TO RAVISH A ROGUE

DANGEROUS TIDES

C.M. NASCOSTA

Copyright © 2023 by C.M. Nascosta

All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

Vellum flower icon Created with Vellum

CONTENTS

Author’s Note

1. Charlotte

2. Lirian

3. Charlotte

4. Lirian

5. Charlotte

6. Lirian

7. Charlotte

8. Lirian

9. Charlotte

10. Lirian

11. Charlotte

Bonus Epilogue

About the Author

AUTHOR’S NOTE

This is the second book associated with my

Talons & Temptations Historical Monster Romance series.

It should be noted that this is a work of fiction—if you attempt to use this book as a sailing manual, I assure you, you will drown.

Lirian and Charlotte owe a debt of gratitude to James and Georgie and that Fabio cover, and I hope that wherever she is, Johanna Lindsey is pleased with the madness she’s inspired.

Content Advisory:

Sex work, sex bargain, FMC’s reliance on gender binary, light gore and violence, soft vore, somnophilia, non-human anatomy, It’s a good thing he has two of them,

and SO MANY teeth.

Beware: here there be monsters

1

CHARLOTTE

The path to perdition was littered with good intentions and empty words, and the way was lit with burning ships. At least, that was how the saying went.

Charlotte Davenport peered around the side of the tavern, pressed into the shadow of the building, the best vantage point for watching the ship being loaded. Port Perico was a hotbed of activity, seven days a week. Vendor stalls and shop fronts lined every street and alleyway, attracting hordes of travelers passing through—horses and carriages, grubby-faced children chasing stray dogs and cats, men whistling from their stalls, and women singing. Food merchants, rum sellers, tradesmen dealing in leather goods and weaponry, artillery dealers, courtesiers plying their trade from every open window—there was no end to the hustle and bustle. Now, though, it was quiet. The sailors and merchants and other sea rats had found their way to the taverns and brothels, and the street was empty. Empty, except for her.

The gristly-looking men who loaded the ship worked silently, hauling cargo and rolling barrels, loading them into the hold and the galley, with none but the moonlight to guide them. It was unusual, she thought. Why not wait until morning? Very peculiar...

“What do you mean to do?”

The voice came from just beside her, melting unexpectedly from the darkness, and Charlotte jumped, putting her hand to her mouth to prevent from crying out. Short and thin, the girl at her elbow had black hair streaked in white and pale cerulean eyes that resembled the hazy early mornings just after sunrise, before the sky fully decided whether it wanted to shed its wispy white robe and don its brilliant blue cover. She was a shifter, and when she did not inhabit this bronze-skinned human form, she was one of the flitting birds that gave the small island its name. Brilliantly colored, their squawking was a nonstop din, the backdrop to every conversation or quiet contemplation that one attempted on Port Perico.

“Are you going to stow away? Put yourself into one of those trunks with nothing but a sack of dried beef and a few potatoes? As long as you can find a water supply, that might not be bad going, you know. I’ve seen the state of some of the cabins on these passenger vessels, and the trunk might be roomier.”

Charlotte swallowed down her laughter, shaking her head resolutely and casting her unexpected companion a stern look. The smaller girl grinned back with a gap-toothed smile, unrepentant. Fiona was sneaky and glib, a master pickpocket and trespasser, and had been an unexpected ally since Charlotte had met her, shortly after her arrival on the port island the girl called home. She supposed she ought to call Fiona a friend, but people were complicated, and in any case, she did not have enough experience with friendships to say for certain. Regardless, Fiona had been dead useful and was an amusing conversation partner.

“I’m not going to stow away. There’s only one way that story ends, with me being tossed overboard. No thank you.” The rough voice of the man overseeing barrels being loaded onto the ship split the night air, laced with impatience, and Charlotte shared the sentiment. “This one is pulling out in the morning,” she murmured, tucking herself a bit tighter to the wall. “And I’m going to be on it. That’s the plan.”

It had taken her several weeks to fully learn the routine. The ships would come in, usually towards the beginning of the week, whether owing to actual schedules kept or the whims of the wind, she was unsure. Whatever the reason, once the ships came in, they would not leave again for several days. There was no jockeying for position once they had dropped anchor, the most valuable nugget gleaned—the order in which they had come into port was the same reverse order in which they would leave again at the end of the week, once they refilled their supplies. Food and fuel, libations and money, in exchange for whatever ill-gotten gains they had brought upon shore.

“Well, what’s the plan then? It’s going to need to be something better than what you pulled on that greybeard last month.”

Charlotte’s lips pressed into a firm line. She did not need reminding of the previous month. She had thought the Celadon Serpent would be her ticket off this rock, had been certain. The captain was a brusque, no-nonsense man, upright and moral, with a fondness for Scotch whisky, redheaded women, and timeliness. She’d learned as much in the several nights she’d wasted following him, from the tannery to the tavern, as he squinted over maps while eating a bowl of the house stew, then from a money changer to a dim little storefront that sold spell scrolls and runes.

“I want to know I’ll be able to get back here to Perico without issue,” he’d barked at the runesmith, “whether or not I have a return scroll from our point of departure. I want one of these little stones that will set our course, just to be safe.”

The point of departure to which he had referred being Atlantis, of course. Charlotte had shivered from the other side of the shop, where she’d pretended to browse items on a low shelf. She had listened in on his conversation the previous evening with another man in the saloon, over huge tankards of ale. He’d not noticed her the several days she’d trailed him, hugging the walls like a little grey mouse, unseen and unnoticed, timid and unattractive. Men looked through women they were not interested in fucking, and so for this task, at least, she had made herself to be as invisible as possible.

“We’ll be pushing out as soon as we’re restocked,” he’d told the man sitting at the table across from him, another captain, one whose ship was tied in closer to the docks, destined up north, following the trade routes, and of no use to her. “I don’t want to be going into Atlantis lacking. I heard Remel has a man who keeps close tabs on who’s spending what where, and I don’t need my ship on any of those books. Nothing but trouble to be found there.”

“I’m a bit surprised to hear that’s where you’re heading.” The other man had chuckled. “Important business, is it? Or maybe you’re planning on buying a wife from one of those auctions? Seems a bit dodgy for you, but I’ll not look a squid in the face and tell him he’s missed supper.”

Both men had laughed, and she’d edged closer to where they sat, pulling a rag from the pocket of her dress to wipe ineffectively at the roughhewn surface of a table nearby.

“None of that for me. We’ve some cargo to unload, goods bound off-realm. In and out, that’s the plan.”

That was all she needed. In and out.

“I’ll be off then,” the captain had told his companion, draining his tankard and taking up his hat. “That’s not the only in-and-out I ‘ave on my mind. Planning on finding me a nice redheaded wench this evening, if you’ve any recommendations.”

The Street of Songs was only a few alleys away from the tavern, and she’d scurried ahead of him like a mouse, ensuring she was there at the entrance, ready to greet the captain upon his arrival. Charlotte had quickly learned that the best way to judge how soon a ship would be leaving port was the haste of its crew, making towards the Street of Songs. The bare-chested courtesiers singing at their open windows gave the street its name and filled the air with a glorious cacophony each evening, the only thing that competed with the birds. Each crew member would find a place to unload his own overfilled stores in their time on land, making their deposits in the slick vaults between the courtesiers’ thighs, one thrust at a time. The ships came in and the ships went out, week after week, and it was no secret that when the ships came in, their crews would be looking to come as well.

The courtesiers on the island did very well for themselves. They were showered with gifts and gems, fine dinners and fur stoles, a symbiotic relationship that, to Charlotte’s eyes, seemed quite beneficial for all involved. The merchants and sailors emptied their balls in a near nonstop deluge on the days they were in port, and the courtesiers emptied the crews’ purses as the men lay boneless and twitching in the aftermath, waiting for their cocks to stiffen once more.

Charlotte had considered that she herself could ease into the lifestyle, if she did not need to get out so badly. She was no stranger to the fairer arts, but alas, duty called, and she had no time to tarry. Sylvia needed her; needed her calming presence and wisdom, needed to be comforted and assured it would not hurt this badly forever. And even more than that, her younger sister needed Charlotte there to tell her to calm down, put a stop to her destructive tantrums, and start acting like an adult. But to do that, Charlotte needed to get off this rock.

“I suppose it must get lonely out there,” she had simpered from astride his lap, giving him a breathy little sigh as she rocked against the hard shape of his erection tenting the front of his trousers.

“Suppose it does,” he’d agreed in a choked voice, breathing hard when she’d taken him in hand and pumped slowly. “Makes coming into port in places like this all the sweeter. A tasty little bite like you is hard to find on some of these rocks.”

His cock had been as straightforward and no-nonsense as the man himself—short and thick, with a fat cap like a mushroom. Charlotte took her time teasing him, dropping her head back and letting the waterfall of her fiery-red hair graze his thighs. By the time he had arrived at the brothel’s entrance that evening, she had changed her glamour sufficiently – comely of face and figure, with dark red curls swinging loosely down her back. Her skin was alabaster white, bringing out the flush of her pink nipples, bared to him as he entered. His mouth had been hot, trying to catch one of the tight pink buds between his lips as she teased his cockhead at her entrance, just barely entering her before she had sunk down fully, undulating like a serpent as he’d groaned.

“You ought to take me with you, keep your bed warm until you reach your next destination.” He had begun moving against her at that point, his hips rocking upward, and she had given him a beguiling little cry on each roll of his hips. “The captain of a fine ship deserves to have a tight pussy waiting for him each evening when he retires, don’t you think?”

She had gasped when his rough hands landed at her smooth hips, bringing her down forcefully. He’d begun to fuck her in earnest by then, his hips moving in short hard thrusts, his fingers tight enough to leave marks against her creamy-white hips.

“No place for a woman on board,” he’d gritted out, groaning. “Frightful bad luck, that is. But I’ll have my fill of you before we pull out.”

“Are you sure about that? I’d make it worthwhile for you to risk. Wouldn’t you like to—”

“No women on my ship,” he barked, the speed of his hips increasing, chasing his peak. “And I don’t recall paying for your wagging tongue.”

She had been unable to hold back a frisson of fury from rippling down her spine as he pumped into her, the illusion slipping ever so slightly, the briefest graze of teeth. As he cried out, spilling himself unceremoniously at the startle, her teeth retreated, and she realized with a sinking heart that her sure ticket wasn’t sure at all. She had stood on the dock the following morning, watching the Celadon Serpent and its upright captain pull anchor and set out to sea, bound for the one place she needed to get.

“Don’t talk to me about last month,” she grumbled at the little bird shifter, the memory of that serpent masthead leaving port still a bitter memory. It had been several months since she’d first heard of Sylvia's troubles, and the ships bound for Atlantis had been few and far between.

Fiona shrugged.

“Well, what’s the plan then? This lot looks a bit rougher, at least to my eye.”

Charlotte huffed. The ship being loaded had been there for nearly a week, and she had seen several of its crew members holding court in the tavern and saloon both, attempting to recruit more men to their numbers. That boded well for her, she thought. Port Perico was not known as any great hub of seamen lingering about. It was an oasis, one last respite before the final leg of a long journey, a place to rest one’s head, drain one’s balls, and eat a hearty meal before taking back to sea and the empty blue horizon that stretched ahead. If they were looking for crew here, it meant they were thin as it was, and there were no other ports to pull into, not for weeks.

Fiona was right. This crew did, in fact, look a bit rougher, particularly compared to the merchant vessels that normally pulled into port on the island. They had come in with sails down, sails that had remained down, and even now, as they prepared to leave in the morning, the masts were bare. The crew was thin and ragged, rangy like tomcats. Each one was meaner looking than the next, but Charlotte didn’t care. There were no other ships bound for Atlantis in port, and there hadn’t been for weeks. If she let this ship sail away without her on it, she had no idea when the next opportunity might present itself, and she had already let too much time slip past. Who knew what wreckage Sylvia was causing to her life at that point, and there was none but her who could take her sister in hand.

“I’m going to join their crew,” she mumbled. “As a cabin boy.”

She’d already procured everything she needed. She had kept this form for so long, it was practically a second skin, which unfortunately meant other glamours were difficult to hold for any serious duration. She’d not be able to change her appearance into that of a young boy and keep it these many long weeks at sea, and so she needed to be strategic. She had stolen a set of clothes from one of the pleasure houses, some hapless sailor shedding his trousers and shirt as he was led down a hallway, his hardened cock being pulled like a leash, and she had been there to gather it all up, darting from the shadows, one more ruse she had enacted. The clothes were far too big, but they amply concealed her curves. Her breasts were flattened in a binding length of fabric, her hair twisted and pinned in a way that made it look like an unruly mop of curls, belying its true length. She had the clothes, she had the ship in sight, and they would be pulling out of port soon, a perfect plan.

Stowaways were frowned upon, to the degree that she would likely wind up tossed overboard, after each crewman had taken his turn with her. Women were not permitted on ships unless they were designated passenger vessels, and even then they were sequestered, kept far away from the crew, lest they use their powers of bewitchment. Stowaways were frowned upon, but cabin boys were welcome and useful. She could scrub the deck, serve meals, be put to use in the scullery or the artillery or the brig—it made no difference to her. As long as she was on board and relatively safe, she would make do.

“Sure you wouldn’t be better off with a few potatoes in one of those trunks?”

The shifter girl grinned, and Charlotte allowed herself to smile. Fiona was probably right. This was a mad plan, and she had no idea what would happen once she was on board. Maybe the little bird was right. Maybe that will be plan B. Get on board, steal some food from the kitchen, and find a place to hide the rest of the journey.

“You ought to get some rest while you’re still able, in that case. Likely won’t be much sleep coming your way for a while. At least not with both eyes closed, if I was you. I’m going to go take a closer look.”

Fiona’s dress was little more than a heap of rags, and it fell to the ground with a soft fwump, a bright blue shape taking wing from the folds. Charlotte watched as her little friend circled and swooped before coming to land midway down the foremast.

“I want an accounting of everything being loaded. Number and weight.”

The man who had just stepped on deck was the captain. He was stocky and barrel chested, his features shadowed in the moonlight, and his voice was hard. Charlotte swallowed. You can do this. Just need to get into that port; it’s the only way to get home. Traveling between realms was no easy feat. It would’ve been far easier to board as a passenger, to board as Lady Charlotte Davenport, with her own tastefully appointed cabin and an on-board chaperone to ensure she remained unmolested throughout the journey, but that too, was not to be. No self-respecting passenger vessels would pull into as disreputable a port as Atlantis, no mild captain would risk his ship, and no person of upstanding station, regardless of species, would dare venture to such a scandal-ridden locale. Posing as a cabin boy was her only option, and Charlotte was finished planning. The time to act had come.

“Away with ya, unless you mean to be my supper, blasted bird!”

Fiona was shooed away, but the persistent shifter only moved to a higher rung. Charlotte had no idea this captain’s name, nor his temperament; didn’t know the name of the ship, nor what business they were in. It doesn’t matter, she reminded herself. She knew she didn’t truly need to worry about her safety; it wasn’t as if she were helpless. If the situation grew dire, she would be able to defend herself. She’d be right back to where she had started, a world away from her sister and with no way to get there, but no worse for wear than she currently was.

That’s not going to happen. You’re going to keep your head down, not cause any trouble. Go unnoticed. Find some of those fucking potatoes and hide in a trunk, if necessary. But you are going to get there. You are going to stay on this ship until you reach Atlantis; then the captain and the crew and the whole sodding lot of them can drown for all the difference it makes.

The path to perdition was lit with burning ships, and if she did not make it to her destination, if one of these men dared stand in her way, this ship would be one of them, Charlotte thought resolutely. She would see to it herself.

2

LIRIAN

The morning of a departure was always among the most fraught of the entire journey.

Did they have the supplies? Did they have the crew? There needed to be an accounting: of the water, of the food, if they were bringing too much weight aboard, if they were bringing too little. Were they sufficiently armed, or would they find themselves broadsided by a ship of one of the Royal’s fleets, sinking to the ocean floor with nary a single shot fired in defense? Would the weather be fair, or would there be a hidden storm lurking just beyond the horizon? Would they incur the sea god’s wrath or his mercy?

Captain Lirian Jurel glowered at the dark water of the port, not wanting to contemplate any blasted bit of it. It was too much bloody fucking thinking to do before the sun even had the courtesy to rise, but there was no way around it. Loading and leaving the port under the cover of darkness was the safest way to make berth on rocks like this one. Their sort wasn’t welcome amongst polite society, and Port Perico was nothing if not polite. The last worthwhile port of call before they would make the long trek to Shipwreck Cove, jumping realms; the last opportunity to ensure they were well-provisioned for the journey. Every sort of vendor had a shop or stall on the small island, and knowing his quartermaster as he did, Lirian had every confidence that they would be well set.

He watched as a young pup grabbed the corner edge of a trunk being loaded on, bearing none of the weight but making it look as if he were still helping. The lad looked no more than a child, although there was something in the way they walked, a soft swing of the hips that made Lirian frown. He’d spent his whole life at sea and had known many a whelp who joined crews, and none of them had ever walked as if they were more accustomed to bustles than breeches. There was something off about the lad...

His contemplation was disturbed by two women ambling by, arm-in-arm, down the waterfront. It was the wee hours yet, just before sunrise, and there was little doubt as to where they came from. This port was known for the courtesiers who plied their trade from silk-strewn pleasure houses, sweet smelling and dimly lit, where every appetite could be sated, regardless of gender or species. He’d felt a frisson of lightning in his veins as the ship had first approached Port Perico, a tightening in his belly and an ache in his groin, an itch he was unable to scratch alone...

But it wouldn’t do for him to be caught out in a place like this, not with his name on wanted posters at every port of call from Port Maranok to the Dragonfly Islands. His face was too recognizable, and their crew was already as gapped as the smile of the new carpenter. Far safer to stay out of sight, the fire in his blood and the stiffness of his cock be damned. He knew that... but it had made for a hateful week, and if he had to stay in his cabin for one more moment, he was likely to go berserk and cut a path of destruction across the island and through the sea, all the way to Shipwreck Cove.

“Fare thee well, dearies!” one of the passing courtesiers called, baring her breasts for his benefit and giving them a jiggle. “Come see us again!”

He drew in a slow breath at the sight, wanting to do nothing more than bury his damnably recognizable face between the two mounds and suffocate there happily, once his cock had been drained. The women moved on, laughing, and he glowered, aggravated by the twitch in his trousers.

“Are we to be off sometime today then, Master Stride?”

Lirian knew his tone was peevish, and he ignored the askance look from his quartermaster. Cadmus Stride had been sailing beside Lirian for nearly a decade at that point and was well acquainted with his moods. The bastard son of some gargoyle lordling and a human woman, Cadmus had all the outward snarl and bark of his father’s house, necessary for keeping order amongst the scallywags their crew attracted. His skin was black as pitch, veined in luminous white, and despite the fact that he neither turned to stone in the morning hours nor possessed his sire’s wings and tail, Mr. Stride was the most formidable mate a captain could ask for.

“Aye, we’re ready to cast off. I’ll give the order if there’s nothing else you want to—”

“Give the bloody order, unless you want to handle this lot yourself, and I’ll swim to Atlantis.”

It normally didn’t bother Lirian, staying aboard while they were in port. His cabin boy would fetch his meals from one of the local taverns, procure him anything he needed from land, be it wine or wench, and best of all, when he wasn’t feasting or fucking, he got to catch up on all the sleep he missed when they were at sea. Then his cabin boy had run off with some button-nosed little seamstress he’d met while the rest of them were loading the ship, some three or four ports ago, and since then, the crew had grown thin, a domino effect of ill luck. He’d trusted Stride to bolster the numbers and could only hope that amongst the recruits was some lad eager to fetch his meals and fill his bathwater.

It wasn’t just the lack of creature comforts and having someone at his beck and call. Sleep had eluded him since they’d pulled into Port Perico. There was something on the wind here, something that made his absent armored scales rise, like a phantom twinge. There were several nights when he felt something watching him. It was not from within his quarters—made certain in the dark with dirk in hand, creeping around his own furniture as if seeing it for the first time—nor from the decks, an assurance he’d received as he came up the staircase slowly, pistol drawn, sucking in a deep lungful of the salty sea air once he had ascertained he was, in fact, alone on board. Something watched him from the shadows of the island, from alleyways and at the dark sides of buildings, from the sky itself, and by the third night, he took to not leaving his cabin at all.

As a result of the sleeplessness, his mood was sour, his lust unslaked, and there was nothing he wanted more at that moment than to cast off and put the whole of the sea between him and whatever lurked in the darkness there. It was more than satisfying to stand on the bridge and watch Port Perico shrink in size as the ship set out for open water, the sun only just beginning to threaten the horizon. By the time the harbor was bustling, they would be long gone, just as he liked it.

“Boy. You there, boy! Where did you come from? Did you think to be a stowaway? Are you too stupid to know you were meant to hide for that?”

Lirian turned, narrowing his eyes at Stride’s sharply barked words. The new crew was being lined up on deck for introduction to the rest of the officers and to the captain, the smallest member being the object of his second-in-command’s ire. It was the boy Lirian had watched coming up the gangplank before the sight of bronzed tits had swayed his attention, and his eyes narrowed again.

The young boy was not a boy at all; he could tell now that he was at a closer distance, although they had gone to lengths to suggest otherwise. Slight and thin, their baggy clothes did an admirable job of hiding any hint of their true form. The woolen stockings they wore were loose and bagged slightly, voluminous breeches ballooned around their knees, while a long linen tunic tented over narrow shoulders, coming to rest partway down their thighs. A cap covered their hair, the fringe of brown curls that had escaped giving them an unruly, unkempt air. It was impossible to tell what the oversized getup concealed. It could have been wings or another set of arms, or a pair of tits as lush and soft as the ones that had just been displayed for him. They were petite and scrawny, and while he couldn’t immediately tell their gender or species, what he could discern was that they were not a preteen boy. Not a boy, and he suspected not a shifter. They lacked the otherworldly air of sea sprites and moved too clumsily to be a nymph. But there is a glamour there. A glamour a shifter would not possess. He could just barely see the outline of shimmer, a slight waver at the edges of their silhouette, so slight that he could nearly persuade himself he imagined it.

“M-me, sir?”

“No, the other lad I’ve never laid fucking eyes on.”

The boy turned their head as if there might indeed be another youth beside them, and Lirian was obliged to stifle his laughter. A girl. As soon as the thought crossed his mind, he knew he was right, replaying in his mind the soft swish of their hips. Not a girl. A woman. One who normally wears gowns and corsets, not breeches. One who has studied magic. He’d heard stories of gods and shapeshifters able to change their form into whatever suited them, but the act of casting a glamour on one’s appearance was not widely taught. If it were, he would have learned the blasted lesson years earlier. An apprenticeship with a crone was necessary, learning the old way and older magic, and the knowledge was traditionally only passed from mothers to daughters.

