From tormented tides fro.., p.1
From Tormented Tides (From Tormented Tides series Book 1), page 1
From Tormented Tides
Val E. Lane
Wave Song Publishing
Copyright © 2022 by Val E. Lane and Wave Song Publishing, LLC
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.
ISBN 979-8-218-01578-7
Cover Art: Stefanie Saw/Seventh Star Art
Editing: Lucy Dalla
Proofreading: Samantha Stewart
Header design: Etheric Designs
This is a work of fiction. Unless otherwise indicated, all the names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents in this book are either the product of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
“The heart of man is very much like the sea. It has its storms, it has its tides, and in its depths it has its pearls, too.”
Vincent van Gogh, The Letters of Vincent van Gogh
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Contents
Prologue
1. Trim the Sails
2. Like Ships in the Night
3. Land Ho
4. Fair Winds
5. Anchors Aweigh
6. All at Sea
7. A Shot Across the Bows
8. Undead Men Tell No Tales
9. Calm Before the Storm
10. Batten Down the Hatches
11. In Deep Water
12. Three Sheets to the Wind
13. Hoist the Colors
14. Loose Cannon
15. High and Dry
16. Dire Straits
17. Make Up the Leeway
18. Sailing Close to the Wind
19. Get Underway
20. A Pirate’s Life
21. Turning Tide
22. Stem the Tide
23. Through Thick and Thin
24. As the Crow Flies
25. Rogue Wave
26. To the Bitter End
27. Albatross
28. Close Quarters
29. Troubled Waters
30. Down in the Doldrums
31. Buried Treasure
32. X Marks the Spot
33. Mayday
34. Sink or Swim
35. Abandon Ship
36. Knock Seven Bells
37. The Devil and the Deep Blue Sea
38. Dead in the Water
39. Shipshape
40. Under Full Sail
Prologue
I had expected danger when I met him. After all, he was supposed to have died centuries ago. But even in the nightmares that plagued me, I’d never dreamed he could resort to this.
He pressed the cold cutlass blade to my throat as the captain looked on from the deck. My silent salt tears trickled down, mixing with the raging seawater below.
“Don’t do this,” I whispered, quietly enough that the rest of the crew couldn’t hear me.
“I have to.” He spat out his words through gritted teeth. I could feel the steel blade shaking against my skin as his hand trembled.
Was he truly capable of doing this? Could he really bring himself to kill me after everything else he’d lost? I knew that he was driven by his pain, but I still trusted him. We were two broken hearts, both fated to a dismal end, and I had accepted mine by now. This semester would be my end. I was ready. But even 300 years wasn’t enough for him. He wasn’t going to let me save him.
He loosened his hold around me just enough to allow me the freedom to turn my head. Turning my face toward his, I looked up into his eyes one last time. I prayed that somehow my desperate gaze would be enough to turn the tides of his will. He blinked through his own tears and swallowed, and I thought, for just a second, he was going to change his mind. And he did. He tightened his grip and lowered the edge of the sword to my chest, right over my pounding heart.
The dreams were right. I'd always known the sea would bring my downfall. But I thought it’d be different. I thought I’d drown beneath the waves, not be brutally murdered by pirates. But here I stood, betrayed with a blade at my chest as the waves battered the ship’s hull, heralding the coming maelstrom. One haunting phrase echoed over and over in my head, louder than the sound of the storm. It was a familiar warning I knew I should’ve heeded from the beginning:
Never trust a pirate.
1
Trim the Sails
“Mommy, did you have another bad dream?”
It was impossible for me to glimpse that painting without hearing that echo of my childhood voice. And here, now, as I walked into the room, I couldn’t keep my eyes from jumping to the wall where it hung. I remembered all too well the dim room, colored with hues of gray and midnight, and the door cracked open just enough to let in a sliver of golden light from the hallway. The dark-haired woman sat up in her bed, framed in dark purples and blues, her shadow cast against the wall. The focal point stood in the doorway—a small girl in PJs, clutching her plush bear.
It was easy enough to assume that painted scene portrayed a child coming to her mother’s room to be comforted from a nightmare. But very few would have guessed it was, in fact, the other way around. Eventually, I understood why my mom had to drink herself to sleep. But understanding didn’t necessarily come with forgiveness.
My gaze lingered over this long-past moment that I had captured with my paintbrush so many months ago. ‘Bad Dreams,’ I called it. From its place on the wall of my dorm, the watercolor piece offered a haven of pastels in the otherwise dull, gray room here at Isabel School of Arts in Constantine, Florida, miles from home. Despite the unfortunate circumstances that inspired its creation, I was proud of that stupid painting on the wall. I replayed each painstaking hour spent layering the watercolors on the page and the pride of finally signing my name in the corner of the finished piece—Katrina Delmar.
Still, on those days that reminded me Mom wasn’t home–like my 19th birthday just three days ago–I wanted to rip it off the wall and hide it away. So I stood there, remembering a past I was trying to bury, until I decided I didn’t want to remember anymore. With one last look at the canvas, I pulled it off the wall and slid it underneath the bed frame with bitter mixed emotions.
