Chapter 32: No Safe Harbor

The air inside the cabin was too thick too hot.

The storm outside had passed, but the storm inside had only sharpened, simmering just below the surface like a blade waiting to strike.

Alistair Von Wolfenstein stood at the center of it bare-chested, his coat discarded on the floor, his jaw tight from more than just exhaustion.

The taste of last night the fire, the fury, the collision of want and rivalry still lingered on his skin.

But the morning after?

It wasn't soft.

It was a slow, dangerous burn.

Because the two women in front of him weren't finished.

Not by a long shot.

Seraphina Blackthorn.

She leaned against the wall by the porthole, one leg bent, the curve of her bare shoulder still smeared with blood some from the battle, some from him.

The sheet from the bed hung loosely around her waist, but she didn't bother to fix it.

She didn't care.

Her dagger the same one she'd flung into the table last night spun between her fingers again, a steady, lazy rhythm that matched the way her lips curled in a half-smile.

Like this was all a game.

Like he was the game.

"Don't tell me you're still thinking about it, Captain," Seraphina purred, voice rough from both sleep and something darker. "It's not that complicated."

Alistair's jaw ticked. "What's not complicated?"

Her smile sharpened. "Last night."

He felt the spark in his chest again the fire she always stoked but this time, he didn't move.

Didn't give her the satisfaction.

Seraphina's dagger traced a slow line across the wall. "Or are you wondering how long you can keep standing there before you break again?"

His pulse jumped.

Because the truth the brutal, unrelenting truth was that he was.

He was wondering how long he could stand there before the storm exploded again before he grabbed her the way she wanted him to, before he kissed her the way she dared him to.

But the moment he even thought about closing the distance

Another voice.

Isolde Greaves.

"Breaking again would be a mistake," Isolde said softly from the other side of the cabin.

She stood near the desk back straight, rapier still resting against the wood, though her shirt remained half-unbuttoned from last night.

Her hair, usually tied back in a perfect braid, hung loosely over her shoulder but if she noticed, she didn't fix it.

Because Isolde never let anything break her composure.

Not Seraphina.

Not Alistair.

Not even this.

She met Alistair's gaze steady, cold but her lips…

They were still swollen from the kiss she'd given him hours ago the one that hadn't been soft, the one that had been a punishment rather than a promise.

"You think he broke for you last night?" Isolde murmured, her voice too calm, too sharp.

Seraphina's smile flickered but only for a second. "He broke for both of us."

Alistair's throat tightened. "This isn't a fight"

Isolde's gaze didn't leave Seraphina's. "Everything is a fight."

And gods above

The tension between them crackled.

Not just because of Alistair.

Because of each other.

The Battle Beneath the Words.

Seraphina took a step closer a small one, but enough to make Isolde's jaw clench.

"Tell me," Seraphina said, voice like smoke, "when you kissed him was it because you wanted him?"

Alistair's pulse roared. "Seraphina"

She didn't blink. "Or was it because you didn't want me to have him?"

Isolde didn't flinch.

Her hand settled on the edge of the desk not near her rapier, but close enough to remind them both it was there. "You think I care what you want?"

Seraphina's dagger spun faster. "I think you care more than you want to admit."

The air cracked again not with magic this time, but with the sharp, unrelenting fury simmering between them.

And Alistair

He was caught in it.

Again.

Because this wasn't about last night.

It wasn't about the battle.

It wasn't even about the kiss Seraphina had given him or the one Isolde had stolen right after.

It was about the war between them.

The war for him.

The war for control.

The Fire Waiting to Ignite.

Alistair took a step back because if he didn't, if he stayed too close to either of them the fire would snap again.

"Enough," he said, voice rough. "We're not doing this."

Seraphina's smile didn't fade. "Doing what, exactly?"

Isolde's voice was quieter but no less dangerous. "Pretending last night didn't happen."

Alistair's chest heaved. "It can't happen again."

The silence that followed wasn't peace.

It was a challenge.

Because none of them believed that.

Not for a second.

Seraphina's gaze drifted to Isolde, then back to Alistair. "You think we can just go back to fighting sky pirates and chasing lost ships like this never happened?"

Isolde's jaw tightened. "We don't have a choice."

Alistair's voice broke. "We do."

But the way Seraphina looked at him fierce, untamed and the way Isolde stared cold, calculating told him the truth.

They weren't moving past this.

They were circling it.

Waiting for the next spark.

Waiting for the next break.

And Alistair?

He didn't know if he was strong enough to stop it.

Because the fire between them the battle for dominance, for control hadn't gone out.

It was smoldering.

And the next time it ignited?

It wouldn't be a spark.

It would be a wildfire.