Chapter 18: The Burn of Betrayal

The night was a living thing thick with the scent of salt, smoke, and something far more dangerous.

The battle with The Widow's Fang had paused, but the war wasn't over. The Stormrider swayed gently in the dark sky, her crimson sails ragged, her hull scarred from the earlier fight. The only sounds were the distant grumble of thunder and the faint creak of wood as the ship settled into uneasy silence.

But the real storm wasn't outside.

It was here.

Inside Alistair's cabin.

And it was about to break.

Alistair Von Wolfenstein stood at the edge of his desk, his knuckles white against the worn wood. The map to the Iron Tempest lay crumpled beneath his fist, forgotten. His mind wasn't on the map.

It was on the two women standing before him.

Seraphina Blackthorn a wild storm in human form. Her dark hair hung loose over her shoulders, still tangled from the fight. Blood still stained her shirt from the gash at her side, but she hadn't let Alistair touch it. Her daggers, gleaming even in the dim candlelight, were still strapped to her thighs because Seraphina never let her guard down. Not even now.

And Isolde Greaves cold, collected, lethal in her stillness. She stood near the door, her arms crossed over her chest, her midnight hair half-loose and falling like silk around her collarbone. Her rapier rested against the wall beside her, but the sharpness in her gaze said she didn't need it.

The kiss still burned on Alistair's lips.

Both of them.

Seraphina's kiss fierce and possessive, a firestorm demanding to be felt.

Isolde's controlled but no less consuming, an icy promise laced with danger.

And now?

Now the fire was too big to put out.

"Are we going to talk about this," Alistair finally said, his voice rougher than he intended, "or are we just going to stand here and pretend it didn't happen?"

Seraphina's smile was sharp. "Which part, Captain?"

Isolde tilted her head. "The part where we both kissed you or the part where you kissed us back?"

Alistair dragged a hand through his hair, the weight of their words crashing over him like a wave. "You're both acting like I planned this"

Seraphina took a step closer slow, predatory. "Didn't you?"

The heat between them sizzled not just from anger, but from the undeniable pull still hanging in the air.

Isolde didn't move, but her voice sliced through the space between them. "You're a lot of things, Von Wolfenstein but innocent isn't one of them."

Alistair's jaw tightened. "I didn't ask for this"

Seraphina's laugh was dark. "No, but you didn't stop it either."

Silence.

Because they were both right.

Alistair could lie to himself all he wanted, but the truth was a blade to his ribs:

He hadn't stopped them.

He hadn't wanted to.

The Breaking Point.

The air felt like a loaded gun waiting, trembling, ready to go off.

Seraphina's voice was a whisper of smoke. "So what happens now, Captain?"

Alistair's heart pounded. "We focus on Varik. On Elira. On surviving this."

Isolde's smile didn't reach her eyes. "And when the battle's done?"

The question lingered a spark hovering over a powder keg.

Because this wasn't just about surviving Varik.

It was about surviving each other.

Seraphina's gaze burned. "We both know this doesn't end with the battle."

Alistair stepped forward, the heat between them pulling him closer to both of them. "Then how does it end?"

Neither answered.

Because none of them knew.

Not yet.

But the fire the fire was still there.

And it was hungry.

The Cut That Went Too Deep.

Before Alistair could speak again

A sharp knock at the door.

"Cap'n!" Rogan's voice thundered from the other side. "We've got company!"

Alistair's heart lurched. "Varik?"

Rogan's voice was grim. "Worse."

The three of them exchanged a look the heat of the moment replaced by something colder.

Because whatever storm was brewing between them would have to wait.

For now.