Happy Halloween to me.
With the painting out of sight, I snapped myself out of the moment and returned my attention to the object I had come for. I strode to my small dresser where it lay, still nestled in the same box it was in when it arrived in the mail three days ago. A necklace. With slow movements, I picked it up by its delicate chain and then made my way back toward McKenzie’s side of the dorm where we were getting ready for tonight’s party.
We had attempted to style my hair, but I knew that my out-of-control waves would make their appearance no matter what I did. That was the Cuban side of me showing, in its natural state of loose curls and wild ringlets of dark brunette, nearly black, framing my heart-shaped face. My expressive brows were just as dark, but balanced out by my full lips. My olive skin was slightly darker than when I had arrived. Somehow, I managed to avoid sunburn here despite the intense sunshine. Overall, I looked a lot like my mother, much to my disdain. I always thought she was beautiful, but everything else about her blinded me to that.
McKenzie’s costume of choice was a “sexy cheerleader,” and to be honest it suited her well, her ginger hair tied in a half-up half-down style tied with a big navy bow, garnet red lips, and mini-skirt complementing her slender figure. I, on the other hand, felt like my dark eyes and hair clashed with the feather-white dress and wings strapped across my petite frame. McKenzie had loaned me her angel costume from last year. I hoped I wouldn’t look too ridiculous.
“Don’t forget your halo.” McKenzie handed me the fluffy halo-on-a-spring headband, and I begrudgingly placed it on my head.
I felt slightly exposed in the tight satin dress that just barely reached the middle of my thighs. It wasn’t exactly what I would have chosen for a Halloween costume, but I was in no position to be choosy. Until more of my paintings sold at the antique store downtown, I was at the mercy of luck, McKenzie’s generosity, and my quickly dwindling savings account. But there was at least one way I thought I could make the costume my own.
“Oh, great idea! That looks so cute with your costume!” McKenzie’s bright eyes lit up as I returned with the necklace. I secured the clasp into place around my neck with a weak nod.
“Well, you’re not wrong.” I agreed, glancing into the mirror.
But that wasn’t why I had put it on. Aside from being the only thing I could add that was truly mine, I hoped it would serve as a reminder to keep my head. My own good luck charm from Dad.
My stomach knotted with a pang of guilt as I thought of him. I’d promised him I’d stay away from booze here. But just two weeks ago I’d been drunk. Very drunk. Maybe he’d get it. Or maybe he’d just think I was doomed to follow in Mom’s footsteps. And now I was headed to another party.
“I still can’t figure out how my dad managed to send me something like this for my birthday.” I breathed out, studying the peculiar pendant hanging perfectly past the groove of my collarbone. “He usually just gets me some thing like painting supplies or some weird car accessory. You know, lame Dad gifts.”
The pendant caught the light as I shifted, dazzling like the blue and white sunlight on the bay from its thin silver chain. Secured within a subtle setting of silver twisted prongs curling around it, it was almost oval-shaped, but not quite that symmetrical, and nearly flat, almost reminiscent of a seashell. But somehow it wasn’t a shell, or a jewel, or a stone. It was something unlike anything I had ever seen before, and looked somehow natural, despite its ethereal beauty. It shone like glass, through a thin pearly glaze, shimmering with an array of colors anywhere from an icy blue to hints of green to white silver. I couldn't shake the strange sense of Deja Vu I felt while looking at my reflection wearing it, as if I'd somehow seen it before.
McKenzie nudged me with her elbow. “Well next time just let him know when it’s my birthday. It’s so pretty!” McKenzie’s energy could sometimes be enough to power a rocket launch, which made me thankful for the large dorms on the East Wing of ISA, with small separate bedrooms on either side and a tiny, shared kitchenette in the middle.
“Where did he even find this?” I had to dig the words out of my throat as I was still held captive by the necklace.
“I dunno, but who cares! It’s gorgeous.” McKenzie flashed me a toothy grin. “But let’s get a pic while our hair and makeup still look good. Once we’re out on the yacht, all that sea wind will probably ruin it.”
“Yacht?” I repeated with surprise, my voice rising. “You said the party was on the beach.”
Without offering a response, my redheaded roommate sprang to her feet and disappeared for only a moment before returning with her treasured vintage Polaroid camera. She carried the obnoxious thing around everywhere and took every opportunity she could to snap an instant-print photo to add to the collection held by clothespins on string lights hanging over her headboard.
“Well, it is on the beach,” she said finally, acknowledging my tightened expression. “Just further out.”
“What is that supposed to mean?” I folded my arms. I was agitated that I had even let her talk me into another party.
“Listen, Ty’s parents are letting him use their yacht for the Halloween party. I know you don’t like going in the water, but we won’t technically even be touching the water. It’s much too cold for that.” McKenzie’s expression immediately returned to its natural perky state as she referred to the 80-degree days of October in Florida.
