The Pirate's Legacy: New Identities

Chapter 8: Bittersweet Sighs

Em woke up in the early morning feeling as if an anchor was crushing her chest. She wanted nothing more than to die in order to get away from the immense pain. She didn't want to open her eyes and see that he wasn't there anymore. Em didn't want to face his absence yet, but she had to know that yesterday had not been another of her nightmares. With much effort, she forced herself out of bed. After dressing up, she walked out of her room and went over to his.

A cold hand gripped her heart as she approached. Em froze in front of the door and stared at the brass doorknob. She took a deep breath and gripped it. The door was unlocked, but there came no relief from that knowledge because he must have checked out of his room. Dreading what she'd find (or wouldn't find) inside, Em crept into the room. Her heart skipped a beat upon seeing the figure sitting on the edge of the bed. She mouthed his name, but she had forgotten how to create sound. Her entire body shook from the shock of him still there. Roger was hunched over, his dark head in his hands. Em's eyes wandered to the duffel bag on the ground at his feet. She had come to him just in time. Em let out a breath of relief.

Roger lifted his head at the sound of the sigh. His black eyes locked onto her dark brown for a space of three painstaking breaths before he leaped to his feet. "Step aside," he ordered and picked up his bag. His voice was not in his usual muffled tone. It was raspy and harsh, an effect not lost on Em. Roger was hung-over. His black eyes bore into hers. The whites were still bloodshot. He kept his face turned away the weak light filtering from the balcony. His guard was down. If there was one thing Roger had taught her, it was never let an opportunity like this slip away. "Step aside," he repeated with a bite of impatience this time.

"No."

Em shut the door behind her before walking up to him. She stopped when he pulled out a short dagger from his belt, but she stood in his way with her hands on her hips. "Listen to me," she said. "You gave me not one fucking chance to explain myself yesterday. Now you will listen."

Roger raised the dagger closer to her face. Its sharp point was less than six inches from her nose. "You are not in a position to order me around, Princess." He bared his teeth at her. "Pathetic girl. Out of my way or I'll gut you like a fish."

With no other choice, Em reached behind her and extracted the pistol that had been pocketed underneath her belt. Roger's eyes widened with fury to see his own effect pointed at him. He lowered the dagger.

"I took it from you last night," said Em, "while you were preoccupied with other matters."

The dagger disappeared. Roger lifted his gaze from the pistol's nozzle to eye her disdainfully. "You wouldn't shoot me," he said.

"Not dead, no," said Em, but even she heard the hesitance in her voice. Her breath hitched when Roger dropped his bag on the floor before confidently walking up to her. The pistol shook but Em did not fire even when the nozzle pressed into his thin chest. Roger ignored the tears that filled her dark brown eyes as he reached up and took the firearm from her without any resistance. Their fingers brushed against each other for a brief moment, but Roger ignored the small jolt that went up his arm from the spot where he'd touched her. He put the pistol in its holster before locking gazes with hers.

"I will leave you here in Politicka," said Roger quietly. "You can find your own way back home." He went back for his bag and then moved toward the door.

As he passed her, Em spun around and cried, "Do you still love me?"

Roger froze. "Does it matter?" he asked over his shoulder, hoping to keep his voice calm and devoid of all emotion. "Do you honestly believe something between us can continue to exist now that I know what you are?"

"How can you say that?" exclaimed Em. "If you had still thought of me as a baron's daughter, you wouldn't have cast me aside like a worn slipper as you are doing now."