Crown of Crimson (Underworld Gods 2)

Death gets to his feet and grabs my arms, hauling me to my feet.

“Time to go under,” he says, double-entendre in his words, leading me toward the cabins below deck.

Chapter 21

Hanna

“The Grotto”

“You’re still seasick?” Death questions me.

I’m sitting across from him at the galley table below deck as the sea hurls waves at our ship, trying to hold myself together. I am freaking green.

“Gods don’t get seasick,” he mutters, sliding another cup of tea toward me.

“No?” I manage to say. “Then I probably can’t breathe underwater either.”

He looks disappointed in me. No, wait, it’s not that. He looks out of his league, like he’s just been put in charge of something he has no idea how to take care of. A sick mortal? How very alien.

I didn’t think I got seasick either, until we went below deck to hide out from prying eyes. We were in various stages of making out and undressing when the waves really started picking up and slamming against the boat. Suddenly it was like I was going to vomit all over him.

I’ve been sitting at the table for the last few hours, wishing I had a porthole to look out of to try and find the horizon, but these old ships aren’t built that way. But I can’t go up top either or some spy will see us or something like that, so I’m stuck down here feeling absolutely awful.

“Aren’t we far enough out in the sea?” I ask, shoving a dried piece of mountain rye bread in my mouth, the only food on the ship. Pretty sure it’s old as hell too, but I can’t be picky right now. Luckily, I have some hot tea to wash it down with, though that tastes odd, too.

“We are,” he says carefully. “But we don’t want to risk it if we don’t have to, because we will have to when the moment comes. Shouldn’t be much longer now.”

Vellamo and Ahto normally reside at the bottom of the Great Inland Sea, but to make things easier, they arranged for us to meet them at some undersea grotto close to Shadow’s End. Because yeah, it’s really making things easier.

Finally, the rowing up above comes to a stop. Death gets up, stooping over as he goes, his frame too big for the boat, and carefully pokes his masked head above the deck. After a while he nods for me to come over.

“We’re here,” he announces.

I stagger over to him, dying to get fresh air, and hurry up the ladder as fast as I can go. The fresh sea air feels like heaven and I immediately feel my vertigo lessening.

“We have to be quick, get right in,” Death says, gesturing to the water.

It’s night, so aside from the candles on the boat, I can’t see anything except what little light the moon affords us. As far as I can see, we’re in the middle of nowhere with the gray sea stretching out into infinity. No land, no nothing. The only landmark is a piece of rock that sticks straight up, waves crashing against it, and a couple of skeletal seagulls perched on top, eyeing us warily.

I glance behind me at the Deadhands. They’re all holding in position, one tossing an anchor overboard. I assume they’ll be here when we come back up.

The seas are still rough though, and Death has to steady me as he leads me to the side of the ship. He shucks off his cloak, boots and shirt until he’s just in his pants, gauntlets, and mask. I do the same to my shoes. Then he grabs hold of my hand and gives it a squeeze.

“Are you ready?”

I shake my head, feeling nauseous again, this time due to panic. “No, not even a little.”

“You’ll be fine,” he says quickly.

“I can’t breathe underwater!”

“We’re going to find out,” he says.

Then he jumps.

I’m pulled overboard with him.

I scream then hit the cold water with a splash, sinking far deeper than I thought I would, like a fucking stone. I want to scream again but I keep my mouth shut and instinctively I’m trying for the surface.

Death is still holding onto me, pulling me down. He’s the reason why I can’t break free, can’t get to the surface, can’t breathe. He’s going to drown me, this asshole.

Panic bubbles up inside me, closing my lungs. I need air. I have to breathe. I stare up at the dim gray light of the surface, watching as it gets smaller and smaller and smaller. Every part of me yearns to live, to survive, to fight for the surface, to gulp for that breath of air.

We keep going down.

Down.

Down.

Down.

Sinking like a stone.

Until I realize Death isn’t sinking. He’s swimming. Powerful strokes going into the deep, dragging me along with him. He moves through the water like a shark, like it’s second nature to him.