around his back, fingertips digging into his shoulder blades.

“Lila,” he rasped into her ear as the ship righted, swung the other way, and they tumbled back onto the cot. She pulled his body down with hers, and he caught himself on his elbows, hovering over her. His lashes were strands of copper around his black and blue eyes. She’d never noticed before. She reached up and brushed the hair out of his face. It was soft—feathery—where the rest of him was sharp. His cheekbone scraped against her palm. His hips cut into hers. Their bodies sparked against each other, the energy electric across their skin.

“Kell,” she said, the word something between a whisper and a gasp.

And then the door burst open.

Alucard stood in the doorway, soaking wet, as if he’d just been dumped in the sea, or the sea had been dumped over him. “Stop fucking with the ship.”

Kell and Lila stared at him in stunned silence, and then burst into laughter as the door slammed shut.

They fell back against the cot, the laughter trailing off, only to rise again out of the silence full force. Lila laughed until her body ached, and even when she thought she was done, the sound came on like hiccups.

“Hush,” Kell whispered in her hair, and that nearly set her off again as she rolled toward him on the narrow cot, squeezing in so she wouldn’t fall off. He made room, one arm beneath his head and the other wrapped around her waist, pulling her in against him.

He smelled like roses.

She remembered thinking that, the first time they met, and even now, with the salty sea and the damp wood of the ship, she could smell it, the faint, fresh garden scent that was his magic.

“Teach me the words,” she whispered.

“Hm?” he asked sleepily.

“The blood spells.” She propped her head on her hand. “I want to know them.”

Kell sighed in mock exhaustion. “Now?”

“Yes, now.” She rolled onto her back, eyes trained on the wooden ceiling. “What happened in Rosenal—I don’t plan on letting it happen again. Ever.”

Kell lifted himself onto one elbow above her. He looked down at her for a long, searching moment, and then a mischievous grin flickered across his face.

“All right,” he said. “I’ll teach you.”

His copper lashes sank low over his two-toned eyes. “There’s As Travars, to travel between worlds.”

She rolled her eyes. “I know that one.”

He lowered himself a fraction, bringing his lips to her ear.

“And As Tascen,” he continued, breath warm. “To move within a world.”

She felt a shiver of pleasure as his lips brushed her jaw. “And As Hasari,” he murmured. “To heal.”