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CHAPTER 8
BELLE
Salty air brushed against my lips as I watched the waves crash against the docks. The Yellow Canary Island, where the event was held, was about a hundred nautical miles from Miami, and unlike most people, we were going on a boat. It was safer that way, Arkane said.
I wasn’t sure I shared the same sentiment because I didn’t know how spending the weekend in the sea with a man like Arkane was going to be safer for me. But I agreed anyway.
Ever since leaving Arkane’s cave the other night, I’d only been thinking about today.
The day that I would finally lay eyes on one of the men who murdered my mother after thirteen long years.
When Arkane revealed who he was, the idea that he was simply a paid criminal to eliminate my family left my mind. I didn’t know why, but I had a feeling that whatever happened to my family was connected to the Covent.
Fate placed me in the Twins for a reason. Maybe after all these years, I would finally get my answer to why my mother had to lose her life.
“Ms. Esteal,” a familiar voice called behind me. I turned to look at Mikhail, gesturing to the open door of a familiar black Maybach with the plates that read, “STORM.”
I’d been so lost in my head that I didn’t even hear them arriving.
I nodded with a small smile. The moment I stepped inside the car, I immediately felt the warmth covering my skin as I sank into the soft leather seat. My eyes couldn’t help but take in the enigma sitting on the other side.
“Good morning,” Arkane said in his smooth, velvety voice as the car steered forward.
“Good morning,” I mumbled back before shifting my eyes to the window because the sight of him burned my blood.
We drove past the cargo ships and a few cruise ships until we reached a road that said “No Entry” and had more guards than necessary stationed there. The Stormholds must have their own private docking station at the shipyard. We crossed about ten luxury yachts of varying sizes till the car stopped in front of the sleekest one.
The yacht had the name Seawatcher written on the side in long, cursive script. It was their Alacteon code name. Interesting how the Stormholds hid important names with unobvious things.
“I asked you not to bring anything,” Arkane said as he helped me out of the car and took hold of my small leather weekend bag before I could say a word.
I shrugged. He did say that, but I was a girl, and this was a two-day trip. I needed my things.
The closer we got to the yacht, the smaller I felt. It gleamed pearly white, tinged with gray, as the gloomy skies cast shadows across its body. I was never much for boats, but this one was beautiful.
“After you,” Arkane said, nodding toward the narrow, swaying ramp that connected the deck to the boat. Mikhail was already on the other side with his sharp eyes trained on me. I could only see him with us, but given the sheer size of the boat, even a hundred security personnel would go unnoticed by untrained eyes.
I was thankful for my sweater dress as I crossed the ramp, because the biting cold wind had already frozen my toes peeking out of my heels, but at least my body was warm.
“Welcome to the Seawatcher,” Arkane said, arriving behind me and leading me inside with a hand on the small of my back.
The inside was all dark wood, gold linings, and beige colors—luxury at its finest.
“This way,” Arkane said as we walked past the massive pool and climbed two flights of stairs. The fabric of his long black coat rustled in the high winds as he held open the door to a massive upper deck lounge surrounded by glass windows. Immediate warmth enveloped me as I entered and took in the fully equipped bar, soft, long couches, and cozy atmosphere.
“Join me for breakfast,” he said, heading straight to the dining table at the far end. He cast his coat aside, revealing the casual black shirt and wide pants he wore, which fit him so perfectly well. Ever the gentleman, he pulled out a cushioned chair for me, and I nodded my thanks.
“I don’t really eat breakfast,” I muttered as I sat. My eyes went straight to the vast deep-blue ocean surrounding us. Seconds later, we swayed forward and picked up speed, the city soon becoming a distant view behind us.
“Why don’t you?” Arkane’s question brought my eyes back to him. He had taken the seat facing me, and instead of appreciating the beautiful view outside, his sole focus was on me.
“I usually sleep,” I muttered, just as three crew members appeared out of nowhere and set the table with shiny cutlery and fancy china and every possible food. Soon, the light scent of seawater laced with the smell of brown butter and toast.
“Help yourself. You need your strength,” Arkane said. His plate had a slice of sourdough toast smothered in butter, a grilled tomato, an omelet topped with caviar, and a shot of double espresso on the side. Very particular taste.
“My strength?” I raised a brow.
He gestured toward the window. “The course is said to be rough today.”