There was a woman on his ship, one who knew magic, who was playing at being a boy. Lirian didn’t know why, but until he found out, he decided going along with the chit’s deception was his wisest course.

“Yes, I fucking mean you,” Stride snapped, the newcomer jumping to attention like a little soldier. “Where did you come from? What’s your business here?”

“I—I signed up, sir. At the saloon two nights ago. Your men were there at a table, sir!”

Stride’s eyes narrowed, his head turning sharply in the direction of the two crew members he had, indeed, left to man a table at the saloon while he went on to the tavern to do the same.

“What’s your name then, boy?”

“Charlie, sir. I—I signed an X on the parchment, I did.”

Stride blew out an aggrieved breath at the answer, and Lirian knew without needing to see the parchment in question that each man in the line had likely signed merely an X in place of their proper name. There were always more signatures than bodies that materialized. The crewmen in question had likely been well in their cups by the time they’d left to pursue their next diversion, and there would be no way to disprove the story. He was forced to admit, whoever she was, she’d done a bang-up job of constructing her alibi. The imp!

“And you’ve experience, have ya? At your age?”

“N-none, sir.”

“Then what fucking good are you to me? Think this is a nursery, do ya? That we mind homeless whelps from every port?”

“Cabin boy, Mr. Stride,” Lirian called out, surprising himself. “May I remind you, mine went missing?”

He watched as the boy—the witch!—turned at the sound of his voice. He wondered how long she had been watching his ship, watching his crew. She knew they had been recruiting in the saloon, knew to which ship they belonged, knew their leaving routine well enough that she had been here before dawn, her little disguise in place. She had planned long for this, he was willing to bet, but he could see in her eyes that she had not planned on him. She had been watching them clearly, knew their routine, had listened in on their conversations, but she had not seen hide nor hair of the ship’s captain, for he had been tucked away in his cabin like a naughty child, and the fact that such a vital segment of her plan had escaped her knowledge clearly rankled the girl.

Lirian felt the drag of her eyes up his form, taking in his size, his grin, the ridges on his forehead that told the world what he was. Her face bore a look of consternation, and what a face it was. Beneath the mop of curls, she was fine and delicate. Wide eyes, a pert, upturned nose, a lush little rosebud of a mouth. Her cheeks had a rosy flush, her neck an elegant white column, the baggy shirt showing off an eminently kissable throat. How she thought she would pull off this deception, he had no idea. He did not know her plan, did not know her reason for being there, but she bore keeping a close eye on, a task he suspected he was going to enjoy.

“He’ll make a fine cabin boy. I want his things moved into my quarters. As for the rest of you lot, we run a clean ship. Plunder is split equally amongst the crew, and you’re crew as long as you’re pulling your weight. If you become another anchor weighing us down, you’ll be cast off as such. Follow your orders; keep these decks scrubbed. The inimitable Master Stride is your quartermaster, and his word is law. This is not a democracy. If Mr. Stride asks you to jump, your ass had better already be in the air before you think to ask how high. Don’t let this pretty face of mine fool you into thinking I’ll be easier to deal with. We’ll be traveling off-realm, and that means all hands on deck at every moment. Do I make myself clear?”

Lirian turned away to the chorus of “aye, captain,” trying to pick out the disguised wench’s voice, finding no trace of her. He motioned to his mate to continue, pushing himself up the staircase to the bridge as Cadmus continued to bark orders. This was where Lirian was most comfortable, at the helm of his ship, taking her out where nothing but the open horizon waited. The wheel was an extension of his hands, always sure of her heading, never fearing the darker waters and the beasts that lurked there.

The new cabin boy was a witch. Of that, he was certain. Now that he had been made aware of it, he could almost feel the sizzle of her magic, the pressure of it pushing against him, making him want to tip himself over the starboard rail and drop into the sea, where he would be safe from her eyes. Turning, he sought the girl out with his own eyes, finding her easily, as she was still staring at him with an indiscernible look upon her face.

“My trunks will have already been brought to my cabin,” he called down, instantly catching the boy’s attention.

“Sir?”

“If you think I’m going to shout, you’re very much mistaken. Am I correct in assuming your legs work?” Cadmus shot him a malevolent look, as he was still addressing the men, to which Lirian replied with a beaming smile. “Shake a leg, Charlie, before you get me in real trouble.”

She pulled from the ranks uncertainly before quickly hopping up the steps when it was clear she’d not be reprimanded for doing so.

“Right. My trunks. I expect them to be emptied this afternoon and then brought down for storage. I take my tea promptly at the end of the noontide watch and dinner at the start of first watch. I want my tub filled for bathing every third day—boiled sea water, with a pitcher of milk and soap of lye. Every morning, you are to retrieve the night reports and have them ready with my breakfast. You will take the crow’s nest for two hours every morning once I’ve been served.”

He paused at last, glancing down to the runt. She had flushed—most becomingly, he thought—at the mention of his bath, and the dull red had continued to creep over her face as Lirian had continued. And now for the coup de grâce.

“You’ve already been set up in the crew’s quarters?”

“Yes, sir.”

Her voice was little more than a whisper, hardly that of a strapping boy of ten or twelve, and he fought the urge to grin, knowing well that his teeth were gruesome to behold at this close vantage.

“Well, go and retrieve your things. Do it now, before they’re dismissed, and be certain not to leave anything of importance behind.”

“M-my things, Captain?”

“Your personal effects, dear boy! Sleeping roll, anything you brought with you. Step lively now. You can leave your hammock; there’s no tacking for it. But do it quickly, or you’ll spend your first night on board sleeping in the bilge. I don’t care to have my crew whipped, but our bos’n finds it quite soothing.”

He watched from the corner of his eye as she drew in a shuddering breath.

“If I’m not meant to sleep in the crew’s quarters, Captain, sir,” she began haltingly, “then where am I to sleep?”

Her voice was dulcet, and it, too, possessed a golden shimmer of otherworldliness, one she couldn’t hide even if she tried her damndest. Of which she was doing a piss-poor job. He would need to keep her as secluded as possible in order to keep her safe, at least until he ascertained her motives. Port Perico was a speck behind them at that point, and ahead, the sun broke over the waves in a white-gold blaze, burning off the haze that clung to the water’s surface.

“You’ll be staying in the captain’s quarters, boy. Where is it you think you’re working? If there’s one drawback to piracy, it’s the unfortunate nature of those bilge rats and scallywags it attracts. I don’t know what sort of scum we picked up at this last port, but there’s bound to be a pederast amongst them. You’ll be far safer behind the only locked door on board, I assure you.”

“Pirates?”

“Well, of course, lad. Didn’t you say you had signed up at the saloon? Talked with the crew?” He glanced down, giving her stricken look a winsome, closed-mouth smile. “Put your X on the parchment? Surely you knew what you were signing on for? Come now, you look half about to cry. I didn’t realize the crew had recruited ladies for this leg of the journey.”

She stiffened at his dig, and then he did grin, wide and terrible, unable to help himself.

“I should hope not,” she gritted out stiffly. “Frightful bad luck to bring a woman on board. Isn’t that what they say, sir?”

“Full cover, Mr. Stride,” he called out, ignoring her for the moment. “Let’s take her to sea.”

“You heard the captain, you worthless bunch ’a sots. Full cover!”

The bos’n echoed the order, and Lirian watched the girl blanch as the full sails were dropped, an impressive unfurling of slate grey, the foremast bearing their insignia, the upper torso of a beautiful woman with the lower haunches of a serpent. Perhaps, he considered, it might be wiser to show his hand, to call her bluff, and let fate blow them to their futures. He had cargo to unload in Atlantis, and the coin that would be earned from that journey would fund the next, and that alone had been enough for him to look forward to. Now though, he found himself looking ahead to the journey, wondering when he would learn her secrets, if she would bare them to him willingly, and if there was anything else she would be willing to bare.

“You came to the right place for frightful bad luck, in that case, my dear. Welcome to the Malediction.”

3

CHARLOTTE

The distance from the forecastle back to the stern, where the captain’s quarters were located, seemed interminable. She scurried along, hugging the walls like a mouse, a habit she simply couldn’t break. She was glad to have the stretch of ship to herself, though, if only for the moment. At least he had given her time to fetch her things before she was subjected to the interrogation —or worse!— of the other men, before relocating to the captain’s quarters.

The bloody captain. Charlotte shook with a mixture of fear, frustration, and barely suppressed rage. It was bad enough that she had made such a mistake at all. All her planning, following and listening and observing—dashed in a matter of seconds, as soon as that smug, smirking lout had opened his annoyingly well-shaped mouth. She’d never laid eyes on him until that moment, and she wished to the sea mother that she never had.

For days she had reconciled herself to the hard-voiced gargoyle being the ship’s captain—he recruited, he bartered for supplies, and he barked at the men. Order and discipline seemed to be the building blocks of the man’s entire foundation, and she had formulated and re-formulated her plan, her alibi, her method of getting by, all tailored around what she could glean from watching his interactions, preparation for dealing with her new captain... learning he was merely the bloody quartermaster had been a shocking disappointment.

She was losing her touch; Charlotte was forced to admit. She’d made mistake after mistake, and she had no one but herself to blame. That’s not true at all. You can blame Sylvia, because it’s her fault that you’re even going through with this ridiculous farce. That Charlotte had been wrong about the captain was bad enough. That she had allowed herself to not question the ship’s lack of sails upon their arrival was a grievous misstep. That she had not ascertained the type of vessel they were on all the days she had followed them was patently idiotic. The dangers of posing as a cabin boy on a merchant’s vessel were fraught enough. But a pirate ship?! Bloody pirates?!

And then! Then! If the crew weren’t bad enough, there was the captain himself! Not only was he a stranger to her, not someone she had counted on, not someone she had followed, not only did he have the brazen audacity to be handsome, but he was a serpent to boot! She didn’t know how it was possible that he did not see her true form or, at the very least, smell the sea on her. She was a little fool, completely in over her head, and it would likely be her peril. Fucking pirates!

Fetching his meals and carrying reports didn’t sound like too strenuous a job, although she didn’t care for the notion of hauling his bathwater. You’ll probably have to empty his blasted chamber pot as well. She reminded herself again that it could be worse, just as she heard the first sound of some of the crew returning to the quarters. You won’t need to worry about any of these blackguards molesting you in your sleep, and he said the door has a lock. You might even get a bit of privacy! Truly, it was the best thing that could’ve happened.

Charlotte hastened her step, eager for the solitude of the stern and the privacy the captain’s quarters promised. Unless he’s there. Another ripple of frustration and anger moved up her spine, and she clenched her fists at the thought. The gargoyle, she had planned on. This serpent though... she disliked how jovial he was. The way he’d spoken to her that morning had the edge of a jest, and to compound her annoyance, he had the nerve to be handsome.

Tall and broad, he wore a white shirt open to the center of his chest, practically glowing against his bronze skin. His hair was long and dark, in absolute disarray, no more than she would expect from a pirate, and his eyes sparkled with the same glimmer one would find on the waves beneath the midday sun. The hands that gripped the spokes of the ship’s wheel seemed outsized to her, long fingers completely eclipsing the weathered wood, and she had a feeling that if he’d turned around, she would have been treated to the taut pull of his thighs in his snug trousers, and the round, well-formed shape of his —

“Are you lost already, lad?”

The gargoyle’s voice brought her up short, fire flooding her cheeks at the thoughts he’d interrupted. The quartermaster’s skin was the color of the night sky, veined in white, as luminous as the moon. Two short horns sprouted from his head, just above his long pointed ears, but the sun was now sparkling over the waves, and he didn’t show any signs of freezing to stone before her.

“N-no, sir. On my way back to the captain’s quarters, as he ordered.”

“Then step lively and get to it. I’ll not have you skulking in corners and avoiding work, not unless you want to be reassigned to the galley full-time. You’re to report to there every afternoon and assist the cook unless the captain has need of you. That blasted cow is to be milked every morning before it starts bellowing, do you understand? Unless you want every minute of rest I’m cheated taken out of your hide.”

“Cow?”

He glowered down upon her, and for the first time, she considered that perhaps the reality of her little misstep was most fortuitous indeed.

“Did you not hear the captain say he takes a pitcher of milk with his bathwater? Did you think you’d be milking me?”

Charlotte gaped up, her mind unable to form an answer that would not result in her being cuffed in the mouth. Fortunately, Mr. Stride didn’t wait for her response, stalking off in the opposite direction.

The serpent and the gargoyle. They’re quite a pair. Gargoyles were not altogether uncommon, but sea shifters were. She wondered if the humans on the islands found the captain’s face frightening. Three raised ridges—one at each temple and one in the center of his forehead—denoting the serpent crest he might have had if he were a true creature of the deep, giving him a harder look than his insouciant smile would suggest. He’s a pirate. Of course, they’d be afraid. It wouldn’t matter what he looked like. His face was just as appealing as the rest of him, not that she had taken any particular note of that.

Charlotte stopped short again. This was bad, very bad. She could not be attracted to him, for if he inflamed her desire, he would awaken her hunger, and once aroused, her appetite would need satisfying. She needed to get back to her sister and put an end to the damage Sylvia was causing, not create some of her own.

And what if he finds you out? She pursed her lips. She could destroy them all. She could tear the ship asunder, and it wouldn’t even be hard... but it wouldn’t get her any closer to Sylvia either. It wouldn’t get her home. She was helpless in this form, bound in these bones, and the truth of it was, she liked being Charlotte Davenport and wasn’t eager to give this frail, human existence up. Perhaps it would be better if he did find out, for serpent lineage or not, he was a man like any other, and regardless of their particular desires, their heads were all easily turned with the same thing. Of that, at least, she was certain. Strike a new bargain, appeal to his lust, and get home as planned. At least then, you would remain in control.

The cabin was nicely appointed, she was surprised to find, bearing no overflowing chest of gold or signs of extravagant plunder. Dark teakwood furniture was bolted to the floor, including a chest of drawers and matching wardrobe, a long table seated with two chairs, used for both course charting and eating if the roll of maps was any indication. There was a proper bed, instead of the sleeping hammock, piled with more pillows than any one person would ever have need of. It was wider than any bed she’d ever seen, and she didn’t need to strain too hard to imagine the roguish pirate entertaining a bevy of courtesiers from its comfort. Large enough for an entire orgy, she sniffed.

A teakwood partition etched with an elaborate jungle scene gave a small measure of privacy to the far corner of the room. On the other side of the partition, she was surprised to find a clawfoot tub, likewise bolted to the floor. My, he does put on airs. Bathing on ships normally happened in brass tubs that could be carried from cabin to cabin, but this captain, evidently, needed his own private facility. The tub itself was ornate to the point of being gauche—a tentacled beast, all manner of sea creatures in its thrall, and what looked like a ship being dragged beneath the waves. Every three days, boiling seawater. She didn’t relish the idea of having to trudge from the kitchen all the way to this tub carrying bucket after bucket full of boiled seawater, and she thought even less of the idea of having to see him in his bathwater. You’ll simply have to fill it and then make yourself scarce.

By the time she returned from storing the trunk in the hold, the gargoyle was looking for her with fresh orders, barking at her to report to the galley and make herself useful. The cook looked to be half ogre. He was happy for the extra set of hands and chattered incessantly as she set to work, helping to ready the crew’s evening meal, ensuring pots were scrubbed and cutlery was at the ready, scurrying along at the ogre’s heels as he carried the huge pot containing dinner to the mess.

“I’ve been sailing on the Malediction going on three years, and this is the leanest stretch yet,” the ogre rumbled.

Charlotte thought she would be happy to commit herself to this kitchen every waking moment when she was not up in the crow’s nest on her watch, for Grest was friendly and guileless, and by the time she was loading the tray with the captain’s dinner that evening, she felt as though she had caught up on all the observations she had missed in the previous week.

Mr. Stride was the base-born eldest son of some landlocked member of the upper-crust peerage, and his younger brother had assumed both the titled lordship and manor house once their father died. Stride had committed himself to a life at sea lording over the crew, instead of the manor where his brother resided.

“I thinks he should seize it during the day, what with his brother being made of stone and all. Who can turn him out?”

Fitting in with the gentry required more than temporarily seizing control of a house, although she did not voice the opinion to Grest. She had a feeling pirates wouldn’t care for the complexities of the nobility, and besides, it wasn’t something a twelve-year-old boy would speak of. Still though, if Mr. Stride’s brother was a full gargoyle, like their father before him, she understood why the cantankerous quartermaster had chosen a life well away from the reminder of what he wasn’t.

“The ship was raised from the seabed, she was. A pirate queen sailed her, but she sunk in battle. The captain was the one what found her, and he had her raised from the depths. Bad omen, a ship belonging to women. Probably cursed. That’s how she took her name.”

At that, she smiled. She wondered how much he had spent having the ship raised from the depths, for an act of magic like that would not have come cheap. Malediction. Perhaps it was fated for her to wind up here, on this ship. And then there were Grest’s comments on the captain himself. Lirian Jurel. His mother was a human, according to the cook, born somewhere on an island chain near Andulus. His father, Grest shrugged, was a sea serpent or a dragon or the sea god himself; no one knew. The captain was secretive and dangerous, despite his outward joviality, and his shape shifted in the water.

“I’ve not seen it m’self, but Scraggins, he’s one of the gunners, he has. Said the cap’n grows as long as the ship, with teeth the size of an oar.”

A serpent shifter, she thought, perhaps more akin to a mer or an eel. She was quite certain he didn’t change as dramatically as this Scraggins claimed, deciding this was akin to fishermen who all tried to outdo each other when comparing their catches, until they described fish as big as their boats. A fish shifter, she thought with a grin. He may as well be human for all the danger he posed to her.

The news cheered her, and it was with high spirits that she returned to the captain’s quarters, carefully making her way down the corridor with the unwieldy tray until she arrived at her destination. The cabin was blessedly empty, and she considered it a victory, hurrying back to the kitchen until Grest turned her away.

“Captain’ll be making his rounds soon enough, lad. You want to get that dinner tray out of his way.”

Sure enough, he was there when she reentered the quarters, the dinner tray pushed to the far end of the table, a chart of their course spread out before him in its place.

“Charlie, my lad, I thought perhaps you’d fallen overboard. Not thinking of deserting already, are we?”

Instantly, her good mood soured. He was just as smirking as he had been that morning, giving her a sly look that set her teeth on edge. If it was possible, his shirt was even more open than it had been on deck, in danger of dropping off a copper-skinned shoulder. Stupid, arrogant, handsome asshole.

“Not yet, Captain. My sea legs are a bit stronger than that.”

His eyes lifted at her words, glancing over said sea legs until she blushed. Perhaps it was merely her overactive imagination, but Charlotte was certain his gaze lingered over her a bit too long, making her stomach swoop in hunger.

“Oh, come now, we can’t have you blushing like some virgin maiden. Don’t worry, Charlie. We’ll break you of your innocence soon enough. How old did you say you were?”

“I don’t recall mentioning it, sir.”

She didn’t like the way he said her chosen name, as if it, too, was a jest. The smile he affixed her then glittered goldenly, owing to the glint of a gilded tooth near the front of his mouth, his eyes lit with amusement. She didn’t like the way he sat, with one foot propped on the side of the table leg, his other leg stretched open, drawing her eyes unwillingly to the center of the tableau where the fabric of his trousers stretched over a pronounced bulge resting against his thigh. That time, she did quiver in hunger, her core clenching. This was a mistake, a terrible mistake.

“Perhaps you didn’t hear the question in that. Don’t worry, lad. I believe in second chances, so you can rectify your oversight.”

She turned away, biting her lip. She had planned on saying she was twelve, but she hadn’t actually spent a significant amount of time with any child of that age. You’re too scrawny to be a proper teenager, and besides, you don’t want to be given real hard labor to do.

“I-I’m twelve, sir. I’ll be thirteen just after the solstice,” she added, hoping it sounded the way a boy might talk about his birthday.

“Nearly thirteen, practically a man. You’ll be sprouting whiskers in no time. The next time we pull into port, you’ll have a chance to swap tales with the lads on the return trip. You might even give some of them a bit of competition with that sweet face. The wenches will be falling over themselves to kiss those pink cheeks.”

“Is that what happens when we make berth, sir?” She had no idea where the voice was coming from, for its tone was impudent and challenging, dripping with the sort of derision that might be appropriate for Charlotte Davenport’s station. It certainly couldn’t be coming from her own bloody mouth, for she was positive she hadn’t woken that morning with a death wish. “You leave your trousers on the ship and spend most of your time putting in to as many ports as you can?”

She was going to need to abandon ship, throwing herself over the railing like a bucket of chum. So much for all her careful planning and weeks of preparation. So much for Sylvia, for her duty as a sister. Her mouth had developed a mind of its own, and she was no longer in charge. The captain’s eyes were like fire, burning brightly, and his smile stretched. She quickly averted her gaze from his face, landing rather unfortunately on that bulge between his thighs, one she swore looked larger than it had only moments earlier.

“Oh, the ports come to me, lad. Only good thing about being on land is the company, and there’s so much of it to be had. I’m the generous sort, don’t want to leave anyone feeling left out. All soft and sweet and all eager to take a ride on this dragon.”

His hand dropped to the dragon in question, leaving little doubt that the thick, heavy outline of his cock was, indeed, what she’d been gawking at. He adjusted himself shamelessly, and the action, coupled with his words, only made the heat burn up her neck a bit hotter. Libertine! Profligate! Arrogant, puffed-up prick! The crescents of her nails bit into the meat of her palms as she balled her fists, seeing how delighted he looked with her reaction.

“In any case, Charlie, it’s an early night. You need to acclimate to the schedule around here, need to learn to wake with the bells. ’Course, that also means learning to go right back to sleep if there’s no cause to be up, but that’s a skill that will come later.”

Charlotte nodded, turning away. “I’ll put up my hammock then, sir. I’m sure there’s a spot down the corridor where I’ll be able to rig it up out of the way.”

“What are you talking about, lad? Didn’t I tell you there was no tacking for a hammock? You’ll be sleeping here, just as the last boy did.”

She turned very slowly, unsurprised by the sparkle in his bright, dark eyes, like glittering gemstones. He was thoroughly enjoying himself; that much was clear. Does he play with everyone this way? Or just you? Like a cat toying with a mouse, his claws retracted and gentled. She’d not be lured into a false sense of security, for undoubtedly, his claws would shoot out and spear her through the heart if she played into his malevolent hands.

