Drake, the ship’s carpenter, approached with his tool belt low on his hips and a large mallet in his hand.
“Aye.” The quartermaster turned to Drake. “You’re headed to the lower deck, right? Can you show Agent Henderson the way?”
Drake’s teal-blue eyes flicked to Greyson, and he nodded. “Sure.” He focused on Agent Henderson as he started for the stairs below the deck. “Follow me.”
She adjusted the strap on her duffel bag, shot Greyson one last glare, and turned on her heel, jogging down the steps to the lower deck like she owned the damned Sea Dog.
Greyson watched her go, making a pact with himself to stay away from this one.
She was dangerous, and it had nothing to do with the gun in her shoulder holster.
Greyson glanced over at Colton. “Apparently I have a backstory to learn.”
“Like you didn’t have enough of one already.” Colton chuckled.
A door slammed below the deck, and Greyson ground his teeth. Staying away from her in such a confined space was going to be tough, but tough was his fucking middle name.
He jogged down the steps leading to the lower deck, trying not to look farther down the hallway to the last cabin on the right, Aura’s room for the journey.
With the folder tucked under his arm, he poked his head into the navigation room. Caleb sat hunched over his charts. Greyson rapped his knuckles on the side of the wooden door.
Caleb’s head popped up. Their navigator was about Greyson’s height, with bright-blue eyes and curly dark-brown hair that fell to his shoulders. He usually kept the top pulled back out of his face rather than take the time to get a haircut. His gaze flicked to the doorway and back to Greyson. “Is something wrong?”
Greyson chuckled and crossed to the opposite side of the table from Caleb. He tossed the folder on top, pulled out a chair, and flipped it around to straddle the seat. “I was just informed I’ll be going undercover with one of Bale’s secret agents to bring home the Tyrfing sword.”
He’d tried to keep the glee from his voice, but he wasn’t sure he’d been completely successful. He pushed up his sleeve, eyeing the tattoo on his forearm.
It wasn’t like the fancy, colorful sleeve tattoos the lubbers were getting nowadays. The sword emblazoned into his skin was black and rough, with two blades joined together at the tip into a single weapon, hungry for blood. The legendary Tyrfing.
Legend said the blade had been forged in magic and cursed…like Greyson.
He held his arm out toward Caleb. “I never dreamed it could be real. If this mission is successful, I could grip the hilt of this beauty.”
Caleb shook his head. “No metal blade can cut through any material. There’s no science to prove the existence of any solid compound with that capability.”
Greyson tugged his sleeve back down, rolling his eyes. “It’s powered by magic, not science.”
He’d known Caleb since the 1700s, and while they were friends and crewmates, Greyson embraced metaphysical solutions, while their navigator kept both feet solidly entrenched in his books and precious science.
Greyson opened the folder, scanning the contents as he spoke. “Are you curious about my undercover backstory?”
“Not particularly.” Caleb settled back into his charts.
Greyson hadn’t expected any less from him. Caleb hadn’t had the opportunity to chart a course across the Atlantic in over a century, and with all their new navigational devices, he imagined his friend must be eager to get underway.
“Greg Smith. What kind of bland country club bullshit is this?” Greyson groaned.
Caleb peered over at him, his finger keeping his place on his paperwork. “The kind that’s so common it makes it tough for the people you’re meeting with to run a background check?”
“Maybe.” Greyson read further, tension building in his shoulders. It wasn’t the alias, or the lies he’d need to tell, that were bothering him. In his line of work, cozying up to people under false pretenses was often part of the job.
But he preferred to work alone.
His gaze slipped over to the photo of Aura Henderson.
She was beautiful, but it was more than the way her full lips came together to dare him to cross her, or the arch of her perfectly shaped brows. The glint of fire in her deep-set green eyes drew him in, even though she’d made it crystal clear that she hated him with a passion.
Passion. That was it.
Shit. He tossed the file onto the center of the table. “I need to get laid.”
Caleb lifted his head with an arched brow. “How is sex going to help you find the Tyrfing?”
“It’ll keep my mind off her.” He tapped Aura’s picture stapled inside the folder.
Caleb leaned forward, examining the photo. “She’s attractive.”
He said it like this fiery siren was no more than a model on a billboard to sell some sort of perfume. She had the added dimension of weaponry and a wicked tongue. She was more than something pretty to look at. Greyson shoved the thoughts away and chuffed. “Sounds like I’m not the only one who needs some quality time with a woman.”
Caleb waved his hand, focusing on his books again. “I don’t have time for that.”
Time. Greyson tried to remember the last time he’d been naked with a woman. It had been…how long? He ran a hand down his face, struggling to remember. Had it been a year?
It was easy to lose track of time these days.
The years blurred as decades raced by. Over the years, he’d taken to limiting himself to one-night stands to banish the lonely shadows in his soul. The ticket to surviving eternity was to keep his loyalty to his crew. Any other entanglements led to losses, and he had had his fill of those long before he’d ever taken a drink from the Holy Grail.
If the Tyrfing weren’t on the line, he’d ask one of his crewmates to step in and take on Greg Smith’s persona.
Back when he’d had the blade tattooed on his forearm, he’d never imagined he’d still be topside a couple of centuries later. He’d gotten it because of his fascination with weapons, but as lifetimes had passed him by, it had become more of an inspiration, a reminder that he, too, was stronger than he appeared. Immortal.
And now that there was a chance that he might actually grip the hilt of the mythical sword in his hand, there was no way he’d give it up. Even if that meant working with a woman who drove him to distraction.
Greyson closed the folder and sighed. “I can just ignore her until we get to Glasgow.”
Once they went ashore together, undercover as a couple, he’d be too focused on finding the Tyrfing to notice the fire in her eyes or the way her full lips parted as her chest heaved with rage.