War of the Sea

Dana Claire

Chamberlain Publishing House

Copyright

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously.

Copyright © 2022 by Dana Claire

All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced in any form without written permission from the publisher or author, except as permitted by U.S. copyright law.

Cover design by Jay Aheer

Dedication

To my mother, father, husband, brothers, and friends… With your love and support, my success knows no limits.

Chapter one

Lou

Cold steel chilled my throat as my sworn enemy used the blade’s tip to forcibly lift my gaze to his. I stared into the diamond eyes of the man I’d vowed to kill.

My breath hitched. The rumors—of eyes that brought men and women to their knees—hadn’t prepared me. Colorless as glass, the sparkling irises lured me into a dreamlike state, blurring the world around me. Gone were the ever-present sounds of the waves lapping at the ship, the wind whipping the sails, the mournful squawks of seagulls overhead. An invisible vise sealed my windpipe, causing heat to bloom across my cheeks. How was he doing this? Were the legends true?

Stories of his power ran rampant in portside taverns where pirates, privateers, and sailors passed their time during their stays on land. Some said he could paralyze with a single look, charm with one word, and kill with one touch. Until this moment, I’d cast off the tales as the usual scuttlebutt, but I’d been wrong. This man, this monster, had turned me into a travelling performer’s marionette with his eyes.

Finally, he blinked, though his sword held steady against my throat. My breath found me again, the trance severed. The seagulls screeched. The boat’s gentle rock returned. The wind blew his dusky tresses backward, exposing his wide throat and pulsing Prometheus’ apple. My breathing evened.

“Captain?” he asked.

A legend to most, my adversary was the youngest captain of one of the largest ships in the Caviar Sea, until I inherited my captain’s rank at age seventeen, only a year ago. They called him the Emperor of the Ocean, Captain Rylander Bordeaux. I called him my intended prey.

When I didn’t respond, he continued in a commanding timbre, “Remove your hat.” Captain Bordeaux flashed me a knowing, lopsided grin.

My jaw clenched, but I dared not move.

A tattooed seafarer stepped forward from Bordeaux’s ranks and pointed his revolver at my head. “Don’t make the captain ask again.” The gravel in his voice no doubt came from years of grog, smoke, and long months at sea. He jingled with piercings—a row framing his ear from top to lobe and one through his brow—and his round belly peeked through the stretched buttonholes of his shirt.

“Manners, Bernard,” Captain Bordeaux said, those icy diamond eyes unwavering.