“I don’t understand what you mean, sir. What do you mean by ‘here’?”

“I mean here, Charlie. Right here. The last lad slept at the foot of the bed, quite a handy setup. That way, you’re able to take a message quickly, then run it off to one of the officers.”

He expected her to sleep at the foot of his bed like a dog. This is how he treats people. This is how he treats those he can toy with. Fine. Let him play his game.

“That sounds like it would be a very good method, sir.” If she had expected anything other than another cocky smile, she would have been disappointed. His jaw was covered in dark stubble, and even from across the room, she was able to see the jagged nature of his teeth. Maybe he’s a barracuda. That would fit. Lurking in the shadows, all smiles, until he strikes.

“Good lad. I make rounds of the decks at the start of middle watch. Do you know how to tell time aboard?”

She stiffened, not realizing time would be kept in any way other than simply looking at a clock. He grinned when she shook her head after a moment.

“That’s fine. We’ll be sure to teach you. You want to listen for the bells and decipher the time from the chimes. Middle watch starts at midnight.”

“Will I need to be up as well then, Captain? Would you like me to fetch you anything when you return from your rounds? Anything you’ll need?” She squirmed under the heat of his gaze, the smile he gave her doing nothing to prevent her stomach from swooping and twisting once more.

“Oh, I often have need at that hour, but I don’t think I’ll be requiring your assistance for that, Charlie.” His grin was lethal, and her pulse quickened. “Until then, you want to try to get some sleep. We’ll be up before the sun, so it’s important to sleep while you can.”

Charlotte’s mouth ran dry as he removed his shirt, the broad expanse of his chest dusted in dark hair, forming a tantalizing line that disappeared into the waistband of his breeches. He was covered in scars, she noticed at once. What looked like a bite mark just below his ribs, and a curious red welting along the backs of his shoulders when he turned.

She should’ve stayed in the crew’s quarters, should’ve taken her chances in the bilge with the rats, should have found one of those bloody trunks and packed some potatoes, as Fiona had suggested. She should have leapt from the deck when she realized her folly early that morning and swam back to shore. She should’ve done anything in her power to keep from being here, in this room with him, she realized as he kicked off his boots, undid the front of his breeches, and allowed them to drop to the floor. He was bare beneath, and her heart stopped.

“Get that tray brought back to the galley and then get yourself situated, Charlie. It’s lights out until middle watch.”

His voice was casual, a stitch too casual, she thought, as he gestured to the bed, the same bed upon which he drew back the covers. She would need to put out the lights, a relief, as it gave her a reason to turn, to pull her eyes away from the sight of the fat cock he’d just brazenly bared before he climbed into the bed. The bed she was going to be sleeping in as well. The bed they were going to be sharing. Her core slickened and clenched, hunger and desire nearly overtaking her. She could practically smell his cock from across the room; could nearly taste the heft of it on her tongue. All of a sudden, she was starving. This was a mistake, a terrible mistake. Fiona was right. She should have taken her chances with the potatoes, she thought, as she put out the light.

4

LIRIAN

By the fourth day after leaving Port Perico, he’d had enough.

Lirian wasn’t sure what he’d been thinking, allowing the mystery woman passage and going along with her terrible ruse. While she might have done a good enough job in the daytime hours, keeping her head down with her little disguise in place, the instant she opened her mouth each evening behind the security of his cabin door, all pretenses fell away. Her vocabulary was too broadly learnéd for a preteen boy, her tone too imperious, and her manners too courtly. He had no idea if she toed the line a bit better for Stride, but with Lirian, she was incapable of taking an order without asking a question in return, the height of impudence. On more than one occasion, he’d been tempted to point out that if she were actually the twelve-year-old boy she claimed to be, she’d have already been whipped for her cheek.

Her inability to alter her speech enough to make her little disguise believable meant he needed to keep her away from the rest of the crew as much as possible. Unlike most ship captains, Lirian took no issue with a woman on board. A bad omen, they said, bad luck. He had embraced it, given his ship a fitting name, and trusted his crew members to take care of themselves, regardless of what lay between their legs. Twig had joined them nearly two years prior and always held their own, had never needed an officer’s assistance to deal with their crewmates, and if one or two of the louts with wandering hands had tried to push Twig’s boundaries, they quickly learned the half troll was vicious with a knife.

Lirian had no such confidence in his cabin boy. She’d spent her time in dresses and corsets, giving orders to those around her; he could tell from the way she walked, the way she talked, from her infernal attitude. At one point, she’d held out her hand as if requiring his assistance walking down the staircase from the helm to the deck, catching herself after a mere heartbeat, but it had been enough. If he were a betting man, and he was, he would guess she was titled, and that made the situation even more fraught. Four days in, and he’d not yet ascertained her reason for joining his crew, had not yet determined what her true aim was, and had to put up with her mouth in the meantime. Her mouth, and the way she set him on fire.

The girl might not be interested in masculine advances at all, he’d reminded himself daily, and it wasn’t as if his ship were a saloon. You’ve a job to do, and so does she. It was a reaffirming conversation he had with himself, and he would nod decisively at his own inner monologue, marching off with renewed resolve... resolve that disappeared overnight as she tested his self-control in the most heinous of ways, and he had no one but himself to blame. Putting her in his bed had been a game at first, a way to make her neck flush and her little nostrils flare, but his cock had been stiff from that first evening onward, a disaster of his own making.

If she’d thought he was lying about previously making his cabin boy sleep at the foot of the bed, which he absolutely was, she had not voiced it. Instead, she curled up near his feet each evening like a little kitten, startling awake when he rose at the middle watch, going to stare out the stern windows while he was gone, and re-curling herself upon his return. And every morning when his eyes opened, hours before the sun rose, his body anticipating the four a.m. bells before they came, he found her small warm form pressed against his throbbing erection, performing tiny movements in her sleep that made him clutch at the bedsheets, barely able to control himself. He didn’t know how she managed to migrate around the bed like a bloody starfish, but the curve of her ass or the crease of her thigh would find the rigid length of his cock with ease every single night, and he was going out of his mind.

That morning had been the worst of it. He’d felt her move up the bed like a scuttling little crab, twisting this way and that until she found her nightly aim—the stiff club of flesh her nearness enflamed. She gave him nothing but cheek that bordered on scorn during the day, but she hungered for his cock in her sleep—at least, that was how it seemed. She’d hitched a leg over him, sprawled out as if it were her bed and he was the interloper, her leg pinning his cock to his belly. And then she’d begin to move. A barely discernible rocking, an infinitesimal movement of her hips, a frustrated little growl from her throat. If she wanted to ride him, he’d thought wretchedly, he’d be happy to provide her saddle with a stallion. Unfortunately, her movements weren’t forceful enough for that; they were more like the swaying of flowers in a garden.

He could start actually sleeping naked, rather than the one-time event he used to wind her up. He could encourage her to don nothing but her linen tunic, give a bit of wind to her garden, the better to find the sensation her body was evidently craving. The petals of her pussy could blossom and spread open around the hard stamen of his cock, rubbing herself to relief until his shaft was slick with her nectar and his cum cooling in a puddle against his belly, and they could both finally get some bloody sleep. It had been all he could do to keep from lifting her to her target, giving them both the friction and respite they needed.

He’d been keeping himself sane by way of a quick tug in the morning when she scurried out of the room to fetch his tea, and another each evening in that time between her arrival to wind him up and then disappear with the dinner tray, before coming back to the cabin and curling up at the foot of the bed, to start the whole process over again. It wasn’t nearly enough. He needed to drain his cock fully and hoped it might take at least a few days before the girl’s nocturnal antics distended it once more to this degree.

He found Stride at the stern, looking out the endless expanse of waves behind them, several pages of parchment clutched tightly in his fist. A missive from the brother, Lirian knew at once.

The quartermaster had a curiously close relationship with the younger sibling who’d inherited the entirety of their father’s estate, along with his title. Cadmus was five years older than his brother and had been raised in the same household for a substantial part of the boy’s childhood until Cadmus had left for sea. The marquis knew the trade route that the Malediction traveled, writing his brother letters and sending them along to the various ports, knowing they would find their way to Cadmus’s hands eventually.

“Do my eyes spot correspondence from the Marquis of Basingstone?” Stride grunted in response as Lirian took up the place beside him, leaning against the railing. “And how is the young buck faring in Londonderry? I’m sorry, His Lordship.”

Stride smiled grimly, grinding out a low scrape of a laugh. “Fucking his way through the gentry, from the sounds of it. He says here he met an enchanting woman from an elvish bloodline that he danced with at Lady Whatsherface’s ball, only to find out her husband had recently returned from traveling overseas. The lesson was learned when the man was banging on his bedroom door, obliging Silas to climb out the window and hide on the roof. Where,” he went on with a snort, “he was stuck until the following evening, leaving the young duchess to fend for herself, still leaking the evidence of their dalliance on the bedclothes.”

Lirian’s head dropped back in laughter, noticing that the sound caught the eye of the small figure up in the crow’s nest, high above their heads. The girl peered down, her small white hands appearing at the sides of her basket before she quickly turned her attention back to the sea.

“Good for him. If someone had made me a lord when I was twenty-five years old, I’d spend the next decade fucking everything in sight as well. Although he does like the married ones. It’s a wonder some cuckolded duke hasn’t found him in the afternoon and knocked his bollocks off with a hammer. Shouldn’t he be taking a wife by now?”

“Says he likes the married ones because their husbands have already dealt with the teaching stage. And he claims he’s not going to marry.” Cadmus shook his head grimly. “Says he won’t take a wife or have children who only know him a few hours of the day. Quite adamant about it, as a matter of fact.”

Lirian frowned. He wondered if all those blushes meant his little Charlie would need to be taught as well. You’re getting preposterously ahead of yourself. And besides, she manages to find your cock while she’s sleeping with no issue, and she clearly knows where she wants to put it.

“So he’s going to let the bloody line die out when they could’ve just given the lordship to you? I suppose I do see his point, though. Matrimony is bad enough, and that’s a rather depressing situation to contemplate if he’s not planning on finding some gargoyle lass.”

Stride grinned, a fearsome sight to behold. “Oh no, he has the whole thing planned out. He married Maris off to someone he handpicked himself, someone who ‘knows his place,’ according to Silas. Says he’s going to fake his own death once they have a few children, with at least one named after him. Leave Maris everything, name her marchioness. That’s his ridiculous fucking plan.”

Stride’s younger brother had joined them on an excursion years earlier, shortly after Cadmus had joined the Malediction’s crew. Even then, the young lordling had the air of a king and an appetite for trouble. He was entitled and bossy and wickedly amusing, and Lirian thought it was a shame that someone with such zeal for life was going to spend the rest of his stuffed into a gentleman’s suit, forced to be part of genteel society. Although I suppose bedding every titled wench in the countryside isn’t a bad way to go.

“Speaking of Maris and her dresses, did you get your bloody souvenir?”

Stride had an odd proclivity for picking up some little bit of bric-a-brac from every port in which they made berth. While other men aboard kept their sea chests full of provisions, the gargoyle kept a bevy of nonsensical little treasures, or dresses in exotic colors and fabrics, which he sent back to his beloved youngest sibling, evidently the future Marchioness of Basingstone.

“As a matter of fact, I did. Right colorful little thing. I’m going to teach it to whistle a song.”

Lirian scowled when he realized the meaning behind Stride’s words. “You mean to tell me you had the audacity to bring one of those filthy birds on my ship?”

“It’s not filthy at all. It’s a sight cleaner than most of the crew, as a matter of fact.”

Lirian scowled. “The one time you don’t purchase a dress...”

“Since when are you interested in ladies’ dresses?”

“Since I was going to ask to buy one from you.”

Stride turned, raising a white eyebrow before casting his glance upward, unmistakably eyeing the crow’s nest. “You planning on putting her in a dress to serve your meals now? And I thought I was meant to be the high falutin’ lord.”

Lirian stared at his quartermaster for several heartbeats, his mind moving too fast for his jaw to form the words. “You—wait, how do you—how long have you—but—how do you bloody know what I want, you miserable sack of stone? Maybe I mean to wear it myself.”

Stride laughed again, a great belly laugh, and Lirian huffed, watching the girl’s head once more peering over the side of the crow’s nest. He should have known. Cadmus Stride didn’t miss a thing.

“Have you known from the start?”

“Since the second day or so.” Stride shrugged. “She does well enough as long as she keeps her mouth shut, but there’s no mistaking it once she starts talking.”

Lirian threw up his hands, vindicated.

“I figure she’s on the run from some man, either her father or whoever her father tried to marry her off to. You mark my words, though—that’s no seamstress. If you take her delicate little arm and open a vein, you’ll have blue blood on your hands.” The gargoyle’s brows came together, frowning. “Are you really planning on putting her in a dress?”

Lirian shrugged, glancing back up at the circular podium at the top of the mast. “I just thought to give her an option, if she wants to put down this silly ruse.”

The rest of the day passed uneventfully, and all too soon eventide approached once more, as the girl struggled into their shared cabin with the dinner tray.

“Sit,” he ordered. “Eat.”

“Captain?’

“I don’t have much of an appetite, Charlie. We don’t waste food on this ship. Have you already had your dinner?” He knew she hadn’t. She made a point of eating in the galley, assisting Grest until she came back to the cabin to collect his tray, before they retired for the evening until middle watch. “Then sit and eat,” he instructed in response to her shaking head.

She was excruciatingly slow in picking up the fork before taking the smallest mouthful she could while still having something on the tines.

“Tell me of your family, boy. How is it you wound up seeking service in my crew? Haven’t you any parents or siblings?”

She was equally slow in answering, weighing her response, but patience had never been a virtue he lacked. He could wait as long as she made it necessary.

“I have a sister,” she murmured at last, and Lirian heard the truth in her words. “But she’s younger than I am, and I haven’t seen her in several years. Will we be making any stops before we reach Atlantis, sir?”

A deft turning of the conversation, one he decided to allow. “Not if we can help it. Besides, there’s very little between here and our jump point. We’d have to go a ways off course, which I am not inclined to do. Unless the urge for feminine company grows so great that I’ll be forced to chart farther south, just to find an island in need of seeding.”

He dropped back in his chair, grinning when her head snapped up, her eyes darting to his spread-open legs before returning hastily to the plate, heat spreading up her neck. His cock throbbed with need, and it was all he could do to keep from pulling it out right then, reminding her of her nightly activities.

“What are your plans once we’ve reached Atlantis?” He asked the question as casually as possible, but it didn’t prevent the girl from nearly choking. It shouldn’t have surprised him that Cadmus saw through her disguise as clearly as he himself had, but he disagreed with his quartermaster’s assessment of her reasoning. He agreed that she was no seamstress, but she possessed magic. She was clearly a lady of standing, and her powers coupled with her station were a puzzle he couldn’t make work. She hadn’t scurried on board with the air of someone running away, Lirian thought. And if she wasn’t running away from something, then she must be running to something.

“Come now, Charlie. Surely, you’ve thought of what you’ll do once we make berth off-realm?”

“I—I suppose I haven’t given it much thought, sir. Will the ship be there long?”

Will the ship be there long, and not will we be there long.

“We’re not the sort of ship that puts in anywhere for long, lad. I daresay it’s not the wisest place in which to get comfortable. Too many temptations for a gentleman to lose himself within.”

“You speak very well for a pirate, sir. What of your family?”

He couldn’t help but laugh at her audacity. Stride was right—the girl gave up the game every time she opened her smart mouth.

“We’ll pretend you didn’t just impugn the honor of the entire crew, boy.”

“Impugn isn’t a word I’d expect a pirate to know.”

“Ahh, but it’s one you know, though? A mere boy of twelve years with no family and no money to his name?” Lirian gleefully noted the way she balled her hands at her sides. They were dangerously close to dropping their disguises now, calling off the whole ridiculous charade, but he’d let the girl make the first move. The first move in everything.

“It may shock you to know that civilised society does exist outside the mainland, Charlie. My mother was a member of the queen’s coterie in her youth. In Andulus, that’s where she was from.”

“And your father, sir?”

Lirian gave the girl a tight-lipped grin. He knew exactly what she was doing, but he didn’t give up his secrets that easily. A secret for a secret, perhaps.

“He was not an Andulusian lord, I’m afraid. Folks don’t come to sea strictly because they’ve nothing else to offer the world, you know. Everyone has a reason, and no two are alike. Freedom is the only thing we all have in common out here. Freedom from being in control, for the sea knows no master. . . Like I said, Charlie, we’ll not be in port long. Best to decide what you’ll do there before we throw anchor.”

She nodded silently, her eyes fixed on a spot on the table as if it were the most interesting thing in the world, anything so she didn’t need to raise her head and look at him. Lirian leaned over and helped himself to several mouthfuls of his dinner, the plate abandoned by the girl. He understood her desire to fixate on something else. It was very hard to look at her face, her long lashes, and her little rosebud mouth and not be reminded of how they looked slack in sleep, her legs raised and practically hooked over his hip, pressing the juncture of her thigh into the hard meat of his cock. He twitched against the front of his trousers once more, the mere thought exciting him.

“Just long enough for you to put in to a number of ports, Captain?”

He looked up sharply, jolted from his far more pleasurable contemplations by the way she sniffed. Stride was probably right. Only a highborn lady would have the temerity to hold her nose in the air in such an unconscious way, as natural as breathing.

“Well, obviously, lad! You didn’t think I was going to join the Temple of Solemnity once we arrived, did you? Wenches in far-off ports are merely friends I’ve not yet made. And I do so value friendships. You should as well, Charlie. I’ll have bathwater this evening,” he went on, not giving her a chance to respond. “If you leave with the tray now, you may even be able to persuade Grest to carry up the yoke. Look sharp.” He watched her go with narrowed eyes, thunking his head against the chair back the instant she was gone. This, Lirian thought, dragging a hand over his face, was a terrible, bloody mistake.

* * *

The tub had been taken from the hold of a merchant ship bound for the Dragonfly Islands. The intended recipient was some well-fed, pasty-skinned northern lord who’d thought building himself a grand manor house on the island chain would somehow make him a king to the people who already lived there, the notion of which he was fast dissuaded once he’d actually arrived. Lirian knew those waters better than any other place on earth. He had played as a child on the same sandbars and rocky shoals that took many an unaware ship out of commission, and the area around the archipelago had been his favorite hunting ground for years, a fact the presumptuous lord quickly learned.

The Malediction and her captain had made sure to raid every ship bound for the island where the man had installed himself until his provisions were skint and he was forced to acknowledge the Dragonfly Queen. Since then, the ornate tub taken from the manor house had been requisitioned for Lirian’s own use, the spoils of plunder, and it was one of his favorite things in the world.

He disliked the silky film freshwater left on his skin, and over the course of the years, he’d discovered that milk added to saltwater prevented him from turning, in addition to soothing his many abrasions. The girl had settled into her role as milkmaid well enough, visiting Brigita twice a day, pail in hand.

“You know, I’ve never had to milk a cow before. Never had to collect eggs from chickens either. Didn’t think I was coming to sea to learn animal husbandry.”

She was never without something cheeky to say and seemed quite unaware of herself as she did so. He disliked how adorable it was—or at least how adorable he found it. He listened from the far side of the cabin as she struggled inside with the pails Grest had indeed carried for her, before filling his ornate tub with the hot seawater.

“How much milk, sir?”

Lirian grinned at her dubious tone. “The whole pail, Charlie. I can take it from here.”

“You won’t need help undressing, Captain? We wouldn’t want you to be confounded having to remove your own boots. Am I putting in this brick of lye?”

“No, none of that tonight. Careful with that sharp little tongue of yours, or I’ll make you stay to scrub my back.” He smiled again at the sound of her mutterings, soft enough that she thought he wouldn’t be able to hear, to her folly. He should have made her stay to scrub his back, that was a wasted opportunity, but he was impatient for privacy that night. He’d not changed form in several weeks—too worried about leaving the wench completely unattended—and there was no cause to scrape his skin raw with the lye. He wanted to sink into the water and stroke his cock and nothing more, wasting no time before palming himself the instant he was alone behind the partition, sliding into the steaming tub. He was sick and tired of romancing his bloody hand, but for the moment, it was all he had.

The girl hadn’t left the room yet. Because there’s nowhere for her to go. He felt a flicker of guilt at the thought. He’d made a point to keep her away from the crew, and other than the ogre in the kitchen, she didn’t have any friends on board. Still, there were a million places she could go, he thought peevishly, twisting one hand up his shaft, lingering over the underside of his cockhead. Go sit in the unused crow’s nest, the galley, go talk to the wretched cow, go teach Stride’s filthy bird to whistle a blasted tune. He was busy, and he didn’t want to be interrupted until he had erupted.

Lirian closed his eyes, focusing on nothing but touch, twisting up his engorged shaft once more. In his mind’s eye, he was able to conjure a small white hand, pale and bright against his copper skin. Her fingertips would be soft, hands that had never known a day of labor, skin that was fragrant with creams and perfumes. He could almost feel the soft press of her against him—small-boned and delicate, fitting against the long curve of his body with ease. He imagined nails raking down his chest, a little vixen instead of a shrinking minnow, seeking lower and lower until they reached his cock, her fingers so small and dainty they were barely able to grip his girth. He groaned, slipping a bit deeper into the water and sinking into his fantasy. The room beyond was silent. Good. Privacy at last.

He would lead her, show her how tight her fingers needed to be to give him the most pleasure, the teaching stage Stride’s brother preferred to circumvent. He would guide her little hands in the twisting motion he enjoyed until she was pumping his cock on her own, pressing into his root and exciting the hidden beast within on every downstroke. She would roll and squeeze his sac, giving each testicle equal attention before increasing her speed, stroking his cock so well that he was thrusting into her hands, the need to come obliterating all his other senses, and he moaned again.

He wanted to undress her with his teeth, wanted to kiss down her body and suck the tight buds of her nipples, wanted to press his mouth between her thighs and lick up the sweetness of her honey, wanted to drown in it before he fucked her senseless... but first he wanted to coat her little hands with the thick flood of his release. Water lapped around him as he thrust upward, nearly able to hear her soft, breathy coo of encouragement, his end so near he could almost taste it. Perhaps she might even consent to letting him have her in the open sea. His form changed, long tail consuming his legs, his cock splitting into two wriggling segments, just as eager to fill and fuck. He imagined her letting him use both, enveloping him in her tight, wet heat as she moaned, her hair wavering on the water’s surface. His cock breached the rippling milky surface of the bathwater on each pump of his hips like a fearsome creature of the deep, fucking into the tight ring of his fingers, wishing it were her.

