Enjoy Chapter One of my fantasy pirate romance eBook Little Nymph. 

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LITTLE NYMPH

CHAPTER ONE

Aura

«Here you go.» I drop the topped off chalice of ale in front of the sailor, holding out my hand for another pair of silver shillings. This isn’t his first drink of the night, so he knows what he owes me. It might very well be his last for today, as a matter of fact, considering the dwindling number of patrons and the way Viviaan is practically sitting on top of her adventure of the night.

I eye her as she works her magic on the younger man, closer to my age than hers, perhaps, and truly magnificent. He’s got raven black skin, hinting at an origin in the depth of Oras, and keen almond eyes that haven’t left the owner of the Sinking Sailor in hours. His corded arms revealed by the white linen tank top he’s left in after hours of drinking bunch as he lifts a hand to touch her shoulder, brushing a few fiery strands off. It’s got me thinking of all the times she made crude suggestions about young sailors, so eager to please and with the kind of stamina that keeps her on her toes for hours.

Perhaps noticing my staring, Viviaan meets my eyes over the man’s shoulder and winks. Her full lips are pulled into a sly grin, and her eyes reveal every bit the vixen she is as she focuses solely on him. She might tease me about having to share the attention of the male population with me now that I’m fully grown, but she is and always will remain the queen of seduction. Without trying, men are drawn to her, her confidence and air of experience no doubt like a glowing beam to them.

Two cold coins are dropped into the palm of my hand, redirecting my focus. I thank the paying costumer and, after scanning the nearly empty bar and finding no one in need of my help, set to washing the dirty cups of the night. My hands go through the motions mindlessly, twisting the short stem with one hand while I run the wet cloth over the sticky insides. My eyes wander my surroundings as I work, skimming over Viviaan once again, who has her head tipped back, exposing the long, smooth colum of her throat expertly, moving on to one passed-out patron in the back – Wren – surrounded by two other regulars, Kip and Ander. Wren’s head is tipped back in his neck as he slouches in a weathered wooden chair. If it were anyone else, I’d be waiting for their body to tip off to the side, but Wren has perfected the art of drunkenly sleeping upright. As a local harbor worker, I’ve known him for years and I haven’t seen him fall off the chair once.

Kip is in the process of aiming pumpkin seeds at his open, drooling mouth, and as Ander watches his two friends, he catches my gaze. He flashes a toothy grin, exposing the big gap in the top row of teeth he earned in a brawl two years ago in the name of protecting me from a handsy sailor. We might not have fancy sentries like they do in Aldon, but the people of Teft look out for each other.

I wink at him and he returns the gesture like he always does before he focuses back on his friends.

My eyes peruse the dozen empty tables and triple that in chairs and stools, all of which were occupied hours before. Yeah, it’s about time to call it a night. Or a morning, judging by the pale hues of grey starting to stream through the mucky windows. I cringe slightly and avert my eyes. The sight of the stained, brownish glass that has long since surpassed any stage that would allow a clear view out always has that effect on me, but Viviaan has prohibited my cleaning them. Or attempting so, at the very least. She says the drunken patrons enjoy the sense of privacy, that that’s the reason why the Sinking Sailor is the most popular tavern in Teft. I’d wager it has more to do with her and the allure of trying to catch the attention of the beautiful Viviaan, but she has yet to relent.

A familiar hand lands delicately on my shoulder, making me turn to face the woman that’s taken on the job to raise me for most of my life. «You’re good doing the cleaning and closing up today, right? I’ll be back later,» she winks as if any further indication of her upcoming plans were needed, and I smile.

«You go have fun. Things will be as clean as can be by the time you come back,» I promise, and she laughs.

«Yes. I know.» With a satisfied nod, she addresses the rest of the tavern, telling everyone it’s closing time. While it isn’t unusual for her to leave with one of the patrons at the end of the night, we have a firm rule of never leaving the other to work alone.

The three regulars get to their feet and deposit their empty chalices at the counter. With a quick goodbye, they urge the foreign sailor out of his seat at the counter and make sure he leaves. Viviaan hugs me and rushes off with her sailor, who eyes our interaction with his keen eyes.

The old door creaks as it closes, and I return to my task to clean all the cups first as I hum underneath my breath. The markings in the metal on the stem are rimmed with black, and since I’m charged despite the late hour, I dig my nails into the cloth and try to rub it out. It’s hypnotic, watching the trail of silver I leave behind instead of the black muck. Once that’s done, I go through the motions of cleaning the sticky counter tops and the occasional chair that has a new weird marking. It’s a tedious task since the wooden tables are weathered and carry the odd stain that’s been engraved in it for years, but with every rough surface I manage to scrub clean and every chalice that ends up gleaning in the low candlelight, I feel a shot of satisfaction.

As I run my palm over one tabletop, I feel something hitch in my skin. I pull it back with a hiss, cursing myself. A splinter, just great. I can feel the small piece of wood lodged deep at the base of my pointer finger, but I can’t make it out in the low light. I scurry over to the batch of candles lining the back wall behind the counter and take a closer look. There it is. I pinch it and pull it out, thanking the gods for small mercies as it comes out in its entirety. I watch as a small drop of blood gathers in the splinter’s absence and quickly suck it off, wiping the spot clean with my tongue and hoping it won’t get infected and tender. I need my hands when I work.

I sag against the wall for a moment, feeling the exhaustion of the night finally seep in. A quick glance at the window confirms that it’s probably been close to an hour since Viviaan left, the light seeping in now the signature dull blue of dawn. Soon, the merchants will set up their booths where the only path off the docks forks with the road into the city, and the busy chatter and bustle will filter into Viv’s and my apartment upstairs, allowing me to sleep.

First, I need to wait for Viviaan’s return though. She’d wake me when she returned anyway, so I might as well get to mopping the floors until she’s back. I don’t do this on most nights, but it rained yesterday, swamping a lot of mud onto the cobbled walkways outside which was then carried inside the tavern as our clientele came and went. I fetch the mop from beneath the counter and dip it into the mucky bucket of water I’d filled earlier tonight.

Before I can cover half of the floors, the low creak of the door draws my attention. I smile, expecting Viviaan to scamper inside, ready to tell me all the dirty details I really don’t need to know. «You’re back early,» I drawl as the door opens enough to allow a look outside. When it does, I falter, my smile freezing on my face. «Oh, hello boys. I’m afraid we’re closed.» I fill my voice with as much confident conviction as I can, trying to mask my rising nerves by mirroring Viviaan’s usual commanding exterior.

I’ve faced off with a few overbearing men in my life, but I was never alone in the deserted tavern when it happened. Viviaan and a few regulars always stay until the end, acting like a shield in the worst of times. I don’t have that luxury now, and it’s enough to make my fingers tighten on the useless mop.

The men don’t seem deterred by my words, stepping inside the tavern and shutting the door as their predatory attention rest on me. There’s an intensity to them that bears no semblance to the usual lustful gazes of drunken patrons. No, these men seem stone cold sober and determined, and it scares me.