“Right, even worse,” I huffed, trying to mix a laugh in with my groan to soften my sarcasm as I thought back to my own nightmare the night before. “I’ll just be on it, surrounded by it.”
“Please don’t bail. Pleeeeease. This will be the last party I ever drag you to. I promise.”
I knew that was not true. And surely, she had to know it, too. McKenzie had a heart of gold, but it definitely ran mostly off emotions.
“You said that last time.” I reminded her, tucking in my chin. I fought the urge to roll my eyes and a shudder tickled my shoulders. Sometimes my roommate’s enthusiasm for trying to help me make the most of my time at ISA backfired. Like when I stumbled out the doorway of the last party after one too many drinks.
“I know. I know. I know.” The words rushed from her ruby lips. “But tonight will be different. It’s a costume party, not just some random Friday night dorm party. It’ll be legit.”
I stared at McKenzie in silence, mulling it over in my mind. Finally, I looked down before speaking.
“It’s not that I don’t like parties. But…” I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. “I don’t want to end up like my mom. She started drinking and never stopped. So I don’t even want to start. But at these parties sometimes I just feel like such a fish out of water.”
“Oh.” McKenzie set down her tube of lipstick. “Okay, okay. If you really don’t think you should go, you don’t have to.”
Something about her words activated a defensiveness within me. Could I really not control myself? Was I already just as bad off as Mom? If I failed, it wouldn’t be the first time. But if I didn’t, it could be my chance to prove to myself that I really could change everything. I could be stronger than Mom. For some reason, I clutched the necklace at my neck, as though it represented some sort of internal encouragement from my dad.
“It’s fine,” I said, more to myself than to her. “I’ll go.”
“Yay!” McKenzie clapped her manicured hands together as fast as a hummingbird flapping its wings. “I owe you a cinnamon chai latte from Sea Dogs for this! You won’t regret it, you’ll see.”
We’ll see.
I shook my head, still not sure of my feelings about attending this party. I hoped if anything, it could give me some spark of inspiration for the student art showcase next month. But the blank rag paper canvas still taped to the desk in my room was a reminder that I had stalled out. Inspiration eluded me lately. I couldn’t seem to get my head into my work since my nightmares had returned. I was struggling to make it mean something. And I didn’t know if I could paint something again that had quite the same impact as the painting that brought me here to begin with.
“All right then. Let’s go.” I gritted my teeth, determined not to repeat the mistakes of the last party. I knew that night I never wanted to be drunk again. It was the worst feeling I’d ever experienced. But the one good thing about that night—and the one thing that scared me the most—was that for the first time in weeks since moving to this beachside town, I slept through till morning without a single nightmare of drowning.
2
Like Ships in the Night
It was time to get going. I'd committed to my decision. We slid into McKenzie's yellow Miata as she lowered the top, and headed straight for the harbor, only a few blocks from campus. We passed the far side of the campus, where most of my art classes were held, opposite the dorms beside Matanzas Bay. Crossing the campus meant a breathtaking tour past towering Spanish rooftops and the elegant colonial statues nestled throughout the cobblestone pathways. Manicured palms lined the walkways that twisted through the grounds, swaying with the breeze from the bay. The older authentic buildings echoed their history of a golden age of exploration, and the newer structures were built to match. It was hard to deny the romantic feel of the old castle-like buildings, especially when the sun lit their golden color on fire in the twilight.
As we drove, I admired the bay, which flowed along the border of Constantine, and its neighboring, more well-known city of St. Augustine, separating both towns from the Atlantic beaches. My watercolor eyes couldn’t help but drink in the magnificence of the deep indigo water and white crystal sunlight dancing across its surface as the anchored boats bobbed up and down. The gulls perched along the stone wall that lined the bay at my side, mocking me with their calls before taking flight just to soar back to the top of the bridge. Just beyond that bridge was the vast ocean that I’d spent every moment avoiding since I arrived here. How could I not? After a dream like last night's, it was hard not to fear the ocean, which was disheartening, since I was otherwise drawn to its beauty.
I gazed up at the arched sign above us as we walked onto the docks. Gull Marina, it read in pink faded letters, once red before the Florida sun had sapped them of their vibrance. Here we met McKenzie’s “friend” Ty, welcoming his friends onto his family’s luxury cruiser. As we neared the water, my pulse sped up in my tightened chest. It was almost as if I was actually underwater, struggling to breathe as I forced myself to take hesitant steps towards the boat. When I made the mistake of glancing down at the roiling water below, a knot formed in my stomach, a sickness creeping upward, and I did my best to swallow it down. I took a deep breath as we boarded, but it felt like breathing through a snorkel. With trembling steps, I was careful not to fall as I climbed onto the gangplank leading to the open platform at the back edge of the boat.
I was glad that I chose to wear my sneakers, instead of the white pumps McKenzie had insisted on. All the while, I still couldn’t wrap my head around the fact that it was 83 degrees on October 31st. Back in Arkansas it would have at least been chilly enough to need a sweater by this time of year.