The sound of the wooden partition scraping the floor and the sharp little breath that followed broke his fantasy, and his eyes popped open. The door had not opened, which meant... the girl was still there, had never left, and had been listening to him pleasure himself. That was the screen, he realized. There was a shadow at the crease of the screen, discernible even though she was likely holding her breath to keep still. She wasn’t just listening to him stroke his cock to thoughts of her, for it was foolish pretending it was anyone but her—she was watching it happen, had gone out of her way to watch him. He’d already been close, but her presence on the other side of the partition, the knowledge she was there watching him, was enough to tip him over the edge.

He grunted as his cock jerked, balls throbbing, and the first rope hit his shoulder. The second expulsion was always the most voluminous, coating his chest, and he hoped she took note of his erupting passion and how she enflamed it. He didn’t hold back his moan as he continued to pump his hips, wringing up his shaft as it contracted, spitting up the last of his release until his knuckles were cum-coated and sticky. He groaned, sagging into the water, spent at last.

By the time he left the tub, sated and sleepy, the room was empty. Lirian chuckled to himself, shaking his head. Now she wants to make herself scarce. He refused to be bothered by the situation. It was his bloody cabin, and he was taking care of a biological imperative. If the girl hadn’t wanted to be party to it, she could have left earlier. The truth was she had wanted to stay, obviously, had taken pains to remain silent and spy on him through the screen. What she saw—he yawned hugely, dropping into bed—was not his problem. All he wanted to do now was get some sleep before the midnight bells roused him.

His sleep did not last long. He had no idea what time it was when he jolted awake, for it was not the half-hourly chime that did so. He was pinioned to the bed, restrained by what felt like a dozen different limbs before he realized it was merely the girl. His cock was hard, trapped beneath the inside of her leg, and a now-familiar rocking movement rolled against his hip.

He could ignore her, he considered. He could close his eyes and force himself back to sleep, letting her hump against his side like a pathetically wound-up dog until the first watch bells sounded... or he could help her find completion and leave his rest undisturbed. He did not debate long. The girl was muttering in her sleep, emitting frustrated grunts as she missed her target again and again. Lirian twisted, placing tentative hands on the sides of her hips, waiting to see if the action would startle her to wakefulness. Who cares if it does? Either way, you can go back to sleep.

“I’ll fetch your blasted milk,” she slurred against his side, her words barely decipherable. “I’ll pour it all over your stupid smirk. See how handsome you are then.”

She was as light as a feather as he lifted her, relocating her atop him, the leg she’d had stretched over his groin coming to fall on the side of his hip. Her reaction was immediate. A breathy sigh as she felt the hardness she sought pressed right to the spot she needed it most. He bit back a groan when she began to move, canting her hips against him at a jackrabbit pace, with a single-mindedness that could give no doubt to what she was doing, nor what she hoped to achieve. He wanted to help her along, wanted to stroke her with his fingers until she cried out—or better yet, offer up the service of his tongue. He would gladly lick and suck on her swollen little pearl until his face glistened and she was satisfied, particularly if she were to take care of the needs of the ravenous dragon in his trousers as well.

She cried out again, a whimper of pleasure that seemed to reverberate down his thickened shaft like lightning. He wanted to know what sort of sound she might make if she rode him properly, her hips moving at this same cadence, her sweet cunt stuffed with his cock. He wanted to hear her pleasured little moans, see the way her head would drop back, exposing her kissable throat to his greedy mouth. Again he imagined fucking her in the water, with his long, eel-like tail wrapping around her legs, both cocks having her at once, stretching her, filling her, consuming her. He wondered if she would sing as sweetly beneath him, her back pressed to the sand as he rutted her like the beast he was, emptying first one cock and then the other, fucking her in succession until she clenched around him and they were both sated.

“Does that feel good, minnow?” he breathed against her hair, hands still at her hips, holding her in place as she rubbed herself against his erection. “Is that what you need? I can give you something better, you know.”

Her tempo had reached a frenzied pace, and he thought again how much better it would be if they were both bare. Her clit would find the friction it craved against the veined, ridged texture of his shaft, pressing into his cockhead and helping him along as well until they were both satisfied and the sheets were thoroughly abused. If she continued like this, he might be able to come again, a consideration that had him raising his hips slightly, hoping it might help the friction.

It helped, he realized a breath later, but not in the way he’d wanted. A strangled cry broke from her throat, and he felt her tremble; her peak ascended, the pressure of her clothed cunt smashing against his cock nearly making him go cross-eyed.

“There we are, darling,” he murmured as she spasmed against him, shaking until she went boneless in his arms, spreading against him like a puddle.

Her breathing evened out, the deepest he’d heard it since he’d given the damnable order for her to sleep in his bed four days earlier. Lirian smiled wryly. Fucking typical. His balls throbbed, and his cock jerked in need. It was nearly midnight, and the bells would be sounding soon enough; he sighed. He’d squeeze in a quick tug before the four o’clock bells, just as he had each night for the previous four. It was an endless cycle of frustration, he thought, but at least one of them was able to sleep soundly.

5

CHARLOTTE

“Oy there! Boy! What are you skulking around for?”

The morning was perfect and mild, the best weather one could hope for at sea. She had been on the Malediction for two weeks by then, and she was certain she’d never tire of mornings like this. Sunlight glittered upon the waves, and the sky was an unbroken stretch of azure that reached out to the horizon, kissing the water until one was unable to discern where the sky ended and the sea began.

“Sir? I’m not skulking anywhere!” Charlotte grit her teeth, reminding herself to watch her tone. The gargoyle was the last person on board she could afford to anger, especially that day. “I just came down from my shift.”

The basket on the mizzenmast was the smallest crow’s nest of the three, perfect for her alone, and in her two weeks as a member of the Malediction’s crew, she had not been joined by anyone else in taking it, and the watch had become her favorite two hours of the day. She had only just descended the mast, fretting over what to do with herself now that her shift was over—where to go? where to hide?—and had done nothing to earn the quartermaster’s dressing-down.

“Well, get your tail back up there. I’ve got Pike working on repairs, which is something you can’t do. His Majesty can powder his own arse today. You’ll be finishing the full shift.”

Charlotte had to fight to hide her pleased smile, nodding quickly and reascending the rope ladder before she cheered. The crow’s nest offered shelter from Stride’s all-seeing eyes, and she yawned hugely once she was safely ensconced in the basket, stretching her back, confident he would be unable to magically appear in her basket to snap at her for appearing as if she needed more work to do. She would stay up in the nest all day, if it were possible. It was the ideal place to be alone with her thoughts, and her thoughts that morning were tumultuous.

There was no reason to yawn, considering she had benefited from extra sleep the previous night. She had woken that morning in the wee hours before dawn, feeling loose-limbed and languid, so comfortable that she had forgotten where she was. All she knew was that she had slept and slept deeply. There was still a fogginess clouding her mind, a pleasant weight she could feel pressing her into the feather mattress beneath her like an embrace, and she’d sunk into it gladly. She had stretched beneath the weight of her blankets, arching her back and scraping her toes through the cool sheets, nuzzling her face against the warmth of her pillow. When the pillow had the temerity to move of its own accord, she’d frozen. He’d rumbled in his sleep, breathing deeply against her hair before slackening once more.

She’d realized very quickly that she was not in her tastefully appointed bedroom in the stately country house belonging to the Duchess of Podmire, of whom she’d been a guest when she first received news of Sylvia’s distress. It was not her bed at all, and the heavy weight atop her was not merely the comfortable cloudiness of sleep, nor was it her lovely matelassé coverlet with the broderie Anglaise trim. It was an arm—a heavy, well-muscled arm —pinning her to the mattress. Her comfortable pillow was, in actuality, a man’s chest, partially bared by his open shirt, and it was his bronze skin dusted in dark hair that she nuzzled her nose against, not the bedding at all. The captain.

Her breath had frozen in her lungs. She’d been unable to blink for several long, echoing heartbeats, waiting for the moment when she would be cuffed in the mouth or at least sharply dressed down. Or worse, waited for the scathing comment to come dripping off his poisonous tongue, but it never did. The captain slept on, unaware that she had somehow crept up the bed, pressing herself to his chest. The long line of his hard, well-formed body molded against hers, and his arm curled around her, holding her in place as if she were a lover.

The long, hard line of his body... and the long, hard line of his cock pressed to her belly, easily felt even through the layers of clothing that separated them. Her mouth had dropped open, barely able to suppress a squeak of shock and a shiver of desire, her hips shifting slightly to better press to his erection. The response had been immediate—a swallowed groan from his throat, his own hips surging forward, grinding his cock against her. Thankfully though, he had not woken.

She’d realized the bells would be ringing shortly, the start of the middle watch when he would rise and take his rounds. She had held her breath, waiting for the moment when his body would shift, readying herself to slip from his grip the instant his arms loosened... but the moment she was waiting for never came. Eight bells tolled. It was four a.m. Middle watch was over, and he would rise for the day after one more half toll. She’d slept through the captain’s rounds, slept through all the subsequent bells overnight, and practically slept the entire night through. He hadn’t woken her, which meant a sharp reprimand would be waiting for her in another thirty minutes when he rose for the day.

She had decided to head off the retribution, freeing herself from his tentacle-like grip and the hard shape of his cock before sliding out of bed and putting her shoes on in the dark. Making a point of being out of the room before he woke, she’d made sure a tray of coffee and tea was waiting for him, the reports from the night officers weighted under the sugar. Brigita was milked earlier than normal, much to the cow’s annoyance, and Charlotte had managed to take her place in the crow’s nest for her portion of the morning watch without ever having to see him upright. She wasn’t doing anything other than delaying the inevitable, she knew, but it had felt necessary at the time. Now she was alone in the crow’s nest, far away from him and his smoldering eyes and infuriating smile, and she’d be happy to stay there until they reached Atlantis.

You could have put an end to this silly ruse then—should have. You ought to have taken his cock out, ought to have let him wake up to you stroking him. He would have enjoyed it, and then he would know. You should have let him fuck you, struck a new bargain—passage for pleasure. You might never need to leave his bed for the rest of the journey. It wasn’t the first time the traitorous voice in her head had whispered such things, and it was growing harder to quiet.

The captain himself wasn’t making things any easier, of course. She’d stood beside him the previous afternoon at the starboard rail, biting her tongue to force her face into a neutral expression as he peeled out of his clothes, right there on deck.

“It’s a beautiful day for a swim, Charlie,” he’d said gaily, giving her a golden grin. “And the cold water will do me good. I’m about to rechart our course to the nearest island with a pleasure house and put down anchor, if you know what I mean.”

The look he’d given her then was positively devious. His eyes had a way of glimmering like daggers when he was needling her, which he did constantly. He’d arched his back once his shirt was dropped into her waiting arms, and the sunlight on his bronze skin made him look like a godling.

“We’ll bring you along, of course. Give you your first taste of putting into port. There’s nothing better in any realm.” His sword belt was next, and she staggered under its weight, holding her breath when his trousers followed.

“Then I suppose you ought to look for an agreeable fish on your swim, Captain,” she’d gritted out, nearly shaking with the force of trying to remain calm at the sight of his cock, trousers added to the heap in her arms. “We wouldn’t want to delay the journey by charting off-course.”

His laughter was bright and loud, seeming to come up from his toes as he stretched again, as naked as the day he was born. She tried very hard not to notice the delicious swell of his behind or his gloriously well-muscled thighs as he pulled himself to stand on the inner rail, but they were impossible to ignore. His back was broad and similarly rippled with sinewy muscle, his nut-brown skin cut through with a bevy of scars. If his lovely ass would have been the last thing she’d see before he disappeared into the water, Charlotte had told herself, it would have been fine. He was handsome and well sculpted, and she could simply pretend he was an elaborate carving, a work of art. Whatever god happened to be listening at that moment, however, had been a trickster.

“Hopefully, I’ll find an agreeable mermaid,” he countered, turning just enough for her to be compelled to endure the sight of his cock again. It was practically at eye level, and she had no choice but to notice the way the ridged crown at the base of its head was visible beneath the thin membrane of his foreskin, leaving her no alternative but to wonder how sensitive it was and if he enjoyed having it teased with the tip of a tongue. He palmed the fat sac of his scrotum, forcing her to acknowledge the impressive size of each of his bollocks, wondering again, not for the first time, if he liked for them to be suckled and stretched, played with before they were emptied. “Goddess knows I’ve got something to give her. She won’t be able to swim straight for a week once I’m through, but you’re right, Charlie, my boy—we might not need to change course.”

Heat had burned up to the tip of her ears as he winked at her, his cock twitching as if in agreement, just before he dove in. She’d peered down after him, gasping when a curving line of jagged fins rose from the water, serpentining next to the boat before disappearing beneath the depths. His back had been as wide as one of the long boats, she’d realized with a swallow, giving a bit of credence to the assertion that her was, in fact, as big as the ship in his other form. The thought of him finding a mermaid to fuck left her balling her fists in an incomprehensible rage. She had made mistake after mistake, and not boarding this ship as a courtesier, her only responsibility to keep his cock satisfied, had been the most egregious of them all.

Charlotte dropped her head back against the mast pole with a thunk. That morning hadn’t been the first she’d woken in an odd position, feeling as though she had been well fucked. It was not the first time she’d woken slick with arousal, nor was it the first time she’d felt languidly sated, leaving her heavy and content. Each time it happened, if someone would have told her she had spent the night working in one of the pleasure houses, she would not have been shocked by the news.

The morning after she’d watched him pleasuring himself in the bath had been one such occasion. Closing her eyes for a few moments in contemplation, she leaned against the mast, sucking in a lungful of the wind that whipped at this height. She disliked his smug, smirking smile and the way he delighted in making her blush, but the captain was handsome and roguish, and the smell of him set fire to something deep in her belly that smoldered between her thighs. It helped that his cock was very appealing. Thick, with a ridged underside and a crown of raised nodules at the base of the head, nestled but clearly visible in the snug sheath of his foreskin.

She had stood trembling near the door, a hand pressed over her mouth as she’d listened to the water lapping rhythmically, shocked over what she’d suspected he was doing. She wasn’t meant to still be there, ought to be giving him his privacy, she knew that... It was only when he had let out a pained-sounding moan that she’d crept up behind the partition, only wanting to ensure he wasn’t hurt, she’d told herself. He’d groaned again, and from her slim vantage point at the separation of the screens, she had seen it was a moan of pleasure, had watched as he’d stroked his cock, rising out of the water like some leviathan beast, that studded crown appearing and disappearing.

They’re all eager to take a ride on this dragon. When he’d begun to thrust upward, fucking into his hand, she’d understood why. It had been all she could do to fist the material of her stolen breeches, despite desperately wanting to either slide a hand into her waistband and stroke her fingers into her slick folds or go around the screen and sink down on his thick length, giving him something proper to fuck.

She thought, not for the first time, that it would be so much easier if he slept naked. She didn’t know why he’d bothered stripping off his clothes that first night, for when he’d woken for his midnight rounds, she’d listened to him grumbling in the dark for his trousers, snapping at Charlie to light the lamps before he stubbed a toe on the bedpost. Since then, he’d dropped into bed wearing whatever he’d had on since morning, kicking off his boots and nothing more. If she’d woken to find herself pressed to his unclothed straining erection, it would be a kindness to assist him in such a situation, she was certain. It couldn’t be comfortable, and it would need to be dealt with eventually. Why not by her, while he enjoyed his rest? After all, the time he spent resting was minuscule as it was, and a ship needed her captain at his best, did it not? At the very least, it seemed in keeping with her duties—she was there to serve him.

It had been more than a week since she’d watched him stroking himself, but the remembrance of his orgasm was seared into her mind—his cock erupting in the bathwater, pearlescent seed coating his chest, and his deep moan of pleasure—and she’d revisited it in her head time and time again. She wanted to have him flat on his back, vulnerable beneath her as she licked him, learning the heft and weight of the heavy appendage in her hand, exploring the path of every vein with her lips, nibbling on his foreskin and sucking on his cock tip as if it were some exotic delicacy. Yes, she thought she would quite gladly service him in his sleep to relieve his pent-up tension if he went to bed naked each night. And he wouldn’t need to fuck a bloody mermaid.

It didn’t help matters that when he wasn’t baiting her or toying with her, he was kind. He’d taught her to tell time by way of the bells, had allowed her to accompany him on his midnight rounds on more than one occasion, stood dangerously close to her side as the trawler net was pulled up, full of prawn and crabs and other scuttling sea creatures that Grest would use to make their meals. Lirian guided her hands in learning the ropes, chuckling at her lack of knowledge, but remaining patient with her tutelage until she’d managed to master several essential knots on her own. He’d let her stand at his side while he stared at their charts, explaining the jump point into Atlantis, as well as showing her where they would be headed next, back to Dragonfly Island, the port the Malediction called home.

He was charming and witty and entirely too well-spoken for a pirate, infuriatingly glib, and far too pleased with himself. Lirian. She would’ve been happy to take him as a lover if this had been a passenger ship and she had boarded it as Charlotte Davenport, but as it stood, it was dangerous to feel the things he woke in her. Heat and hunger, ravenous hunger. Dangerous for them both. Hunger twisted her belly, her cunt aching to be filled by him, and waking up pressed against him with the sound of his heartbeat jumping beneath her cheek only increased it.

He’s a boor and a pig, and he thinks you’re a preteen boy. Stop thinking about his cock and start thinking about how you’re going to disappear on the island. She would shed her disguise the instant she could slip from the crew, getting lost in the crowd on Atlantis, and then she needed to find the auction. She would slip into a new skin, get to Sylvia, and set all to rights. And then you never have to think about Captain Lirian Jurel and his perfect cock ever again.

Charlotte opened her eyes, squinting against the sunlight. Pushing off the mast, yawning again, she gripped the edge of the nest, looking out to sea... when she saw it. A spot in the distance, a black shape at the horizon, growing as she blinked. She’d been on board the Malediction for two weeks, the most boring two weeks she could remember spending in this form. She didn’t know why she’d thought the life of a pirate would be all excitement and danger, for there’d been no sign of either since they’d left Port Perico. She completed her shift in the crow’s nest each morning, and in all that time, she’d never spotted a single bloody thing.

But now there was unmistakably a ship—a ship!—bearing down in their direction, and she had no idea what to do. Whirling, she looked to see if the ship had been spotted by the other barrelman, her heart sinking when she saw the crow’s nest on the main mast empty. She was alone, the only one on duty because Pike was doing ship repairs, she remembered, and it was her job to alert the crew.

The captain had been the one to give her the cowbell. When she’d asked what she was meant to use to sound the alert, as the only bell was on the mainmast, Lirian—the captain, she corrected herself—had smiled malevolently. The cowbell was fetched from the hold, taken from Brigita’s neck, and he’d found it a hilarious jape to give her the clanking square of tin. Charlotte had never considered that she might possess a fear of heights until the moment when she was expected to scale the mast under the watchful eyes of the two men. She had swallowed her trepidation and climbed steadily upward, gritting her teeth as the bell clunked against her hip with every rung she ascended, and the sound of his laughter with each dull reverberation had made her face heat; she’d wanted to fling it down, catching him squarely in his stupidly handsome face.

She took up the bell now, mind racing, trying to remember the gargoyle’s instructions. Three clangs of her bell in quick succession for a ship. Two additional for a passenger vessel. Three for a merchant ship. For other pirates, she was to signal without end until an officer responded. The spyglass in her pocket was slender and short, easy for her to carry as she climbed the mast, and more powerful than it looked. She was able to see the shape of the ship as she peered through the eyepiece: a sloop, smaller than the Malediction. The sails were unadorned, bleached ivory, and Charlotte held her breath as she scanned the masts, trying and failing to find their flag.

She might be reprimanded for giving a false alarm, might be given hard labor, might be whipped, might have any manner of punishments dealt out to her... But all of them would pale in comparison next to what would happen if they were attacked and she did not give the proper warning. Scooping up the cowbell, she began to shake it frantically, as hard and as loud as she could until Mr. Stride called up from the second deck.

“Oy, what is it, boy?”

“Another ship, sir. Coming up fast on the rear. A sloop.”

“What colors is she flying?”

Charlotte swallowed hard, hoping she was wrong. “None, sir. She’s not flying any flag.”

She thought the news would be poorly received, that the gargoyle would curse and shout and that an air of panic would overtake the crew. Instead, the quartermaster seemed pleased. His grin was tight-lipped, and his eyes flashed as he gave the order for one of the men on deck to fetch the captain.

“To stations, lads. We might finally have ourselves a proper fracas.” He seemed delighted, she realized. Bloody fucking pirates. “Keep your spyglass out, Charlie, don’t lose them. Give the alert if they run up a flag.”

Every member of the crew seemed to belch out from the belly of the ship simultaneously, and she realized the boatswain had likely called for all hands. She didn’t know why she’d imagined pirates would be a ragtag team of disorganized bandits, for this group of bandits was excruciatingly well organized. She watched in horror as a flag was run up their own mast—black, bearing the same emblem of their mainsail, rendered in white with the addition of a red heart.

It occurred to her for the first time since she’d boarded that she was in danger. That’s a pirate flag; you’re on a fucking pirate ship. What is wrong with you, you little idiot!? Getting comfortable, fantasizing about that rapscallion and his perfect cock instead of planning your escape! The rapscallion in question had appeared, his long teeth stretched in a jagged smile, looking every bit the rogue and just as delighted as his first mate.

Twig, one of the only members of the crew she’d had more than a passing conversation with, ascended the mainmast to take up the crow’s nest there, pulling a spyglass twice the size of Charlotte’s off their hip, focusing on the opposite horizon.

“Want to make sure we’re not surprised from the other end,” they called back to her. “If these are Corsairs, that’s sometimes the strategy they use.”

Through her own eyepiece, Charlotte watched in horror as the opposite ship raised its flag at last, similarly black, with two white skulls facing off, a red hourglass between them. The sound of a cannon going off on the other ship made her shriek, dropping to the floor of her basket and covering her head, uncaring about who saw and what they thought. This was a mistake, a horrible mistake. She was Lady Charlotte Davenport, not some gangling, underfed teenager, not a servant who fetched bathwater and served meals, and most certainly not a pirate.

By the time she rose to her feet once more, the atmosphere of the ship had changed. They still seemed excited, happy even that they were going to be engaging in what was apparently a battle, but the warning shot fired from the other ship’s deck had ignited what could only be described as bloodlust, and there was an edge of aggression to the rigorous control of every man on deck.

“Charlie. Down. Now.” Lirian’s voice was mild, but there was an unmistakable note of command she had never heard that made her shiver.

She was midway through her climb when a cannon fired from the Malediction’s lower deck, their own warning shot, and she shrieked again, nearly losing her grip on the rope ladder to which she clung.

