Page 178 of The Violet Raven

Bran huffs, crossing his arms. “All right, but seriously—what are you saying? Are we talking about a ship that can think for itself?”

Mannie’s eyes glint with amusement. “In a manner of speaking, she lives as the sea lives, bound to its will. Through me, she feels the currents and the winds. Disrespect her, and you will find yourselves at odds with more than waves—you will meet with the ancient forces that cradle and consume.”

Bran raises a skeptical brow but says nothing, while Casey lets out a low, exasperated snort. “Brilliant,” he mutters, his tone dripping with sarcasm. “Just what we needed—an ocean full of temperamental gods. Cannae wait.”

Amelia steps forward, her voice calm but firm. “This isn’t a journey you’re meant to enjoy, Casey. It’s one you’re meant to endure—and to succeed at. Unity will be your greatest weapon.”

I step closer, unable to keep the worry from my voice. “I want your word. I want to know they’ll be safe with you.”

Mannie’s gaze softens as it lands on me. “Safe? That word holds little weight upon the open sea. The waters are no sanctuary; they are a mirror, reflecting truths both cruel and kind. Whether they emerge unscathed depends not on fortune but on the strength of their hearts and the bonds they hold. The sea reveals all, and it has no mercy for deceit. But… I give you my word, Little One, that I will not harm any you hold dear. I will guide them as best I can, as I have guided others before them. Yet know this—even my hand cannot shield them from the tides of destiny.”

Casey turns to me, his expression softening. “We’ll make it back, Triona. Ye’ve my word.”

I nod, swallowing hard against the lump in my throat. “That’s all I ask.”

“I will keep this one in line,” Bran says, jerking his thumb toward Casey.

Casey rolls his eyes. “Let’s hope Tonn Glas likes ye more than I do.” But then his expression softens, and before I can react, he steps forward and pulls me into a tight hug. “Take care of yerself, Triona,” he whispers, his voice thick with emotion. “We’ll be together again in no time.”

I cling to him for a moment, fighting back tears. “Better be,” I manage, my voice breaking. “I’m counting on you to keep Bran out of trouble as well.”

Casey chuckles, ruffling my hair like he did when we were younger. “Aye, I’ll do my best, but we both ken how troublesome that tongue of his can be.”

With that, he strides off, leaving just Bran, Finn, and me. Bran smirks, stepping closer. “Oh, come now, Triona. You know I’m the perfect blend of charm and wisdom.”

I roll my eyes, but when he pulls me into a hug, it’s warm, genuine. His voice drops to something softer. “Don’t worry about us. We’ll look out for each other. And when we’re back, we’ll have one hell of a story to tell.”

“I’ll hold you to it.”

Before he can turn away, I grab his collar in a firm grip, pulling him just close enough to hear the steel in my voice. “Whatever’s between you and my brother—if he gets hurt over it, you’ll regret it.”

For a moment, Bran’s smirk falters, his expression caught between amusement and something heavier—a flicker of doubt, maybe even guilt. But it’s gone just as quickly, replaced with that effortless charm.

“Message received, Triona,” he murmurs, pressing a hand to his chest in mock sincerity. “I’ll be a perfect angel—not a hair on his head out of place.”

I loosen my grip on his collar, but my glare lingers just long enough to drive my point home. Finn steps to my side without hesitation, his arm locking around my waist in a firm, grounding hold. There’s an unmistakable possessiveness in the way he pulls me closer—as if he’s making a statement all his own.

“Aye, I’d listen to her,” Finn says, his voice carrying a low, steady warning. “She’s not one to make idle threats.”

Bran chuckles, his grin widening. “Oh, I hear her. Loud and clear. Didn’t realise she had you so well in hand already.”

I glance up to find Finn smirking—the kind of smirk that sends warmth curling through my stomach.

“I’m smart enough to know who’s really in charge.” Finn’s tone is light, but the wicked gleam in his eyes suggests otherwise. Then, as if repaying Bran for every over shared experience he’s never wanted to hear, he smirks and adds, “She’s got me well in hand. Has a hold on me in ways ye’d never understand. Uses that sinful little mouth of hers to work me over until I’m on my knees for her—shakin’, desperate, wrecked. She’s got this way of wrappin’ her lips around me, draggin’ her tongue so slow it’s torture, makin’ me beg without a single—”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake—” Bran interjects. “Keep your filth to yourself.”

Then adds with a dramatic shudder, “I’ll admit you’re a fine enough looking man, but thinking about how poor Triona has to suffer through a roll in the sheets with you? I’ll carry that horror to my grave.”

Finn, unbothered, grabs my chin, his smirk downright sinful as his fingers tilt my face toward his. Then, instead of the quick, teasing kiss I expect, he presses a slow, deliberate kiss to my lips.

Warm. Deep. Possessive. A kiss meant to prove a bloody point and stake a claim.

Bran makes a noise, something between a groan and a prayer. “Oh, come on.”

Finn finally pulls away from the kiss, his breath still warm against my lips. I let the moment linger, then arch a brow, letting a slow smirk spread across my lips. “You’re awfully smug for a man who couldn’t form a coherent sentence last night.”

His chuckle is dark and full of promise.