“Get the little bitch!” Crewes orders, and the man who hit Charlie starts up the stairs after Lyra. Boots pound overhead as they drag me back into the shadows.
These last movements cause me to lose my footing, and my back slams onto the wood beneath me, my left arm ineffective against Crewes’ weight crushing me against the floor. Dirty fingers clasp onto my hair, his tight grip pulling strands loose from the tightly coiled plait at my nape. With his other hand, he rips the front of my gown open, exposing my breasts. My lungs burn as I still scream and struggle beneath him until he slaps me across the face with an open palm and my lip splits where it hits my teeth. Rotten teeth and foul breath make me gag, his face inches from mine as he drags my legs toward him. I spit blood in his face, and Crewes rears back, wiping it from his cheek before hitting me across the face again with the back of his hand.
“You should have just taken the coin and enjoyed it, you stupid cunt,” he snarls. I blink my eyes rapidly, waiting for my ears to stop ringing and my vision to clear, trying to regain my senses from the impact of his blows.
His wiry companion stands to the side, laughing and watching. My struggling grows weaker as I continue to fight back, but neither man realizes my true goal — my right pocket. Finally, I feel the hilt of my dagger in my palm, cold steel centering me. As Crewes yanks my head back by my hair and hoists my skirts up, I strike. Slamming my dagger down into his shoulder and back, over and over.
Screaming. Always screaming.
Crewes’ blood drips down onto my cheek and coats my hand and chest. I bring my hand back to strike again, and the other man catches my wrist, pinning my hand over my head against the hard wooden floor. A sob escapes my lips as fear settles into my chest, pulse racing wildly — my last attempt to free myself has come and gone.
Suddenly, the tight grip on my wrist is gone. Crewes no longer crushes me with his weight. Men’s angry shouts reach me through my terror-filled haze, followed by the thump of a fist hitting flesh. Through the tears that fall involuntarily, I recognize the massive form that has pulled Crewes from me — Erik, the Quartermaster. I whimper and kick out at the hands reaching for me through the shadows until my vision clears, focusing on the emerald gaze of the Captain. Lyra rushes to my side, her fine lavender dress now soiled with blood as she kneels at my side, seizing the fabric of my torn bodice to cover my naked breasts.
Two additional crew members I don’t recognize, their faces filled with rage, hold Crewes and the other man who aided in his attack. Crewes’ third accomplice is restrained near the stairs where Charlie sits, holding a hand on his red cheek where he took the punch trying to help me. My trembling hand still clutches my dagger, and I cannot will my fingers to relax their grip as I push myself further into the shadows, away from the happy sunlight and gentle hands that reach for me. When my back bumps against one of the barrels I finally release the weapon to the long fingers that carefully cover my hand and remove the blade.
“You’re all right, Andromeda. We have them. You are safe,” Captain Lennox smoothes my wild hair back from my face and lifts me from my hiding place. Lyra wrings her hands, desperate to help, but she is also trembling, likely frightened by witnessing the attack.
“Oh, Andromeda! Let me help you get cleaned up.” Lyra tries again to pull my damaged gown to hide my naked flesh from the crew members’ stares.
“No,” my voice is cold. Emotionless. The men are silent.
“What do you need, Andromeda?” Lennox asks me as I curl into his chest, the blood seeping from my clothing and body onto his fine coat.
“My retaliation,” I whisper.
“As you wish. Would you like Lyra to help get you changed first? To tend to your injuries?” He doesn’t coddle me, he doesn’t demean me, he simply asks.
“No. I want it now.”
Chapter 10
All three attackers are marched up the stairs to the deck, followed by Erik, then Captain Lennox with me cradled in his arms. He grips me firmly, one arm under my knees and the other carefully supporting my back while avoiding any of the skin bared by my torn dress. Instinctively, I wrap my arms around his neck and allow my cheek to press against his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart for comfort. Even if it does beat more quickly than it should, the sound helps me calm my own racing pulse. Lyra moves up the stairs to follow, but I shoot Charlie a look and a slight shake of my head, which has the desired effect — he takes her elbow and gently coaxes her back below deck. She doesn’t need to see this.
The remainder of the crew must have heard Lyra screaming for the Captain before he and Erik rushed below; they stand in silence along the railing of the deck, their eyes watching as we move to the middle of the ship. The only sounds are the sails flapping in the wind and the waves lapping against the hull.
My attackers stand before us now, Crewes is bloodied and holding his shoulder askew where I stabbed him. Even now, he doesn’t look remorseful as anger wars with his pain. The older, wiry sailor who held me down drips blood from his nose, he makes no move to staunch the flow as his eyes flit over his crewmates. If he is seeking reassurance from them he receives none. The younger, bulky man who hit Charlie looks defeated as he stands silently staring at his boots, rather than meeting the harsh glares of the others. After making sure I am stable enough to stand, the Captain sets me on my feet. Dark crimson stains the front of my charcoal dress, and my breasts remain bare where Crewes tore it from my body. The blood on my face has dried into a crust that cracks on my chin and lips, its copper taste lingering on my teeth and tongue. Loose strands of my dark hair float on the breeze from where they were pulled from their tidy chignon.
I do not hide my nakedness or my injuries. I am not the one who should be ashamed of what has occurred.
From the looks on the faces that stare back at me, I can tell that the men are disturbed. Sailors’ superstitions run deep — any vengeful goddess they hope to appease will now haunt their dreams wearing my visage.
“The first full day aboard I made it clear — the women on this vessel are mine. I also made it clear what would happen should the order to leave them alone be violated. As you can all see, that has happened.” Lennox’s deep voice is a snarl that carries over the waves as he makes eye contact with each of his crew. He then swings his fierce gaze to the three men in front of him. They do not raise their faces to meet his eyes.
“Andromeda has requested that I honor my promise. She will have her retaliation for this attack.” His voice rings loud and deep on the breeze. “If I think it’s fitting, I will leave it as is. If not, I will seek vengeance for her.”
“She’s a whore, and a heathen witch on top of it!” Crewes spits in my direction. “I didn’t do anything that hasn’t been done before.”
The Captain doesn’t deign to look at him.
“Andromeda, do you need anything?” Lennox asks me, placing his hand on my hip with his back to the crew.
“No,” I answer, and prowl toward the three men.
Crewes stands in the center of the three, and I meet his gaze directly before lowering myself to my knees in front of him, glancing upwards through my dark lashes to see his face. He sneers at me — seeing me on my knees with my breasts bared is probably what his dreams are made of. I reach up and unbutton his breeches the remainder of the way, never taking my eyes from his.
Once I have them loosened, I pull out his flaccid manhood and chuckle to myself at the pathetic sight. His expression transforms from one of lust to anger as I smirk at him. My laughs have distracted him from my right hand, which has again reached into the pocket of my dress, gripping tight to the dagger Lennox slipped back in its place when he touched my hip. Crewes’ anger soon turns to fear when he sees my feral smile.
My dagger is sharp, but I make sure to take my time.