His hand around her upper arm the moment she was on two feet was tight. “Well done. Now, back to quarters with you.”

She could end this. She could end this right now without either ship needing to truly fire another shot, if she dropped into the water and opened herself, she could put an end to whatever was about to happen. “But what about —”

“I know this ship,” Stride announced, his face screwed up in a familiar scowl. “They were at Perico. They’ve been tailing us.”

The captain’s eyes narrowed for a moment before his smile stretched and his gilded tooth winked in the sun. “Well, that changes things, doesn’t it? We ought to give them a proper welcome. It’s a fine day to be at sea, Cadmus. No quarter,” he instructed Stride, the gargoyle repeating the order in a triumphant voice, rattling the cutlass at his side, the order echoed once again by the boatswain farther down deck.

Lirian had a similar sword on his belt, she saw as if for the very first time, realizing with a sinking pit in her stomach that it was not merely for decoration or to make him seem more dangerously attractive, which it did. A red banner ran up the line, fitting snugly beneath their existing flag, an advertisement to the other ship they would not hesitate to shed blood without mercy.

“Wait! Wait th-there’s no reason for a fight. We can end this now. I can—”

His hand latched around her arm once more, dragging her close as he lowered his head.

“Back to the cabin, now.” Two of his long fingers pressed to the underside of her chin, forcing her eyes up to look at him. He was close enough to kiss, if only she had been Charlotte Davenport at that moment. “Don’t make me tell you again, love. This is no place for you. Go back to the cabin and lock the door behind you. If we’re boarded and they make it to the lower deck, I want you to go hide in the hold.”

When he released his grip, Charlotte felt as though she were falling, as if she had tumbled from the crow’s nest, wind rushing at her before the hard reality of the deck rushed up to meet her at last. Run, get below, like he said. You’re worthless on legs. He’s right, this is no place for you. Charlotte spun, racing for the staircase and throwing herself down. Love?! She was out of breath by the time she’d reached his quarters in the forecastle, bolting the door behind her as he’d instructed, positive she was being given special treatment, absolutely certain she’d never heard other members of the crew referred to as love, and completely at a loss over what she was meant to do with herself now.

The endearment sparked a memory. The windows in his cabin, the beveled glass she stood before as he took his rounds, on the nights she did not accompany him. His cabin was simple and tidy, absent the decadent opulence she’d first expected to find. The beveled glass windows at the far wall on the ship’s stern, overlooking the sea, gave the space all the opulence it required, and it was the windows that beckoned her each night, as if the sea itself were attempting to call her home. The moon would cast the rolling waves in a silvery-white glow, making the star sea melt into water, an impossibility to tell where one ended and the next began.

She would stand before the glass and look out at the sea, at war with herself. The weight of the water subsumed all. She was hardly aware of her existence when she was beneath the waves, and the ability to remember something as trivial as dreams or the sunset or the drape of a strong arm around her seemed preposterous. There was allegedly some sleeping sea god out there somewhere, dead and dreaming in the dark. They whispered that he would rise again, but she didn’t believe it. She knew how oppressive the dark heart of the ocean was, how easy it was to lose oneself, and if there was a lost sea god at all, he had forgotten himself and would never wake. Something deep within her would ache, some hidden chasm that longed for the darkness and the absence of feeling, feelings she only felt in this human form... and then he would return from his rounds, smelling like the sea, like home, but hot in a way that things were only hot upon dry land, and her heart would ache instead. She liked being Charlotte Davenport, and she was not ready to give her up.

“Do you ever get tired of it?” she had asked him one night. Finding her at the windows upon his return, he stood next to her silently as they both looked out at the melancholy water.

“Of this view?” He chuckled. “Never.”

“Of all of it,” she’d clarified, glancing up at him. “Life at sea, no roots, adrift in the storm. This short mortal life,” she’d added in a whisper, mostly to herself.

He was quiet for a long moment, and she’d felt the weight of his eyes pressing into her, but she’d been unable to pull her gaze from the waves.

“My roots are right here, love. I’m more at home in these waters than I ever have been on land, more than I ever could be in some block prison of a house. The walls closing in and no sky above you... that’s dreadful stuff.” She’d huffed and he’d grinned, as was their custom by then. “Adrift in the storm... but if this is home, am I ever really adrift? There’s no controlling a storm, and it doesn’t matter whether you’re on land or sea; that’s always true. Freedom is in the lack of control. Wherever the wind blows us,” he murmured, nose practically touching the glass, “that’s where we’re meant to be. There’s always a heading if you let the sea be in charge. All things end, eventually.”

She’d lain in bed that night positive he’d called her some endearment she’d not caught in the moment, then decided her imagination was running away from her. Now, though, now she remembered, her bones shifting within her. Love. Could he possibly know? Had he figured out her secret in these two weeks together?

She watched from the windows as the other ship made its approach, coming up along the Malediction’s port side. They were too close for cannons, too close for guns. The collateral damage would be too great on both sides, which meant one thing—they meant to board. He said to run, to hide in the hold. You can hide with Brigita. For a panicked moment, she wondered if she ought to go now. Take your roll and run while you’re able. Maybe you can find a trunk and some hardtack and manage until you make it to Atlantis. Or maybe that captain will change course and you’ll have to drag the whole bloody thing to the depths, and you’ll have to swim back to Perico, right back to where you started. She needed to keep her focus, needed to remember the most important thing was getting back to her sister, which meant reaching her destination, regardless of who captained the ship.

Charlotte gathered her meager belongings, ensuring her roll was tightly packed and easy to carry. She would stop in the galley on the way down to the hold and load up on supplies while it was empty. She could steal some fresh water and food she would ration, and she would make it to her destination. She just needed to keep control of the situation. Freedom is in the lack of control. She stopped in the middle of the room, swaying, feeling his words like a punch to the gut.

She couldn’t leave him to be hurt in this, which was the most ridiculous, nonsensical thought her brain had ever churned out. This man was a stranger to her, a pirate, a brigand. She had barely known him for two weeks, and now she was thinking of abandoning her carefully laid plans because men were incapable of not picking fights with one another? You need to get back home, let the rogue fend for himself. None of this is real; you’re only hungry. You’re being as ridiculous as Sylvia! Her sister felt too deeply, fell too easily, and her heart was the reason why she was in her current predicament, a place Charlotte had found her sister before. Lirian had awakened Charlotte’s hunger, nothing more, and she needed to feed. Once she did, he would quickly lose his appeal. It was good advice, and she knew she ought to follow it.

That didn’t explain why she dropped her belongings before making her way back to the deck, instead of running the other way to the galley. If she hadn’t boarded under the cover of a disguise, if it would be safe to do, she would take him as a lover, if she could. Despite wanting to slap the smile off his face a large amount of the time, she could not allow him to be hurt, not when she could prevent it so easily.

She was able to hear the fighting as she ran up the corridor, pounding up the staircase that led to the deck. The melee was a cacophony of crashing swords, shouts and curses, all their noise blurring into a swirling vortex of grey sound. It was too late for her to do anything. She shouldn’t have listened, shouldn’t have gone back to the cabin where she slept in his bed and felt his warmth, the smell of him disrupting something in her brain. Now they had already boarded, and it was too late to take the other ship out of the equation, not unless she was making the Malediction her target and taking down its captain and crew along with the other pirates.

She saw him then, on the upper deck at the stern, near the ship’s wheel, seemingly delighted in the fight in which he was partaking. She watched as the pirate he was clashing swords with was suddenly joined by another, leaving him outmanned, and her heart climbed up into her mouth.

“Lirian!” she shrieked in warning, pushing through the huge, colliding bodies to reach him, to warn him. At the sound of her voice, his head raised, his eyes bright and widened in surprise. She never saw the tip of the rapier as it sliced through the air, the other ship’s cabin boy evidently feeling duty-bound to attack her. Charlotte barely felt the slice of the narrow blade tip, wincing at the surprising sting of it, never taking her eyes off Lirian’s. His face contorted into an ugly expression of fury, the cutlass in his left hand swinging in an arc, as the short sword in his right plunged into the man before him.

Mr. Stride appeared before her, palming the other cabin boy’s head as if it were no larger than an orange, throwing the lad like a rag doll. When his big hands raised again, they landed at her shoulders, launching her off her feet. The last thing she saw before she went tumbling down the staircase behind her was the head of the man who had been fighting Lirian, the cutlass he had swung parting the offending skull from the enemy’s shoulders like a coconut from a tree. Her back hit the wall at the bottom of the staircase, and the world went black.

* * *

When she woke, Charlotte was once again confused as to her whereabouts. She was in the center of a large bed, feather pillows beneath her, the bedclothes pulled up to her chin. Her head was pounding.

Had she taken a fall from her horse? Her time as a guest at Podmire had proven she was no equestrian. She avoided the beasts as much as she could, preferring riding in carriages to being forced onto a saddle.

“Welcome back to the world, love.”

At the sound of his voice, it all came rushing back. She bolted upright, the room spinning, and she might have tumbled out of the bed if he had not been sitting right there to push her shoulders back, guiding her gently to lie against the pillows once more. The sky beyond the window was a wash of violet, eventide already. He was sitting beside the bed, his legs stretched out and crossed at the ankle, heel resting on the edge of the footboard. Despite the morning’s tumult, he looked no worse for wear.

“Do you know, we were actually having fun before you showed up and wrecked things, darling.” Her mouth dropped open in offense, and she sucked in a breath to defend herself when he held up his hand. “Cadmus was right. They were at Perico. Saw the boys recruiting at the tavern. Or was it the saloon? I don’t remember where it was you said you signed up, Charlie. Assumed that meant we were a bare-bones crew, and they’re not completely wrong. We are running thin right now. They thought to board us, take whatever we were carrying in the hold, and make our crew their own. But you see, love, what they didn’t know is that our thin is double what some of these other ships carry, and more than that, none of them have Cadmus Stride as their quartermaster. There’s not a person on my ship who’s not worth three of any one of these other bilge rats sailing out there.”

Charlotte didn’t attempt to raise her head again, unsure if she would be able to do so and not be sick, and so she watched from the pillows as he poured water from the washbasin pitcher into a smooth cup carved from an intricately designed coconut shell. Her stomach swooped when he put a hand behind her head, raising her just enough to press the cup to her lips, allowing her to drink.

“So we were in a fine position to handle things. Could’ve dispatched them rather easily. But it’s been a while since we’ve had a proper battle. Thought ‘why not?’ Let the crew have a bit of fun.” He set the cup back on the table, fixing her with a hard look. “That was, of course, until you decided to directly defy my orders. What were you told? Stay below deck. Go back to quarters. Hide if they boarded. That was a direct order, Charlie. But you didn’t, did you? You didn’t follow orders, you showed you have scant respect for our chain of command, an extreme lack of sense, and barely any survival instinct. If Cadmus hadn’t been close at hand to push you back below deck —”

“He didn’t push me below deck,” she interrupted, “he pushed me down a bloody staircase! I’m lucky I didn’t break my neck!”

“A staircase that led below deck. You’re lucky a knot on the head is all you have,” he snapped. “If he hadn’t been very fortuitously in the vicinity, we might be mopping your gizzards off the wood right now. And because you couldn’t follow orders,” he plowed on, not allowing her to interrupt even though she’d open her mouth to do so, “we were forced to stop having fun. Do you understand what no quarter means? Well, that was what we had to give. So I hope you’re pleased with yourself, darling. You caused a right mess.”

Darkness clouded her again after that, and when she woke, her headache had significantly lessened, and the sky beyond the beveled glass windows was black. She heard the slosh of water and realized it was coming from the other side of the wooden partition. Wonderful. Now you get to hear him dallying in his bathwater. You should have made off with the potatoes when you had the chance, you silly bitch. To her surprise, Lirian stepped out from behind the partition a moment later, wiping his hands against his thick thighs, still fully clothed.

“Perfect timing. Let’s get you into the bath while it’s still hot. Stride said you took a sword. Well,” he corrected with a chuckle, “not a sword, thankfully, for your sake. Sewing needle, more like it. I wonder what sort of dandy they plucked that little letter opener from. In any case, their lad had a bit more sense than ours, so let’s see how bad the damage is.”

Her blood went cold. Despite her earlier suppositions that she ought to tell him the truth, being faced with the prospect of having to do so cured her of the desire. Charlotte realized she had no idea what he would do. Would he beat her? Force himself on her? All her foolish feelings seemed extra idiotic now. She could offer herself up to him, but he might give her to the crew first—a fate she’d not suffer. Her head ached, and as she struggled to sit, the room spun.

“N-no, that will not be necessary. I’m fine, Captain. Really.”

He rolled his eyes and drew back the covers, forcing her up. “If you think I fetched all of this freshwater to waste on a bath for you, hauling it to the bloody galley to boil, dragging it back here as if I were some sort of pack mule, only for you to say, ‘No thank you, I’m fine,’ I can’t begin to tell you how mistaken you are, my dear.”

“Really though, I am fine, I don’t think he even scraped me. I’m sorry you went to the trouble of getting all that water. Why don’t you use it instead, so it doesn’t go to waste?”

“Up you get,” he went on as if she’d not even spoken. “Clothes off. Let’s make sure it’s cleaned properly and that there’s no danger of infection sitting in.”

“I think I’m a good enough judge to say whether or not it needs to be —”

“I’ve had quite enough of your insubordination for the day,” he snapped, that hard note of control she heard in his voice earlier making a return. She was ashamed of the way her core clenched at the sound of it. “Take off that filthy shirt and the bloody binder so we can see how injured you are, or I’ll strip you naked myself, you impudent little wench.”

He did exactly that when she made no movement, unable to do anything other than stare mutely at him, her mouth hanging open in shock. He sliced through the front of her shirt like cutting butter, doing the same to her linen bindings, leaving her naked above the waist, bare before him. If she had expected him to exclaim in shock at the sight of her breasts, Charlotte would have been disappointed. Instead, he grumbled in annoyance over the bloody red weal in her skin, curving across her ribs.

“That fucking linen probably saved your life,” he grumbled, tentatively raising a washcloth to the wound. “You really are a little fool,” he snapped again when she cried out in pain. “I don’t understand what you came back up for; you could’ve taken a blasted nap if you’d wanted.”

Charlotte found that all her clever words had run dry. She was unable to say anything as he gently cleaned her wound, mumbling to himself all the while. His fingertips brushed the underside of her breast as he cleaned her, but he didn’t seem to care. If he’d noticed the way her nipples tightened in the cool air, he had the grace not to mention it. When he ordered her into the tub, her words failed her again, and she did as she was told, dropping the itchy woolen breeches in a heap, then rolling down her stockings until she was as naked as he had been the day he dove into the water from the deck.

It was the first hot bath she’d had in weeks. It was at once foreign and familiar, blissful and almost too hot, but the heat of the water didn’t keep her from shivering beneath it. Shudders rippled up her spine as he washed her, lathering a brick of soap and moving the washcloth against her skin in long, even strokes. She had never appreciated how attractive a man’s forearm could be, but at that moment, the sight of his—shirtsleeve rolled back above his elbow, the bathwater making his dark hair cling to his bronze skin—convinced her that arms were possibly the most erotic part of the body. Arms and hands, she amended, for his long-fingered hands, tendons standing out in relief as his fingers squeezed out the excess water before rubbing the washcloth down her arms, were equal in their attractiveness.

She couldn’t breathe as the rough scrap of cloth moved down her back, all the way down her spine until it dragged against the top of her behind, over her hips and up through the narrow valley between her breasts. Her vision was the next to go when he moved around the tub to wash her legs, lathering and stroking, down her thighs and over her knees, the backs of which he discovered were ticklish, continuing to her calves. When he lifted her foot from the water, slowly washing each toe, his thumb pressed into the arch, and her cunt clenched in response. A small moan escaped her lips, and Charlotte was glad her eyes were closed.

When he removed the hat that had practically become one with her head at that point, he muttered to himself anew, unpinning her hair. Goosebumps rose across her shoulders and down the tops of her arms as he began to push his fingers into the matted mess, delicately, as if he were taking great care not to pull. A shiver moved down her back, one she suspected he’d be able to see. She had never had a man wash her hair before, she realized. She’d never had a man wash her at all. It was the singularly most erotic experience she’d ever endured in this form or any other, and she wasn’t sure how she could be expected to go back to any other way of living now.

He said nothing as he worked through the snarled mass of matted curls, working the bar of soap into a thick lather once more, scraping his nails over her scalp as he loosened several weeks of life confined to her disguise. She nearly fell asleep to the rhythmic movements of his hands, so like the movement of the waves, but when he rinsed the soap from her, her hair clean for the first time in weeks, she was wide awake.

“If your plan was to become as filthy as the rest of the crew,” he murmured, plunging the washcloth beneath the water again to drag over her stomach, “you exceeded your mission. This water is black. And it’s getting too cool.”

She held her breath as his hand crept lower, pausing just above the small thatch of dark curls shielding her sex. She could feel his breath, hot on her hair, knew his face was only scant inches above her own, but she kept her eyes squeezed tightly shut.

“Do you want me to stop?” His voice was a mellifluous whisper against her temple, and after several heartbeats of hesitation, she shook her head. “Does that mean I should keep going?”

She hoped if she remained silent with her eyes tightly screwed shut, she could be removed from needing to confront her own feelings, but the captain was evidently unwilling to indulge her enough to do so. He gripped her chin when she nodded yes, raising her face, just as he had earlier that day, and just as he had done earlier, Charlotte felt trapped in his gaze when her eyes slid open.

“What’s your actual name?” His thumb traced over her lower lip, caressing it lightly, waiting for an answer. A weighted moment hung between them, suspended in the steam from her bathwater, heavy and pregnant with the knowledge that everything was about to change. There was no walking back from this.

“. . . Charlotte.” A reedy breath, her lungs feeling as though they had forgotten how to inflate. Her response was rewarded with a gentle stroke down the side of her face.

“Charlotte,” he echoed, his voice still a whisper. “Do you want me to keep going, Charlotte?” He was cupping her mound by then, and if she opened her legs a fraction more, he would be able to sink his fingers into her heat.

“Yes.” Her voice was a barely audible breath, and her head dropped back against his shoulder as his hand descended, stroking over her sex with the rough cloth. His touch was gentle, gentler than she’d expected. Her breath was thready, and her pulse leapt in her neck as her thighs parted fully for him. This, she was forced to correct her earlier thoughts, was the most erotic moment of her life, the culmination of the entire last hour. He had washed her from head to toe, and she’d not been threatened or treated cruelly yet. The cloth stroked against her inner folds, back and forth, over and under, methodical and rhythmic... until the cloth fell away. One finger, then two, stroking her slowly, exploring, dipping into her shallowly. He edged around that little pearl of pleasure until she felt as though she’d been pulled taut as a bowstring, anticipating the moment when he would stroke it fully. The breath that broke from her lips was a moan when his fingers at last began to circle over her clit with the same methodical precision he’d used to wipe the dirt from her body.

“Are you going to disobey me again, Charlotte?” She was unable to answer, her eyes glued shut as he rubbed her, wringing the pleasure from her as easily as he’d wrung water from the cloth. “I hope not, because you have exhausted my goodwill, my dear. I’m finished arguing with you for the week, do I make myself clear?”

The only answer she could give was another strangled moan as he slid one finger into her, then a second. The bathwater lapped around her like waves breaking against rocks, cresting over her pink-scrubbed skin as his hand fucked into her solidly, never slowing the fingers that circled her clit, making her toes curl. She would never disobey his orders again, not if he did this to her each day until they reached Atlantis. She wanted to ride his cock, wanted to let him have her over and over, wanted to devour him.

“Good, I’m glad we’re in agreement. Your bathwater is getting cold. Are you going to come for me, darling?”

The room spun and her head ached, and she was so close to her peak she could almost taste it. She remembered the way she’d watched him finish in this same tub, stroking his cock with the same hand he now used to fuck into her, and the recollection was enough to send her over the edge. She felt the tightness in her legs first, the pressure in the base of her spine radiating outward, centering on the swollen pearl of her clit, still being rubbed by his thumb. She cried out when the dam within her burst, clenching around him, wishing she were stuffed full, unable to do anything but tighten and shake as the waves of pleasure crashed through her. Pulse after pulse, she throbbed against him until the wave was crested, and she slumped, his arm around her the only thing preventing her from sinking to the bottom of the tub and drowning.

“Good girl.”

His whisper against her temple made her clench again, the rhythmic spasms of her pleasure cramping her stomach for several minutes more. For a long moment, Charlotte was certain she’d left the shell of her human form behind, floating to the top of the room like a cloud, until the press of his lips to her wet skin and the sound of his voice anchored her to her bones once more.

“Let’s get you out before you catch a chill.”

She put up no fight when he wrapped her in a length of rough cotton, ringing out her hair. It had been bundled under that hat for so long, she had nearly forgotten its weight as it swung wetly down her back. When she bent hesitantly to retrieve her filthy linen tunic, his sharp reprimand was immediate.

“Don’t even think about it, you little fool. We want to keep that wound clean and aired out. Into bed with you.” She hesitated, meeting his eyes for the first time since he’d stripped her. Lirian’s shoulders slumped, and he sighed, tipping his nose to the cabin’s roof. “I’m done arguing with you, remember? I can’t have you whipped, but if you think I won’t take you over my knee, you’re very much mistaken. Into bed. Now.”

Charlotte obeyed, watching silently from the mountain of pillows as he gathered her filthy clothes before disappearing with them behind the screen. The splash she heard told her that he was letting them soak in the soapy water along with his own shirt, if his bare chest was any indication when he came back around the screen.

“Go to sleep,” he ordered, pulling a fresh shirt from the chest of drawers. “I’m making my rounds, and when I come back, you’d better be unconscious. I’m rather tired of hearing your voice today, my dear. We can discuss the situation in the morning.”

He didn’t elaborate on what the situation was, but then again, he didn’t need to. The stone turned over in her stomach at the thought of what awaited her in the morning, but she couldn’t fret about it just then. She was too tired, too heavy, her head ached and the room still spun, and the weight of everything that had transpired that day leading up to the last hour left her exhausted. Charlotte twisted her hair, draping it over the pillow behind her, wincing at how wet it would likely make things. Sleeping with her breasts unbound and bare to the bedsheets made her feel as though she were as light as a feather, and like a feather, she drifted away, rocked on the current as the Malediction sailed on.

6

LIRIAN

The droplet of blood caught the moonlight, glimmering like a ruby. He’d been holding his arm in the same position for too long, and his shoulder was beginning to protest, but instead of lowering it, he turned his hand again, once more catching the light.

