Chapter 39: Fire Meets Frost, Desire Meets Steel

The silence on the Stormrider's deck wasn't calm.

It was coiled a rope pulled too tight, a spark hovering just above a powder keg.

And at the center of it all stood Alistair Von Wolfenstein, caught between Seraphina Blackthorn and Isolde Greaves the fire and ice circling each other like two blades waiting to strike.

The marriage pact hadn't tamed the storm.

It had chained it.

And those chains were breaking.

The First Strike.

"Prove them right?" Seraphina's voice was a low purr, her dagger still lightly tracing the back of Isolde's hand. "You mean by reminding everyone that you're not as cold as you pretend to be?"

The crew was watching.

Calder, Holt, Della every single one of them standing too still, their hands hovering over ropes and rigging, pretending to work but listening too closely.

Isolde didn't move.

Didn't flinch.

But her hand curled tighter around the hilt of her rapier.

"I'm not the one who needs to pretend," Isolde said softly too softly.

Alistair's jaw clenched. "This is not the time"

Seraphina didn't blink. "Admit it," she murmured, lips too close to Isolde's ear now a dangerous whisper meant to wound. "You don't hate that they think we're fighting over him."

The air cracked.

Because that was the truth they never spoke aloud.

That this war between them wasn't just about Alistair it was about each other.

About dominance.

About control.

About the unbearable pull between them the way they circled each other, always too close to be just rivals, always too far to be anything else.

And when Isolde finally mov it wasn't away.

It was closer.

Her hand shot out The silence on the Stormrider's deck wasn't calm.

It was coiled a rope pulled too tight, a spark hovering just above a powder keg.

And at the center of it all stood Alistair Von Wolfenstein, caught between Seraphina Blackthorn and Isolde Greaves the fire and ice circling each other like two blades waiting to strike.

The marriage pact hadn't tamed the storm.

It had chained it.

And those chains were breaking.

The First Strike.

"Prove them right?" Seraphina's voice was a low purr, her dagger still lightly tracing the back of Isolde's hand. "You mean by reminding everyone that you're not as cold as you pretend to be?"

The crew was watching.

Calder, Holt, Della every single one of them standing too still, their hands hovering over ropes and rigging, pretending to work but listening too closely.

Isolde didn't move.

Didn't flinch.

But her hand curled tighter around the hilt of her rapier.

"I'm not the one who needs to pretend," Isolde said softly too softly.

Alistair's jaw clenched. "This is not the time"

Seraphina didn't blink. "Admit it," she murmured, lips too close to Isolde's ear now a dangerous whisper meant to wound. "You don't hate that they think we're fighting over him."

The air cracked.

Because that was the truth they never spoke aloud.

That this war between them wasn't just about Alistair it was about each other.

About dominance.

About control.

About the unbearable pull between them the way they circled each other, always too close to be just rivals, always too far to be anything else.

And when Isolde finally moved it wasn't away.

It was closer.

Her hand shot out gripping Seraphina's wrist not enough to hurt, but enough to warn.

The crew held its breath.

And Alistair

He felt the storm break.

The Collision.

"Let. Go." Seraphina's voice was a growl but her body leaned in, not away, the same way she would against an opponent in a fight.

Isolde didn't release her.

Her fingers dug into Seraphina's wrist, her voice a blade wrapped in silk. "Make me."

The world tilted.

Because it wasn't just anger simmering between them now.

It was something else.

Something darker.

Something that had nothing to do with Alistair and everything to do with the unrelenting tension they refused to acknowledge.

And Alistair gods help him felt it like a spark against his skin.

The rivalry.

The desire.

The war for control.

But before either woman could move before Seraphina could twist free or Isolde could draw her rapier

Alistair stepped between them.

Rough.

Fast.

Grabbing Seraphina's arm with one hand, and Isolde's wrist with the other a physical wall between fire and ice.

"Enough." His voice cracked through the silence like thunder.

And for a single moment

No one moved.

The Aftermath of a Storm.

Seraphina's breath was ragged her body too close to Alistair's, her dagger still clutched in her free hand, but no longer moving.

Isolde's jaw was tight her knuckles white around the hilt of her rapier but her hand didn't lift the blade.

And Alistair caught between them felt the heat of Seraphina's fury and the ice of Isolde's restraint like twin storms tearing at him.

He didn't let go of either of them.

Not yet.

"This stops now." Alistair's voice was hoarse rougher than he intended. "The next time you want to kill each other, do it in my damn cabin not in front of my crew."

Seraphina's lips curled. "Wouldn't be the first time."

A flash of something dark flickered in Isolde's eyes. "Nor the last."

The words hit harder than any blade.

And Alistair

He couldn't breathe.

Because it wasn't just the rivalry simmering between them anymore.

It was the undeniable truth

That this storm wasn't about him at all.

It was about them.

Seraphina and Isolde.

Fighting for him.

Fighting each other.

Fighting themselves.

And gods help him

It wasn't over.

It was just getting worse.

gripping Seraphina's wrist not enough to hurt, but enough to warn.

The crew held its breath.

And Alistair

He felt the storm break.

The Collision.

"Let. Go." Seraphina's voice was a growl but her body leaned in, not away, the same way she would against an opponent in a fight.

Isolde didn't release her.

Her fingers dug into Seraphina's wrist, her voice a blade wrapped in silk. "Make me."

The world tilted.

Because it wasn't just anger simmering between them now.

It was something else.

Something darker.

Something that had nothing to do with Alistair and everything to do with the unrelenting tension they refused to acknowledge.

And Alistair gods help him felt it like a spark against his skin.

The rivalry.

The desire.

The war for control.

But before either woman could move before Seraphina could twist free or Isolde could draw her rapier

Alistair stepped between them.

Rough.

Fast.

Grabbing Seraphina's arm with one hand, and Isolde's wrist with the other a physical wall between fire and ice.

"Enough." His voice cracked through the silence like thunder.

And for a single moment

No one moved.

The Aftermath of a Storm.

Seraphina's breath was ragged her body too close to Alistair's, her dagger still clutched in her free hand, but no longer moving.

Isolde's jaw was tight her knuckles white around the hilt of her rapier but her hand didn't lift the blade.

And Alistair caught between them felt the heat of Seraphina's fury and the ice of Isolde's restraint like twin storms tearing at him.

He didn't let go of either of them.

Not yet.

"This stops now." Alistair's voice was hoarse rougher than he intended. "The next time you want to kill each other, do it in my damn cabin not in front of my crew."

Seraphina's lips curled. "Wouldn't be the first time."

A flash of something dark flickered in Isolde's eyes. "Nor the last."

The words hit harder than any blade.

And Alistair

He couldn't breathe.

Because it wasn't just the rivalry simmering between them anymore.

It was the undeniable truth

That this storm wasn't about him at all.

It was about them.

Seraphina and Isolde.

Fighting for him.

Fighting each other.

Fighting themselves.

And gods help him

It wasn't over.

It was just getting worse.