Lirian! He could still hear his name ringing between his ears, shouted in her sweet voice. He might never be able to hear his own name again without hearing her as well, as troublesome a thought as there ever was one. It wasn’t as if it had been a quiet afternoon. The crash of waves against the two boats, the cacophony of voices, shouting, yelling, cursing, the clang of swords, fists hitting skin, bodies hitting the wooden beams of the floor. It should have made a single voice inaudible, let alone one coming from clear across the deck. But for some reason, her voice had cut through the din like a silver harpoon to his heart, pulling him into her without a fight.

He stalked up the foredeck before pausing to look out at the water. He was meant to be on rounds, he reminded himself, not just stomping around brooding. The Malediction’s figurehead was the same as their sail emblem—the torso of a beautiful woman, her arm stretched out to the horizon, with a twisting serpent’s tail. He looked out on the carved fingers reaching out to the black void beyond the moon’s beams, the endless crush of waves ahead of them, and sucked in a low, slow breath. It had been quite a day.

The moment he raised his eyes to meet hers, looking so small and delicate amidst the giant bodies fighting around her, something shifted within him and cracked. It was the first time he had ever realized there was, perhaps, a grain of truth to the common wisdom that having a woman on board was a bad omen, for the moment that little shit of a cabin boy had raised their sword to her, a red mist had swum over his eyes, and he knew that he would have no choice but to kill them all.

Lirian! The mere thought of Charlotte made him stop short once again, raising his hand to the moonlight above. She had been filthy. She had free use of the wash basin and pitcher housed in the cabinet in their quarters, and he knew she taken advantage of it when he was not in the room, washing herself as best she could, changing her filthy bindings, but he realized once he was able to examine her sleeping form what a folly he had made by not insisting on her use of the tub before then. The nails on her little fingers were caked black, the linen of her tunic a dingy grey, and he had worked himself into a state of near self-flagellation before she woke, fretting that her injury would become infected with the unclean condition of her person. He had never scrubbed another person from head to toe before, but he decided, hauling fresh, hot water up from the galley on a shoulder yoke, that this was his mistake to rectify.

Charlotte. Pausing again, he raised his hand once more. The blood had grown thick, a gelatinous garnet bead upon his finger, nearly black now. Charlotte. She was beautiful. Lirian wasn’t sure why the knowledge surprised him. He already knew that she was small and dainty, the bearing of a highborn lady covered in two weeks of filth and grime. Seeing her in the tub though—small and bare before him, milky breasts capped in fawn-brown nipples that begged to be teased with his tongue, the gentle swell of her hips and the soft contours of her stomach and thighs, little white feet he’d unearthed from their filthy coating like a true buccaneer, digging through the sand for buried treasure. Everything about her felt like a revelation, from the way she smelled to the soft cries she made as he brought her to the peak of her pleasure. There he had found the true treasure, coating his fingers in her slick, rubbing her, stroking her, feeling her shake against his arm.

He wiped away the congealed blood, holding his hand up to see if another spot of red would well from his fingertip, and after a moment, it did.

He was no monasterian. The silent brothers of the Temple of Solemnity had never held appeal for him, and neither had the life of a respectable, land-dwelling husband, coming home to a wife, fucking the same woman until the end of his days. He’d had more than his fair share of beauties in every port, and although they were always enjoyable, they were always the same.

Lirian didn’t know if he was meant to be delighted or terrified that this woman was different, settling on a queer mix of both emotions, at once wanting to bury his cock in her and make her scream, and wanting to shield himself in a bloody chastity belt, girded from her until he could put her off his ship for good.

He had stroked the velvety petals of her sex the way he’d done to other women countless times before, knowing exactly how to circle and rub to bring her the most pleasure. Although, he thought peevishly, it hadn’t been like countless times before. Oh, she had all the same landmarks, and he was nothing if not an expert navigator, charts studied, always sure of his heading, and he knew just how to stretch his fingers into her, how to stroke her inner walls to make her toes curl, how to roll over that little pearl at the top of her sex. He knew the consistent attention it required until her control broke, but things with her hadn’t gone the way he’d planned. He had stroked and circled her little pearl, but it had swelled up beneath his touch, more pronounced than anything he’d ever experienced before. If nothing else, he had thought at the time, it made it easy to get the job done.

He’d rubbed her clit and fucked her with his hand, able to tell when she was ready to erupt for him, her hips moving unconsciously beneath the water, making it lap around her with the same rhythm that his wrist used to thump into her. Her breath had turned into shallow little gasps, and a beautiful flush spread down her neck and across the tops of her breasts, her hips bucking into his hand without her realizing it. When she came at last, her eyes screwed up and her mouth open in a small rosebud of pleasure, he felt it. A tightening within her, a squeeze he’d not been anticipating, and he had a panicked moment that she was a virgin he had just deflowered in filthy bathwater. Her throat had opened in a moan, and her pussy clenched as she came, his gasp of shock and pain swallowed by the sound of her pleasure, and as she shook against him, he didn’t have the heart to pull his hand away. A good thing, because she probably would’ve shredded your finger.

She had shivered when he called her good girl, and she looked so sweet and angelic and small bundled beneath the blankets in his bed, naked and soft from her bath, and he’d not had the wherewithal to mention it then, not until he could get out on deck, put distance between himself and his quarters and the woman sleeping on his pillows, to see for himself and assess the damage. A ruby-red glimmer of blood, welling up from his finger again, where something had bit him. A needle-like tooth, hard and sharp, clenching as she came, sinking into the pad of his finger from within her.

He didn’t know who she was. He didn’t know what she was. But it was quite clear that he needed to find out, the quicker the better, before the salty, sea-like smell of her and her sweet voice clouded his judgment and he fucked her in truth, losing his cock in the process. He would need to discuss it with her, but he decided it would be best to keep her ruse in place for the duration of their journey. He didn’t need the crew grumbling about stowaways and unfair treatment, not at this juncture, not when they were more than halfway there. They would be reaching their jump point soon, leaving this realm for Atlantis, and he didn’t need any distraction.

The girl was asleep when he returned. She did not stir when he entered the cabin, nor when he slid the bolt in place, locking away the rest of the world. She did not move when he pulled back the covers, and the softest exhalation was her only response to him sliding into the bed beside her. A gentleman would have let her take the bed alone. He could’ve slept in a chair, slept on the floor. But it had been a long fucking day, and he had spilled much blood, and he was, after all, a pirate. If she wants to sleep alone, she can put up tacking for her hammock. At least, until she started giving him some answers.

When she scuttled like a little crab, as she had done so many times before by then, he was hardly surprised. Her breath was hot against his chest as she pressed herself to him, and as he enfolded her gently in his arms, he wondered what exactly was going through his bloody fucking head. She’s a witch. She’s a witch, and her cunt bit you. Bit you! You ought to throw her overboard and drown her now while you have the chance, before she bewitches you entirely. Good advice. Smart advice. Advice he knew he ought to take. But as he pressed his face against her hair, still damp from her bath, he inhaled the salty clean smell of the ocean air, so like home, and decided that closing his eyes and getting some sleep was the path of least resistance, and the one he would be following that night.

* * *

When he woke the following morning, the girl was gone. Lirian closed his eyes, stretching with a sigh. You should’ve shackled her to the fucking bed. It was at least an hour before the sun would rise, and he needed to make plans with Cadmus, needed to discuss what he intended to do and how long he might be gone.

He wondered if she had fled. Perhaps she had magicked herself away, spirited off on the waves. No, he corrected himself after a moment, for if she’d had that ability all along, she would’ve never come aboard his ship. Perhaps she was hiding, he thought, playing being a proper stowaway. Fine. Let her hide. At least she was out of his hair, and he could put her and the memory of the previous night out of his mind.

When he rose, he found coffee and tea on a silver tray, a thimble of milk and a lump of sugar resting atop the morning reports. Lirian grinned. He wondered if he were to race down to the hold, he would find her there, milking the cow. Hiding amongst the chickens, blending into the shadows. She was a sight cleaner now, so it would be much harder for her to disappear into the grimy corners of the hold. Not hiding. She’s pretending nothing is amiss. Sure enough, by the time he made it up on deck, she was in her little basket on the mizzenmast, same as she’d been the previous morning, pretending as if nothing had happened. Impudent little wench.

“Well?” Stride arched a frosty-white brow, his arms crossed imperiously, and Lirian snorted at the figure he cut. Everyone around him wanted to pretend they were in charge, it seemed.

“You know, it’s sometimes quite hard to remember you’re not actually a lord. I daresay you forget the fact yourself. Let me do you the courtesy of reminding you on this fine morning.”

Stride barked out a laugh, his eyes raising upward to the small figure in the crow’s nest. “How banged up was she? She scampered up there this morning before I could even get a word out. If she were actually a boy, she’d have been whipped before breakfast.”

“I told her last night I’d not hesitate to take her over my knee, if necessary.” His eyes never left the basket, and when Cadmus laughed again, Lirian stared hard, hoping to see a reaction from her, as she had done before. Her hands were folded over the wall of her nest, and she stared ahead like a statue, high above their heads, not moving, not reacting, and he wondered if she was even breathing. “She seems to be under the impression that if she avoids me,” he murmured, “then all’s forgotten. That’s fine, let her play her little game. Give her the full watch this morning. When she comes down, send her back to quarters.”

The gargoyle chuckled with a tight-lipped grin. “Planning on putting her in the dress today?”

Lirian shrugged. He’d retrieved a dress from Stride the previous night, at the end of his rounds, leaving Lady Maris one short in her collection. Not that she’ll miss it.

“We’ll see. Glad you had it though, in any case. I’m going to be leaving soon,” he went on, earning Stride’s full attention. “Before the week’s end, as soon as there’s a turn in the weather. I’ll instruct her to stay in quarters while I’m gone—one less thing for you to have to mind. How far back do you wager they are?”

“Can’t be that far. They pulled out together; they were tethered end to end in the port. Other ship is a galleon. They sent the sloop ahead because she was faster, but you can’t make me believe they’ll be any better prepared on the main. A full day, maybe only half? If you’ve a storm on your side and leave by nightfall, you’ll likely catch them before dawn.” Cadmus had naval experience in addition to their many years sailing together, and Lirian knew his opinion was one to be trusted.

“Aye, put a watch on the weather. If I’m not back within two days’ time, I want you to go on without me. We’re nearly to the jump point as it is. Hopefully I’ll catch up, but we have cargo to unload and bartering that needs doing.”

“Do you want to send a longboat?”

“It’s one ship,” Lirian insisted, shaking his head. “There’s no need to risk crew. The eight is in my cabin, in the chest. You know what to do. Bring the girl to wherever it is she’s going, and then cut your losses. I’ll see you back on Dragonfly, once you return. If I survive, that is.”

“And what if I’m wrong?” Stride shot back. “It’s happened once or twice before, you know.”

Lirian shrugged. “If you’re wrong, I’ll expect the Marquis of Basingstone to arrange a pardon of the crew and privateer papers for his scallywag brother and ship. If I die, please make sure you cry. I’ll know if you don’t, Cadmus.” Stride scowled, and Lirian gave him his most charming smile before continuing down the staircase of the stern. “Send her to me when she’s finished.”

By the time he’d made a circuit of the entire ship—checking in with the gunners, with the boatswain and sailing master, with the cook and the carpenter, and the rest of the crew—ensuring with his own two eyes that they were sailing in tip-top shape and that he would not be missed in the event he did not return, the girl was waiting for him in their cabin.

If there had been any doubt that she possessed magic in the previous two weeks, it would have been dispelled upon stepping through the doorway. She was wearing the dress. It was slightly big, he could tell, with the corseted bodice laced as tightly as it could go, but it complemented her as he’d known it would. Royal blue, richly embroidered, with a glorious cutaway up the center of the skirt that left a waterfall of crimson silk and white lace in its wake. He was certain the style had a name and likely specific undergarments she was meant to wear. If they were at court, she would have padding at her hips that would necessitate walking through doors sideways, as well comically large ornamentations in her hair. He didn’t know the name for any of those things, either, and he didn’t quite care. A dress was a dress, and any knowledge beyond that seemed superfluous to him.

In any case, she was ravishing. Her cheeks were pink, her little rosebud mouth pouting at him across the room, and her hair was coiffed in a way that made it seem as if she had a personal maid on board. Her curls had been miraculously tamed into several thick coils that rested over her shoulder, with the remainder twisted and pulled in a way that made her seem as if she would be at home in some large country manor house, shooting orders to a bevy of staff and taking tea in the garden. It was a sharp departure from the little drowned rat he had put to bed the night before.

“You’re just in time for tea.” She gestured to the silver pot and fine porcelain cups on a tray on the table, steam rising from the pot’s curvy spout. “I wasn’t sure when you’d be back, but I hope it’s not gone cold.”

Lirian kept his face impassive as she led him to a chair before pulling it out solicitously. It was comical that she was a better cabin boy as a fine lady than she’d been as a cabin boy.

“Is there anything I can fetch for you? Would you like something to eat? Perhaps a —”

“I’m fine, thank you. Please.” He indicated the opposite chair, steepling his fingers against his lips to hide his grin as she pulled it out with no small amount of trepidation, as if she thought he was offering her a trap. A trap like the one she thinks she’s setting for you. “Whatever am I going to do with you, Charlotte?”

She blushed with little provocation. He wasn’t sure if it was because she was exceptionally sheltered or easily scandalized, or if perhaps he just got under her skin, but since the first day he discovered he could bring out that lovely red flush to her cheeks with very little effort, he did so as often as possible. She pinkened at the sound of her name, the first time he’d uttered it since the previous night. At least, to her.

“Well,” she began in a voice ringing with false bravado, “I think that’s obvious, Captain. We need to renegotiate the terms of my passage. I’m confident we can come to an arrangement that satisfies us both.” Her hand landed on his arm, where he’d rolled up his shirtsleeves that morning, a few inches above his wrist. She lingered there, palm pressed his forearm, her nails scraping gently, making it very clear what sort of arrangement she intended.

His head knew exactly what game she was playing. She expected to manipulate him, using her feminine wiles and tempting him with her body in order to get exactly what she wanted. The ease with which she’d slipped into the role of seductress told him she had done this before. He ought to ascertain what it was she wanted once and for all, especially before he agreed to whatever terms she was willing to lay out. He knew that... but the knowledge didn’t prevent his cock from thickening between his thighs at the mere supposition of what she might be offering. Lirian pressed his thumb and forefinger together, a reminder of the dull ache and the small puncture wound that resided there.

“Is that so? Well, do tell, lovely girl. I’m very interested in hearing all about this satisfying arrangement.”

She straightened, but her ears were nearly as red as the front of her dress, he observed with satisfaction. She wasn’t nearly as good at this game as she thought she was, even if she had done it before, and magic or not, he was a pirate.

“You’ll bring me to Atlantis,” she said simply. “You’re going there anyway, so it’s not as if I’m asking you to set a course to take me out of your way. It’s already the destination of your ship; you don’t need to do anything more than what you were already going to be doing. Keep on. That’s all I’m asking. And let me off once you arrive. Then I’ll be out of your hair for good.”

He shrugged, giving her a brilliant smile. “Just like that?”

“Just like that.”

He sat back in the chair, marveling at her audacity. She had been cheeky from the start, so he supposed it wasn’t a surprise that she would still be as impudent now. The bait.

“Pardon me, love, but it feels as though there must be a part of this I’m missing. You mentioned an arrangement, and all you’ve outlined is my ship and my crew continuing in pretending you’re not an extra mouth to feed. Where do I come out ahead in that? How exactly is that a good arrangement?”

“Because,” she began, sitting up in her chair and sipping her tea daintily, “for the duration of the journey, I’m yours to have.”

The trap. “To have? To have how? When?”

She shrugged, and his cock twitched traitorously against his thigh. “Any way you want to have me. As often as you want. Whenever you want.” She crossed her hands primly before her, radiating smugness, as if she’d already won. “I think that’s more than a fair trade when I’m not actually putting you out of your way.”

She smiled beatifically, and he was forced to laugh at her brazenness. Under other circumstances, he would’ve taken her up on her offer. Would’ve taken her up on it before they had even left Port Perico, for despite the commonly held wisdom of women being bad luck at sea, it was far worse luck to be left without one for weeks on end, at least in his opinion. He enjoyed fucking too much to care for nonsense superstitions, and he would have gladly taken the girl as his personal bedwarmer weeks earlier, no questions asked. Now though...

“Is that so? And what happens if my appetites are... let’s say, a bit peculiar? Are you still willing to indulge me then? Wherever I want? Whenever I want, as often as I want?”

Her lips pursed, flashing irritation, and he grinned again. She was really quite incapable of controlling her face, just as she seemed thoroughly incapable of controlling her mouth. Her brow had softened a heartbeat later, lips turning up in a smile, the picture of serenity, as if she’d not broken her act at all. “I’m certain I can accommodate anything you desire, Captain.”

“Is that so? Well, let’s see. Put your hands on the table and bend over.”

She looked taken aback at his command, obviously not expecting he would take her up on the offer the same instant that she had made it. Her hesitation was brief, but it was enough for him to make up his mind.

Ever since he was a child, he had been inexplicably drawn to those things that all but promised danger. Snakes known to be venomous made the best of friends. Reefs populated with fire coral and deadly cephalopods were always the best to explore. Caves with slippery floors and no footholds, ledges that led down to jagged rocks upon which no sensible person would want to land—his favorites for jumping and climbing. Fights in which he was likely to receive a solid ass kicking, women who posed more threat than they promised pleasure, ships other people wouldn’t dare raid. It was why he had become a pirate in the first place. The more forbidden and dangerous something was, the freer it felt, and the more he wanted to be a part of it.

She was no exception. She was still lying, was still cheerfully obfuscating the truth of her presence, the truth of her magic, the reason for her travel to the off-realm port town. All that should’ve been reason enough to cast her overboard, and he wasn’t even taking into consideration that he was deeply concerned for the health of his cock if it enjoyed, however briefly, being nestled in the inviting heat of her cunt. Making any sort of deal with this girl was a dangerous mistake, and thus it was a mistake he wanted to make very badly. It was a snap decision of his foolish fish brain, but in that moment, he decided he didn’t actually care about her motivation, nor did he care if she carried a sea witch’s curse. Perhaps she’d been born with such an affliction, perhaps she was on the receiving end of some divine retribution—he didn’t care. He only wanted to feel her teeth again, tempting the Fates with his foolhardiness.

He chuckled as he raised her skirt before throwing it over her back and running a hand over the smooth, creamy globe of her bare ass. “Charlie, I do believe you came to this little tête-à-tête prepared.”

She made no resistance when he pushed her legs together, placing a hand on her back to press her flush to the table, feeling her low gasp of surprise as he did so. The position put the lips of her sex on display for his eyes—delicious looking and his for the taking. She sucked in a shuddering breath at the first stroke of his fingertip over her tender flesh, the same finger that now possessed a hole from whatever it was that had chomped down on him the night before.

Lirian had every intention of taking her up on her offer. He desired her and she seemed dangerous, which made her wildly appealing to the simple fish with a death wish that lived in his head, but he was not willing to make her his onboard concubine if she was merely tolerating this agreement to achieve her ends. That was what she wanted. Another trait he had possessed since early childhood was obstinance. The quickest way to earn his refusal was to tell him he had to do something. That wasn’t what the girl had said, not in so many words, but it was to what she was alluding—she was already on board, and he was already bound for Atlantis, the situation already sewn up without even needing his input.

She would make him the villain in her head—the roguish pirate taking advantage of poor Lady Charlotte, forcing his amorous attention on her, and all she would do was what was necessary to ensure her survival. He was not willing to let this fish off the hook that easily. She wanted to play victim, but he was going to ensure she was a participant. He’d felt the way she’d trembled beneath his touch the night before, the way she’d screwed her eyes shut, as if the act of not seeing would make it not so; took note of her silent nod of assent when he’d asked her consent to continue, rather than using her voice, when he knew for a fact she had no compunction at all when it came to using her sharp little tongue. She wanted to say yes; she just didn’t want to say yes. He might be a pirate, a rogue, a bandit, but he would not allow her to make him the lone villain in this, and she would be saying yes with her whole throat before he gave her what she wanted.

The tip of his finger stroked up and down in an even cadence, caressing the lips of her sex until he felt her take another shuddering breath. He sunk the same finger into her heat, unsurprised to find her already slick. A slow drag through her folds, slipping along easily as he coated himself in her wetness, alighting on that little pearl, hovering there until a small kitten mewl broke from her lips, and he removed his hand altogether.

Lirian fancied he could feel her heartbeat at the backs of her thighs in the hand he held there, could most definitely feel the tense set of her body, the way she held herself taut, anticipating what he would do next. She didn’t move when he backed away from her, enjoying the view of her heart-shaped posterior and the delectable folds he’d just left, and so she never saw him sink to his knees behind her. When he stroked her with his tongue, licking along the same path his fingertips had traveled, she gasped.

She smelled like the sea. It was the same thought he’d had last night with his nose pressed to her damp hair, and now, with his nose pressed to her cunt, the truth of it was inescapable. There was nothing fishy or unpleasant in her odor, but he could close his eyes and imagine the endless sparkling waves before him, salty air and salty water, at once clean and fresh and heavily oppressive, threatening to drag him under and never let him go. His tongue worked into her wetness, coating itself in her slick. He nibbled at her outer lips, teased her entrance with his tongue, coming close to but never actually reaching her clit. When he paused in his actions at last, Lirian was satisfied to hear her panting. Pushing himself to his feet, he stroked a hand down her back, letting the skirt of her dress fall around her once more.

“It’s good of you to allow me to sample the merchandise, darling. Unfortunately, I’m not in the market at the moment. I do appreciate the offer though.”

At his words, she spun, her mouth dropped open in outrage. He shrugged, giving her the grin that he’d noticed made her balled her fists at her sides, that moment being no exception. “I appreciate your proposal. But at this time, I’m afraid I would have to reject it. I’m not interested in a shrinking mouse who is afraid of my touch, and at this juncture in the journey, I don’t think I’m interested in a concubine either.”

“Then what do you want?” she yelped, fists still balled at her sides. He could see the frustration etched on her face. “I said I would accommodate any predilection you may —”

“Yes, yes, I heard you. I was actually joking about that. That doesn’t change my answer.”

She looked as if she wanted to punch him as he pulled out his own chair, indicating for her to retake her seat. “Now, if you don’t mind, I’d like to renegotiate the terms.” The look she leveled on him was positively mutinous. “Why are you traveling to Atlantis?” She was not expecting to be questioned. He could tell that by the way she sputtered. Lirian held up a hand as she began to argue that it was none of his business, cutting her off. “Darling, this is only going to go one way. I appreciate that you think you have the upper hand in the situation, but I am, regretfully, here to dissuade you of that notion. Why are you going to Atlantis?”

A long, weighted moment passed before she answered at last. “I’m trying to get home.”

The truth, for a change. “And where is home?”

“Port Messinas. My sister,” she went on forcefully, already anticipating his next question, “needs me. She—she’s a little fool...”

“Your younger sister,” he remembered, suddenly feeling like the world’s biggest heel.

She nodded, staring pensively at the table. “She falls in love too easily. She ought to know better. This one was a sailor.” At that, she cast him with a venomous glare. “He broke her heart, and she’s... not taking it well. I’m the only one who can soothe her, calm her down. I don’t even want to know what sort of chaos she’s caused without me there.”

He sucked in a slow breath, exhaling hard through his nose. “You don’t have any way back to Port Messinas because it requires traveling through the sea realm. Which requires passing through Atlantis... which you can’t enter because you don’t have a piece of eight. How long, I wonder, did it take you to find a ship at Port Perico?”

“Weeks,” she admitted. “You’d be surprised how few ships there truly are sailing into Atlantis. There was one a few weeks before you, but...”

“Yes? I’m all ears, my lady.”

“He wasn’t agreeable,” she ground out between clenched teeth, and he grinned again.

“What does that mean, exactly? He wasn’t willing to let you play at being his terrible cabin boy?” Heat moved up her neck, coloring her cheeks, all the way up to her forehead. Lirian leaned forward in his chair with widened eyes. “Wait. You don’t mean to tell me—he got the concubine option from the go?! You didn’t put on breeches and a little hat for him? That’s a bloody insult!”

“I didn’t see you!” she exclaimed. “How was I supposed to know you were the captain?”

They were both shouting, leaning in their chairs, each only inches away from the other’s face. “I trailed your whole crew for days. Stride was the only one who seemed to be in charge of anything. Were you too busy languishing in your bathwater the week? Too busy entertaining a whole pleasure house in your bed, Captain?”

His hand had dropped to her waist completely on its own accord, the same hand he’d used to pleasure her the night before. “And you didn’t bother giving Cadmus the concubine arrangement?”

“He seemed like the type to turn me in to the authorities first,” she snapped, causing him to throw his head back in laughter until tears pricked at the corners of his eyes, his traitorous hand creeping around to make itself at home at the small of her back.

“Fair enough,” he wheezed, shoulders shaking. “Goddess above, you’re going to give me apoplexy laughing this hard.”

The girl crossed her arms over her chest, scowling at him as he continued to laugh, tugging her a hair closer. “Am I to understand we don’t have an arrangement then, Captain Jurel?”

Lirian wiped the tears away from his eyes with his free hand, watching as she raised an eyebrow. “Not yet, I’m not done. Are you a witch?” She gasped. His arm was around her fully by then, and he was able to feel the expansion on her lungs, her eyes flashing before him. “Do you think, darling, that I don’t know magic when I see it? I’m not human, I’ll remind you.”

“You may as well be, for as obnoxious as you are,” she countered. “I know magic. What of it? Our mother gave my sister and I the ability to protect ourselves from men like you. You shouldn’t be casting aspersions, you know. Your own crew thinks you turn into a beast as long as the boat. Are we comparing nonhuman abilities now?”

His laughter almost choked him. “I’m only trying to ascertain whether or not you’re some wicked sorceress intent on putting my ship back into the belly of the sea.”

“If I were a wicked sorceress, don’t you think I would have sunk the bloody lot of you the first time you waved your cock in my face?” She gasped again, raising a small hand to jab imperiously at his nose. “Which brings us to our next question, Captain.”

“I’m the one asking the questions now, love.”

“Don’t you ‘love’ me,” she snapped, finger still pointed inches before him. “How long have you known? Am I to understand I was molested while I was unconscious yesterday, no thanks to that brute you call a first mate? Had you already undressed me before I even woke?”

At that, he began to laugh again. She was absurd. She was adorable, a brat, a highfalutin’ snob of the highest order, and the most ravishing, infuriating creature he’d ever met. “How long have I known? Well, let’s see... there was a trunk being loaded the morning we left Port Perico. You grabbed the edge of it, pretending to help carry. I think that was the first time you actually boarded. Since then.”

She gaped at him. Lirian could see her replaying the exact moment to which he referred in her head—the trunk, the way she’d uselessly clung to the side of it like a starfish, making her way up the gangplank for the first time, claiming her spot on the crew. She knew he wasn’t lying; too aware it had really happened.

“Do you mean to tell me,” she growled—growled! Like a kitten! He was delighted with her every miniature furious reaction, her balled fists and wrinkled nose, as if she were some little doll he could lift with one hand and put on a high shelf. “Do you mean to tell me you’ve known all along? You’ve made me fetch your bathwater and hold your clothes while you waggled your cock in my face! You’ve had me fetching your meals and plucking chickens, when you could have had the concubine agreement the whole fucking time?!”

“I have no intention of making you my forced concubine, my dear.” If it were possible for steam to begin pouring out her ears, Lirian was certain she would have done it. Her face was bright red, and she was practically vibrating in frustrated fury at the realization he’d outsmarted her from the jump. “You want to spin yourself a pretty yarn that I forced myself on you, and I won’t have you besmirching my reputation as a lover that way.”

Her eyes narrowed, and her mouth opened to interject, but he pushed on.

“You are free to join me in my bed, whenever, however, and as often as you’d like. As many times in a row as you’d like. But that will be a choice you are making. Not an arrangement you’re being forced into. So, what say you, Charlie? Would you like to go back above deck, maybe take another shift up in the nest? Head off to the galley, scrub some pots? Maybe pluck a chicken? Or”—he grinned, motioning to the bed—“would you like to lie back on the pillows and have your pussy licked?” He shrugged, giving her the smile he knew she hated. “The choice is yours, love.”

Her fists were balled at her sides, her little face twisted in a moue of annoyed fury for several heartbeats before she leaned in to press her mouth to his, the angriest kiss he’d ever received, but one he wanted to sink into all the same. When she pushed off his chest to loom over him, he thought she really was about to hit him. Instead, she flounced across the room to throw herself down on the bed, still glaring when he pushed to his feet laughing.

“I take it you’ve accepted the renegotiated terms?”

“We’ll see,” she shot back. “It depends if the talent of your tongue measures up to your huge ego, Captain Jurel.”

“Not the only huge thing in the equation, love.” Her huff of outrage was met with his laughter, her little hands squeezing the fabric of her dress hem as if she wished it were his neck. “You walked directly into that one yourself.”

The hem of her dress was pulled up above her waist, baring her to him once more, and the look on her face was mutinous. Not good enough. She sucked in a sharp breath when he gripped her beneath the knees, pulling her legs open as he crawled beneath them, spreading her open for him like a feast, one he intended on enjoying. It was going to be an arduous few days ahead, and he did not relish what he needed to do any more than he enjoyed the thought of leaving her alone, but it had to be done. All the better reason to enjoy this bounty while you can and make sure you come back to her in one piece.

“I haven’t had a meal this tempting in ages,” he murmured against the skin of her inner thigh, kissing his way up to the crease. A quick glance up showed him that her eyes were closed again, her lower lip trapped in her teeth. When he licked a long stripe up the cleft of her cunt, her mouth dropped open, a silent moan taking shape on her lips. His tongue delved deeper. Lirian wondered if he was in danger. Perhaps she was some monstrous creature from the stars, masquerading as a human woman. After all, the sea realm was endless, as above so below, the sky and the ocean one and the same.

He pressed his tongue into her opening, pressed a hand to her belly to feel her little gasps and the way she tensed against him. He wondered if those teeth were going to make another appearance, if they would bite at the invasion of his tongue. He pressed deeper. It was almost a disappointment when nothing happened. Ah well. It’s not as if the act itself isn’t a prize. He dragged his tongue through her hot folds, dancing over her clit once he reached it. She fisted the bedclothes as he licked, her stomach muscles jumping when he fastened his lips around the swelling little pearl and sucked. It was then that she cried out.

“Am I to take that noise as a sign you’re enjoying yourself, darling? Is this what you want? Do you want me to find tacking for your hammock? Or do you want me to keep licking this sweet pussy?”

She had a hand in his hair at that point, and in response to his words, her fingers tightened and twisted until he felt his scalp pull painfully. Lirian grinned against her slick skin, kissing her clit as he waited.

“You are an obnoxious man,” she wheezed. “The absolute worst kind of rogue. You’re a—a bandit! A criminal!”

Another long lick, sucking her again until her back arched, rising from the bed as if he pulled her by a string. “All true, love. But it seems to me you’re not following the terms of my counterproposal. You’re going to be an active, willing participant, or we’ll be renegotiating the terms, and that might end with you alone in one of the longboats.”

Another lick, fluttering his tongue like the wings of the brightly colored birds that zoomed around the island where he was born. A long suck against her clit, another moan from her, and then he pulled back.

“Yes, you absolute scoundrel, yes. Keep going, don’t stop, unless you want me to take your dinner fork later and drive it into your smug fa —”

Her words cut off as he began to lick and suck her in earnest, finding a rhythm her body responded to, a light canting of her hips telling him he was on the right course, the proper heading in place. Her clit had swelled to the size of a plump cherry, completely unhooded, making it easy to fasten his lips and suckle on. When he did so, her reaction was dizzying.

“Yes!” she keened, making him smile around the shape of her. “Yes, just like that.” She thrashed as he suckled her, her body stiffening and jerking as if she were tangled with an electric eel. His cock was in agony. The angry tumescent shape of it was a threat to his trousers, a threat to the entire vicinity, liable to burst out and explode, coating the entire ship in his pent-up lust for this obnoxious, intriguing little witch, but he could not stop, now that he had her trembling and begging beneath him.

She was holding his head in place with clawed hands at that point, her nails digging into his scalp, not allowing him to move, her hips moving in a rhythmic cadence. He felt the moment when her release broke, tightening in her legs, a tenseness that shook her entire body, shook him by extension, wave after wave until he’d felt as if they’d both been cast into the water, suspended there. Her clit was a literal pearl, he realized, pulling back. Grey and pink and completely luminescent, it was the most beautiful and baffling thing he’d ever witnessed.

“Inside me,” she gasped once the rigor eased its grip upon her. “I want your cock inside me. Now.”

That was more like it, he thought, nearly falling off the bed in his haste to climb up her body, freeing his cock. Her hands sought him out, gripping his shaft, stroking him as she guided his dripping cock tip to her hungry center.

“Why don’t you tell me how you want to be fucked, Lady Charlotte?”

She wheezed, thumb moving over the leaking slit of his cock tip, pressing him against her clit. “Now,” she gritted out. “I want you to fuck me right now. Hard and deep. Is that good enough? Or does your cock need a set of written instructions? Here, let me show him where to go...”

She keened at the first press of his head, her hungry cunt gobbling him up, inch by inch. This is it. The most asinine thing you’ve ever done in your life, a life already marked in an endless succession of stupidity. She was tight and hot, and the notion that she might be a virgin crossed his mind again before he shook it away, knowing it wasn’t the case.

Tight and hot and sucking. Lirian’s eyes rolled back as he began to move within her. He didn’t know how she was managing it, but she was sucking his cock as he fucked her, her legs tightening around him, drawing him in like the poisonous pitcher plants that grew on his home island. And here you are. Just a foolish bug, drunk on the tightness of her cunt, easy to devour. She was crying out on every thrust, her nails raking down his back, her legs tightening, sucking him in deeper and deeper until her head dropped back and her eyes popped open wide. Lirian was poised on the edge of his peak, his balls tight and ready, not quite there...

Until he felt it. A dozen needle-like pinpricks against his shaft, buried deep within her. One of the teeth grazed the sensitive skin of his glans, right where he liked to be licked, and his balls spasmed, erupting. It was the most horrific, terrifyingly exciting moment of his life, he realized with a sinking feeling of doom as his cock throbbed inside the witch, filling her with pulse after pulse of his hot release. He knew himself. Once he had a taste of something dangerous, felt the rush of it in his blood, he would seek it out time and time again, until it no longer thrilled him, getting himself mangled in the process. And this won’t be any different. Your cock is going to be a stump.

The teeth had receded the moment he came within her, nearly going cross-eyed as he emptied, and he was ashamed to admit how badly he wanted to feel them again. He had never cum so hard in his life, his cock still jerking, just a dumb bug in its poisonous new home. Lirian groaned again as he spat up the last of his release, feeling as boneless and heavy as he did beneath the crushing surface of the waves.

He needed to leave her soon. She would be moving on in Atlantis, seeking the next leg of her foolhardy journey to get back to her home realm, and he would have to watch her go. The girl dropped back against the pillows as his spent cock slipped from her, looking exhausted. Or you can help her, take her there yourself. He’d be risking the mutiny of his crew to do so. They’d been too long at sea, and the promise of returning to Dragonfly was so close he could nearly taste the honey-perfumed air... but saying goodbye to the ridiculous little witch was going to be more difficult than he’d thought. You could help her while the crew is in Atlantis and then bring her back with you. Back to his ship, and likely his doom. You’re going to grow soft, become distracted, too wound up in her cunt, and you’ll get yourself killed. His ship was perfectly named, he realized, as if it had been waiting for her all along. Her presence on Port Perico, her choice of his ship in the first place, his idiotic decision to keep her aboard.

There was no way around it, he thought, dropping to the mattress beside her, feeling her small hand seek his out in the sheets. Denying her was impossible, but so too seemed the notion of letting her go. It was nothing but a malediction.

7

CHARLOTTE

The sound of skin slapping skin seemed calamitous in her ears, punctuated only by her hitching gasps and his low grunts, and the waves crashing against the side of the ship. It was a symphony of pleasure she thought must certainly be audible to every member of the crew, a concert they performed nightly.

His cock was hard for her each night when he returned from his rounds, made harder by the sight of her naked in his bed, legs open for his audience, fingers rubbing her pearl with her eyes closed. Some nights, he watched until she nearly had herself on the brink, hips jerking, desperate for completion. On others, he aided her with his tongue, sucking her clit until her cunt clenched. Occasionally, he would withdraw his cock and rub his leaking slit against her, letting her feel the bumped ridge of that nubbed crown. That was the worst of it —giving her taste of his seed, not enough to slake her hunger, just a few drops, but enough to drive her mad with wanting. She would whine in frenzy, both sets of teeth gnashing, desperate for him to spend himself inside her until she was dripping in him.

Regardless how those nocturnal interludes began, they always ended the same way—he would bury within her to the hilt, either pulling her to her knees and rutting into her from behind, or covering her with his body, her legs over his arms, fucking her deep and hard as she dragged her nails down his back until his cock was spent and her hunger sated. That night he had been dripping wet when he returned, shedding his clothes in a sodden heap, his cock jutting out like a handle for her to pull, which she did, leading him between her thighs. Huge waves were cresting over the sides of the decks, he told her as he sunk into her with a groan, explaining the tempest-tossed rocking. As he began to thrust, tilting her hips until she gasped, no more was said. No more was needed.

She enjoyed the many things he did to her throughout the week—ordering her to kneel and suck his cocktip as he sat at the table with a map spread before him, or setting her on the table and opening her legs, licking her pussy as his meal sat there growing cold—but she especially liked how he fucked her after his rounds. Hard and fast, each of them chasing release before they returned to sleep. She was on her back that night, a relief, as the pitching of the ship might have sent her sprawling if she were on her knees, and with every thrust of his hips the tension within her winched tighter.

“Are you going to come for me, minnow?” His voice was a growl at her ear, his cock pumping into her with a rhythmic intensity that made her head spin. “I want to feel you squeeze my cock, Lady Charlotte, before I fill this sweet pussy to the brim.”

She wasn’t meant to be enjoying herself. It was a hard detail to remember when he fucked her so well. He was a means to an end. She needed to get home. This ship and his arms weren’t her home, would never be home, and if he knew the truth about what she was, he would be horrified... but she rarely remembered that when he was inside her. When his teeth scraped at her neck, followed by drag of his tongue and warmth of his lips, she was finished. Her back arched beneath him, a strangled cry breaking from her throat as the world and the ship rocked, Sylvia forgotten, and it was very difficult to come up with a reason why she couldn’t simply stay here, in his bed and in his arms, until the sea swallowed them both.

Above her, Lirian wheezed, his face going purple as he came, pulsing within her as his balls emptied. He choked out a laugh, groaned, his fingers digging into her hips as his cock spat up the last of his release, sagging against her at last. Another low scrape of a laugh against her hair as she buried her face in the warmth of his neck, the heaviness of sleep already tugging at her.

“I thought you almost had me that time, minnow. You almost took it off. Fucking stars, this storm. Tomorrow’s going to be miserable...”

Her stomach tightened at his words as he rolled them until he was on his side, cock still hilted within her. She liked to hold him there, nestled between her thighs, for as long as possible. When he’d first raised an eyebrow at the request, she’d simpered over how good he felt, how his girth stretched her—neither statement a lie—mollifying his predictable vanity until he adjusted their positions to stay within her without her needing to make the request at all. In truth, she would wait until he was deep in sleep, letting her tongue unspool to lick up every drop of cum that remained, moving over his shaft and slipping into his foreskin, cleaning them both. His balls were still fat, still had more to expel, she was sure, and it had taken an act of great willpower not to press his tongue into his slit, sucking him dry right from the source.

She couldn’t enjoy the little ritual now though, not with such cryptically uttered words hanging between them. Charlotte was almost certain that at one point, she had slipped. She could keep her teeth held tightly back normally, only letting them slide under her control, but in the time she’d spent in his bed, control seemed a tenuous, distant thing. She thought it had happened the first time, when she’d led his cock to the hungry mouth of her cunt, sucking him in as deeply as he could go. The ridged underside of his thick shaft dragged against her deliciously, and that nubbed crown at the base of his head tickled a spot within her as she urged him deeper, every thrust liquifying her fragile human spine.

She thought she had slipped when her back arched beneath him one night once he’d returned from his rounds, understanding for the first time what he’d meant when he’d told her he often had need at that time of night, playing with her from the start. White light had blinded her as she’d gripped him tightly from within, pleasure turning her into a jellyfish, with no control to speak of, and she was sure her teeth had slipped... but she must’ve been wrong, for he and his cock stayed in bed with her through the night instead of turning her out.

The following morning, he’d covered her body with his own, kissing her neck and down over her breasts, putting her legs on his shoulders as he buried himself to the hilt. She had thought it indeed had happened that time and wondered why she seemed so unable to keep hold of her glamour with him, why pleasure edged out her control to such a disastrous degree. She had waited for his scream of pain, for him to twist away in terror, and prepared herself to see the revulsion in his eyes. Instead, he had groaned, his hips moving in a jerky, uneven cadence that she’d learned signified his own release.

“I have chart work to do,” he’d announced the following evening. “Why don’t you sit down right here.” He’d patted his lap, and her blood thrilled. “Keep my cock warm while I work.”

She tried to keep still, finding the task impossible, eventually deciding if he didn’t want her to fuck herself upon him, he wouldn’t have suggested it in the first place. He’d let her rock against him, rolling her hips with little gasps until he’d pushed the chart aside and rubbed her clit as she bounced, holding her up when she came. She was sure she had slipped then—the position, the eroticism of it, the novelty of being his cock warmer —but instead of dropping her to the ground in disgust, he’d carried her to the bed and pushed her to her knees, fucking her from behind, his hands tight at her hips as he pumped into her. Her face had been pressed into one of the feather-stuffed pillows, swallowing the sounds of her pleasure, and the heavy, percussive slap of his balls against her wiped clean her anxiety for good, she’d decided, for there was no way he wouldn’t have run yet if her teeth were slipping in truth.

Now thought... his words left her uneasy. It wasn’t as if she wanted to do him harm. She didn’t want to hurt him, and more than that, she didn’t want to scare him away. She’d never actually had a lover like this, Charlotte realized. Oh, she had been with plenty of men over the years, circumstances often necessitated that, but she had never had one that she’d enjoyed quite as much, a man who felt like a lover and not merely a pawn. This did not feel like a transaction, even if that was exactly what it was. His words were a poisonous barb to her heart, apprehension clouding her until she decided if he’d meant what she thought he did, he wouldn’t still be there, arms wrapped around her, snoring lightly in his sleep.

She decided to take her cue from him, settling against her pillow and closing her eyes. She felt content, felt guilt over the contentment, and resented the guilt. Why do you have to save Sylvia from herself again? When do you get to live? They weren’t questions she would answer that night, and so she pushed them away as well, focusing on the guttering sound of the sea draining from the scuppers as they were rocked in the storm.

When the four a.m. bells rang, all too soon, Charlotte found herself still pressed to his front. It was her favorite time of day—the quiet morning hour before the half toll upon which he rose for the day. It had been nearly a week. Almost a week since their little negotiation, since he’d ceased calling her Charlie behind his cabin door and instead called her Lady Charlotte, still said in a japing manner, but she had the feeling that was simply him—life was always a joke, a lark, a laugh. He’s not a barracuda at all. He probably turns into a clownfish.

Charlotte hadn’t known what to expect from their little agreement, only that he would capitulate eventually, as all men with power did, and use her selfishly for his pleasure. What she’d not counted on in the meantime was the softness. Since the afternoon they renegotiated their contract, he had made it a personal duty to ensure she was eating enough, that her hair was clean, and that her curls bounced; he would scrub the grime from beneath her nails himself and always kept her warm in his arms once they retired before the midnight bells. She would wake each morning pressed to his front, breathing against his skin, pressed to his chest, or his side, his arm draped around her and his knee pushed through her legs. The hard fucking she received after his rounds didn’t seem like a chore at all, not when she was tucked against him afterward, and not when the fucking itself felt so good.

“You’re like a bloody octopus,” he grumbled as the echo of the bells faded away, but rather than push her away as she’d expected, he pulled her in a bit tighter, his fingers lacing behind her back to hold her in place against him.

“Do you ever think about what you’ll do next?”

She glanced up in time to see his brow furrow, the sharp ridges beneath his skin bunching with the action, nose wrinkling. He didn’t open his eyes, but he bumped her face with his own from his spot on the pillow. “Next? What does that even mean, ‘next’? None of us knows what’s coming next, love.”

“I mean next. Do you plan on being a pirate forever? That’s hardly a respectable profession, Captain.”

“I’m hardly a respectable man.” He shrugged in response, a lazy smile replacing the furrow. “Respectability sounds terribly dull. Makes me think of horses and garden parties and those wretched monkey suits they wear with top hats.”

“A morning suit,” she cut in, giggling, pushing against his chest. “A morning suit is what refined gentlemen wear, and I happen to like garden parties. We used to have the most wonderful garden parties at Podmire. Ladies from every household in the area would be invited, and it was so elegant and fun.” She gave a little sigh, missing the life she’d enjoyed there. “I made some lovely friends. Not horses, though,” she added as an afterthought. “They can keep the silly horses.”

“And how did you come to Podlingtonshire in the first place? Get yourself engaged to some smooth-fingered lordling?”

“Podmire,” she corrected indignantly. “I was a guest of the duchess, I’ll have you know. I—I was a friend of her niece.” Charlotte sniffed, turning her head away, hoping he hadn’t noticed her falter. In truth, she had long studied the maps of this realm, so far from her home. She’d studiously examined the far northern countryside and the ancient houses that ruled it, learnt as much as she could before making her play.

She’d written the aged duchess a letter, claiming to be a dear friend of her niece, Emmeline, thanking the Lady of Podmire for her generous offer to host Charlotte during her stay up north, receiving a response from the duchess within a fortnight, welcoming her and assuring her that all her needs would be attended to, for any friend of her beloved niece Emmeline was a dear friend of hers. The duchess had spent a significant part of the previous two decades living off-realm at another of her magnificent homes and had only come back to the rolling green countryside of Podmire in her dotage. She didn’t actually have a niece, and surely the staff ought to have known that, Charlotte had thought numerous times, but none of them seemed to unduly care, and she had enjoyed her time in the countryside as Lady Charlotte Davenport more than she could’ve ever imagined... but this scoundrel of a pirate didn’t need to know that, and she needed to remind herself that however soft he may have been behind closed doors with her, a scoundrel was what he was. Don’t go giving your heart away to every brigand that passes like Sylvia.

“We would have formal garden parties as well, and all the eligible bachelor gentlemen would come around to dance and court favor with the unmarried debutantes, and yes, they all wore morning suits.”

“Well, now you’ve cut to the heart of things, haven’t you, Charlie? A gentleman. A pirate can be a gentleman, but he’s only a gentleman pirate. A moneylender or a barrister can be a gentleman, but they’ll never be a rogue. You can have one or the other, but you can’t expect both from one man.”

“I don’t care for being told I have to choose between things.” She sniffed imperiously, tilting her pelvis to press to his cock, hard and ready against her. He was only confirming what she already knew, even if she could tell from his tone that he was japing, as usual. “And I expect you’ll only ever be a rogue. Is that it, Captain?”

He had rolled her by then, pinning her beneath his weight, raising her hands to rest beside her head, his long fingers laced with her small ones. She felt the rigid press of him, hot and seeking, and she was only too happy to oblige, opening her legs wide to welcome him in.

“I suppose that depends, Lady Charlotte. Do you want to be carefully made love to by a gentleman?” The ridged circle at the base of his cockhead dragged against her clit, sliding until he was poised at her entrance, pressing just enough for her to feel the slight stretch of him. “Or do you want to be fucked by a rogue?”

“I thought you were afraid of me,” she bit out, her traitorous tongue acting with a mind of its own. Her thoughts the previous night had put her in a maudlin mood, and now she was acting utterly without sense. “You intimated as much last night.” She didn’t know what she was thinking, what she was doing. You’ve gone and given up the game and you’ve no one but yourself to blame. Now what? You’ll have to kill him, kill all of them, right back to where you started, only now you’ve wasted all this time.

One of those expressive eyebrows had arched at her words, but the look on his face as he gazed down was one of amusement. “I’ll have you know I’m not afraid of anything. That’s quite the oversimplification, my dear. It is sagacious to be concerned over the safety of one’s cock when said cock is in the jaws of another. You’ve taken excellent care up till now, granted, but there’s always that latent fear that this might be the day.”

She froze beneath him. He was speaking of her teeth, of her other mouth as if it were the most natural thing in the world, not something of which he was terrified, as he should have been, rightfully. He knows. He knows and he hasn't turned you out.

"H-how long have you known?" Her voice was little more than a whisper, and while his grin did not fade, his eyes softened ever so slightly. He made a show of pretending to think.

"Since the night I gave you a bath."

Charlotte gaped. He had been with her a dozen times since then, a dozen times at least. He still allowed her to share his bed, had fucked her! He's mad, she told herself. He's mad, or else you're dreaming.

“I do wish you had slightly better aim." Abruptly, his arms were gone and he was pushing himself to his knees beside her. She squeaked in surprise when he threw a leg over her chest, trapping her between his well-muscled thighs. "Right here," he directed, gripping his cock in hand. "Right here is the sweet spot, darling. You've managed to hit it once or twice. This is what empties the pot." Her attention was captured by the spot over which he rubbed his thumb, holding his cock back to direct her eyes to the base of his head, where the shiny skin of his cockhead met the ridged crown of nubs. His shining eyes fluttered shut when she gripped him, groaning when her thumb took up the movement against the spot. He couldn’t possibly be asking her to use his teeth on him. If he only knew the horrors you’ve wrought. . .

“If you managed to hit me right there every time, love, I would never be afraid of losing it all together again. Cumming so hard I practically black out? That's the way I want to die."

“You are a wretched man.,” she laughed, foreign elation surging through her as he shifted down her body, pushing her legs open. “And I can’t stand you.”

“Is that how it is then? You need to make your choice, minnow.” He pushed into her slowly, letting her feel the drag of his shaft against her inner walls, opening her up, inch by inch. “Do you want me to whisper sweet nothings in your ear while you diddle me with your hand, your pretty dress unmussed? Or does this sweet pussy want to be pumped full?”

It was an impossibility. No man had ever been with her willingly, not once they knew what she was. And he doesn’t either, you fool. He didn’t, she argues with the voice in her head, but he knew enough. Enough to give him pause, surely. He’d known from the start that she wasn’t a mere boy, had seen the ripple of her magic. He’d known about her teeth, and had still taken her to his bed. He’s either a fool or he has a death wish. She needed to stay focused on her plan. Needed to remember that she’d be leaving on her own once they reached Atlantis, putting him and his ship and his wide smile behind her...

“I want... both,” she said eventually, stretching her head up to reach his lips with her own. She wanted the gentleman and the rogue, wanted to protect her heart at the same time that she wanted to give hers to him freely. “I want you to whisper sweet nothings in my ear, and I want you to fuck me like it’s our last night alive.”

The noise he made against her mouth was part growl, part groan, completely animalistic, and it was all she could do to cling to his back as he moved within her. She didn’t know why she was so unable to hold onto control with him, nor why it felt so good to have him pumping into her, but it didn’t matter as she let herself be carried away on the tide of his movement, writhing beneath him until she broke apart. Her teeth slipped, her nails scrabbling at his back, but he came with a groan, filling her, feeding her, and she realized for the first time in the several weeks since she’d first boarded the ship that the hunger she normally felt roiling within her was sated. Every time the meat of his cock filled her and he came down her second throat, she would suck him greedily, suck him dry, and she couldn’t remember another time when she’d felt so well-fed, so well fucked, or so secure.

At least, until the morning he left. He’d given her no hint at what his plan was, had only whispered against her temple that she was to stay in the cabin until he returned, and that Stride would see to it that she was fed.

“What do you mean he’s gone?”

The gargoyle never lifted his head, ignoring her as if she’d not spoken at all, continuing his task at the helm as placidly as if he were on the ship alone. He would have been handsome if his face weren’t permanently screwed up in a scowl, but as it was, Mr. Stride was the most odiously disagreeable man she’d ever been forced to deal with.

“He’s undertaken a mission,” he said finally, “and I thought you’d been told to stay in quarters?”

“But why has he—”

“I don’t have the time to play childminder to you, miss,” Stride snapped. “We’re nearly at our jump point, and I’ve enough on my plate with the ship and crew and now this blasted weather.”

“That’s rich,” she snapped, matching his scowl. “I didn’t realize you’d been playing childminder all these weeks, ordering me to scrub the deck and sending me down to the kitchen. Was it childminding when you made me take a full shift in the nest? Don’t forget, I was the one who spotted the ship. It wasn’t anyone else on this floating tea trunk, Mister Stride. Me.”

By the time she’d stomped back to the captain’s quarters, Charlotte decided she was being foolish, as foolish as her sister. And if it weren’t for her foolishness, you wouldn’t be in this position in the first place. She needed to remember her reason for being on the pirate ship. With or without Lirian, they would be arriving in Atlantis soon. It was time to start planning.

There was a great ship race that took place in the port every year. Ship captains came from all over the sea realm and beyond, all hoping to make their fortune and earn their fame by winning the race. Lirian—the Captain, she corrected herself—had mentioned they would be in port in time for the race, to unload their cargo. Atlantis would be packed with visitors from every realm, both sky and sea and every portal in between, but it was not the race she was interested in. After the race came the auction. Charlotte ensured the cabin door was locked before pulling out her bedroll. Within the tightly bound bundle of clothing were several pieces of parchment, rolled snugly within each other. She smoothed out the notice for the auction before anchoring it with the same weights Lirian used for his charts, biting her lip in anticipation of what she would need to do.

Annual Sex Auction, All Beings Invited.

It wasn’t her only option, of course, but it was the most prurient, so Charlotte assumed it would be the most likely to succeed. She didn’t have the money for a spell scroll to purchase passage through to Messinas, and even if she managed to acquire the necessary spell, she didn’t have a ship to navigate her way to the shore. There was no entry portal on land. One was deposited right in the middle of the sea, and while she didn’t need to worry about drowning, having to swim to shore in her human form from no small distance was not exactly appealing. And that was only assuming she managed to acquire the necessary spell.

Unlike the rampant pickpocketing that took place in Port Perico, thievery on Atlantis was unwise. She had witnessed wrongdoers put in stocks in the square, and the resident monarch was not one to be trifled with. Attempting to rob one of the wealthy guests there for the race was a tremendous gamble, and attempting to steal a spell directly from the shop that sold them was too foolhardy to even contemplate. She would need to earn money to purchase a spell, would need to figure out a way to get to shore from the middle of the ocean where the portal point was... Or she could simply auction herself off to some wealthy merchant with the stipulation that they deliver her home afterward. She could not always count on another person’s moral compass, could not count on them to do the right thing or to follow through on promises made, but she could always count on lust. Selling herself in the auction seemed the surest bet.

She hated to admit it, but saying goodbye to the Malediction and her captain was going to be the most difficult part of her plan. She had been on board for nearly a month at that point. A month of his smug smirks and boisterous laughter, and too few days spent with the heat of his mouth slotted to hers. There was nothing in their agreement about feelings, but each morning that she woke pressed to his chest without needing to scurry away in mortification, each time his mouth slotted against hers without revulsion or fear, she felt as if there was no way to contemplate an after to all this. If he had asked her to come away with him to his little island of dragonflies and live as his mistress, she would have said yes without a moment’s compunction, sister forgotten.

It was the first time she ever felt as if she actually understood what Sylvia went through every time she foolishly gave her heart away, but Charlotte knew that she was being just as foolish now. He smelled like the sea, like home, but he was hot, so hot against her, and she wanted to do nothing more than sink into his heat and disappear where the depths of the water would never find her. She wanted to stay as Charlotte Davenport, keep him as her lover, and forget that anything else existed outside the two of them. Fate, unfortunately, wasn’t as accommodating.

You won’t be Lady Charlotte Davenport when you return home to Messinas. You won’t be Lady Charlotte Davenport on a bloody pirate ship either, so it’s time to stop thinking about his cock and his eyes and the infernal way he smells. You need to put your pawn back in the game. The sooner you get home and fix Sylvia’s mess, the sooner you can be back abroad, and the sooner you can be Charlotte again.

Entering herself in the auction was relatively straightforward. Every being entering into the auction did so of their own free will, consent given to be purchased and used for pleasure. Held at someplace called the Pleasure Chest, she needed to contact someone named Golda, needed to commit to being at the mercy of her owner for three days, and they would deliver her home after. It seemed as good a plan as any.

Who cared if Lirian was charming and amusing? She had bigger things to worry about. Love was fleeting, was that not what she had told Sylvia so many times before? And how could she say she loved this man? She barely knew him! She was being as foolish as her sister, and unlike her sister, she didn’t intend to leave a path of destruction in her wake. Saying goodbye would be hard, but she had done hard things before. She’d asked him to keep on, and that was exactly what the Malediction was going to do. Charlotte forced herself to be reconciled to the fact... At least, until Stride announced it was time to push on, two days after Lirian had disappeared from the bed beside her, for they had their jump point in sight.

“You can’t mean to leave him!”

“This is part of the life, miss. The sea waits for no man. He knows where we’re headed, and he knows where we’ll be going on to next. He’ll catch up eventually.”

“What kind of first mate are you? Running off at the first sign that there might be something wrong? Aiming to take the ship for yourself?”

“What kind of mate would I, if I were a mate at all, be if I neglected to follow the orders I had been given?” he snapped back, glowering down at her. Charlotte remained uncowed. “I’m second in command on this ship, miss. His orders were to keep to our chart if he wasn’t back after two days. That’s what I intend to do. Keep to the chart. As I said, he knows where we’re headed, and he knows where we’ll be after. It’s up to him to catch up.”

“But you can’t just—”

“Just think, miss,” Stride interrupted coldly, “if only you’d followed orders the last time you were told to stay below deck, he mightn’t be out there at all. If you’re so determined to put fault on someone for this situation, you’d do well to return to the captain’s cabin and have a peek in the looking glass.”

She’d reeled, feeling the gargoyle’s accusation like a slap. Spinning away, feeling the hot sting of tears, she climbed the rope ladder up the mizzenmast, nearly slipping in the rain, cursing her miniature spyglass again. There was no sign of any discernible movement at the surface of the water in her eyepiece, no sign he was out there at all. Down below on deck, the Malediction’s crew was preparing to leave their captain behind. She heard the calls for the sails to be adjusted, watched as the sailing master took the helm, steering the ship into the wind and on to Atlantis.

She had her plan in place. She would keep her glamour clenched between her teeth as she passed through the dock inspection, would steal a bit of food from the Malediction’s galley before disembarking, would change the little bit of coin she had for rupa once she got there, and she would survive until the auction. And then you get home. It was a solid plan, as solid as she could come up with under the circumstances. She had a responsibility, a duty as a sister, and her focus needed to be on that and that alone.

That didn’t explain why she climbed down from the mizzenmast before staggering to the starboard rail opposite the sails, leaning over the side as the surf splashed her in the face. He was out there, and he was close. She could feel it. He was out there somewhere in the sea, and she was the sea. Even in this human form, she felt the ebb and flow of the waves in her veins, felt the pull of the tide in her heart, and she knew he was out there somewhere. Her sister suffered from a lack of control, and Sylvia’s power had been stunted as a result. They were both born of the sea, but Sylvia lived on the land, tethered to the waves but not a part of them, insensible to the crushing darkness. Charlotte knew the darkness well. She knew that all she had to do was put herself into the depths, and she could find him, if only she could hold her glamour.

The crew was busy, Stride’s attention held elsewhere, and even though she needed to be focused on getting home, even though she needed to be focused on her plan, she pulled herself up to the railing, the most foolish thing she’d ever done aside from giving her heart to a pirate, and dove in.

She began to sink immediately. The dark heart of the water, pulling her down, welcoming her home. Not yet. She sunk into the crushing depths, darkness closing above her head. Remember yourself. You’re looking for Lirian. You’re Charlotte, and you’re looking for Lirian. She closed her eyes, focusing on his smell, his smile, the ring of his laughter... the way he made her feel, the way he made her smile. Her face ached from smiling, muscles in this human form she’d never had need to use so frequently before. His smile and his heat, the heat of his body over hers, pressed to her side, his arm keeping more secure than she’d ever felt... And then she was there.

The ruins of a ship bobbed on the surface above her head, the victim of the beast that coiled before her. He had destroyed them, she realized. No quarter. There were no bodies floating in the water, a sign that he’d consumed them, one more thing they had in common. He was no fish. Not a clownfish or a barracuda. He was not a fish, nor a mer, nor an eel, nor any of the ridiculous suppositions she’d made.

He was beautiful. The same color as the coral in the upper portion of the reefs, dark red bleached pale in the sun, the crest on his head and the spikes down his back the same hue as the inky violet sky at eventide. He was a sea dragon, a full serpent, twice the length of the Malediction, with a maw full of jagged teeth. A distant part of her mind wondered how his mother had been abducted by the dragon that sired him, and if she, too, had fallen foolishly in love. A sea dragon of the darkest depths, unhinging his great jaw before her, eyes blank and black, tail unwinding, preparing to wrap around her and pull her deeper.

Her glamour slipped at the first jerk of her ankle, the first tug of his tail. He would wrap her in his coils until she was forced out of this skin, she realized, and then she would consume him once and for all, putting an end to this foolish diversion and letting her heart be crushed beneath the waves.

“Lirian!” Her shriek was muted and distorted, but it didn’t matter, for at the sound of her voice, his eyes were bright and alert, and he knew her. Everything was going to change now, she thought mournfully, but she needed to get them back to where they belonged. He was a creature of the darkest depths, but she was the sea, and she only needed to grip the tail that wrapped around her, and then they were back to where she had started, the waves rough and white in the wake of the Malediction’s exit.

Charlotte gasped as they broke the surface of the water, rain lashing down. She heard Stride’s voice above the din of the waves, shouting for the nets, calling for hands, the boatswain’s voice repeating the order in a deeper bellow. She realized after several moments of riding the lift and fall of the waves that there were arms around her.

She was still clinging to him, but now he clung to her as well. Arms, hands, his broad back and long fingers... He was shifting back, back to himself, coming back to her... and tomorrow she had to leave him for good. Charlotte dropped her head against his shoulder, letting him keep her afloat as the nets reached out, wondering if she ought to sink to the depths with him right then and hold him with her for eternity.

The beveled glass windows at the ship’s stern were steamed over from the water. Grest had been quick with the yoke, boiling sea water in the largest pot the kitchen owned, at Stride’s orders, slinging four buckets over the yoke at a time. She stayed out of the way until Lirian was safely ensconced in the hot water, waited until the tub was filled and Stride had cleared out, waited until they were alone again.

Creeping around the partition, quiet as a little mouse, Charlotte sought him out in his bathwater. She didn’t want to prolong the inevitable this time. Far better to see the confusion and mistrust in his eyes now than risk any more of her heart. His head was dropped back, and his eyes were closed, his long serpent tail hanging out of the tub. He wasn’t any bigger than a merperson now, but his upper body, his beautiful warm brown skin, was covered in overlapping scales, translucent and milky.

“I could’ve hurt you.” His voice was flat, utterly devoid of the bright mischief that normally filled it, even when he was giving a sharp order. “I could have hurt you out there. What were you doing? What were you thinking? Maybe I really do need to have you whipped. What do I have to do to make you follow a single bloody order?”

“I suppose for starters, you’ll need to get yourself back to where you’re meant to be on time.”

“I’m not japing, Charlotte.” That time his voice had a rumble of thunder to it, and she shivered. “I could have hurt you.”

“But you didn’t,” she pointed out. “You didn’t, though. So let’s not shout at each other over things that didn’t even come to pass.”

She had been on the Malediction for nearly a month, but she only just then understood the reason for the bricks of lye and the coarsely bristled brush she had placed them beside. His hands shook as he scraped the scales from his body, and she could almost feel the burn herself. They came away in translucent, bloody strips of skin, accounting for the abrasions across his shoulders, she realized, as well as some of the scars down his broad back.

“Not yet,” he bit out when she lifted the pitcher of milk. “Not yet.”

She had heard stories of dragons who shed their skins this way, leaving behind handsome princes, but she had never heard it applied to those creatures of the sea. “Does this happen every time?” she asked, pulling the brush from his hands, kneeling behind him.

“Not every time. Only if I’m in that form for too long.”

Charlotte methodically dragged the hard bristles over his back and sides, scraping away the scales and attempting to preserve his tender skin beneath as much as possible. She understood the reason for the empty bucket beside the tub then, flinging a handful of the bloody viscera into it.

“And how long does that have to b—”

“It doesn’t matter,” he cut in. “It pertains more to... consciousness, I suppose. It—it’s heavy down below.” Her hands slowed and her head raised, her heart tripping over itself in her chest. “Not heavy like lifting something,” he went on, his crested brow furrowed, staring ahead as if he could see the black churn he spoke of. “It’s like a crushing pressure, but it’s all around you. It’s easier to just give in than to fight against it. It’s easy to forget who you are. And now you know, love. You came into the bed of a monster.”

He looked up then, raising a hand to catch one of her tears on his fingertip. She leaned forward, pressing her lips to his shoulder, his neck, a sob nearly ripping from her throat when he palmed her head, tilting her to his lips. Charlotte wondered if he would be able to discern the taste of his bloody bathwater from her tears.

He was like her. He smelled like home because he was from home; he was of the sea, as she was. She didn’t know how she was meant to say goodbye. She didn’t know how she was meant to do what needed to be done without forgetting herself. She liked being Charlotte Davenport, she liked the way he made her feel, and she did not want to forget him. She resumed scraping his skin, conscious of the way his breath hitched over the spots where she was forced to push deeper, to dislodge the dragon scales that determinedly enveloped him.

“How was it that your mother was seduced by a dragon?”

A low chuckle rumbled against her hands. He took his time in answering, letting the silence stretch until Charlotte assumed he was planning on ignoring her.

“My mother was a member of the queen’s court,” he said at last, the sudden rumble of his voice making her hand slow at his back. “All of the attending ladies would accompany her majesty on their walks each day, through the cliffside garden and occasionally down to the beach. That was when they spotted him for the first time. It became a game to the queen to spot the serpent’s spiked fins in the water. She would bear her breasts to the water as they walked, obliging the rest of her ladies to do so as well. Eventually, she would have her dress stripped completely and wade naked into the shallows so that the beast might taste her essence on the water, and she made her ladies do that with her as well.”

Charlotte blushed, wondering if the same trick would work with the two of them.

“She grew obsessed. From morning till night, her only thought was of the sea dragon. She was reckless, endangering the lives of her ladies and herself, every day. All her little seductions seemed to have worked, because the serpent too seemed obsessed. He would circle the shore day and night, coming as close to the beach as he was able. He was in a mating frenzy, upsetting ships, becoming more and more violent. The queen was thrilled. She didn’t actually want to mate with the serpent, because... well, terrifying sea monster and all that. But being chosen as a dragon’s consort is still considered a great honor. She wanted the prestige without the act, wanted to inflame him and then deny him.”

She had stopped her chore, fingertips resting on his broad back as she listened to the tale, at rapt attention. The ebb and flow of the waves thrummed in her veins, and they did in his as well, she could feel it there, just beneath her touch.

“And then one day the queen grew too bold. She ordered her ladies to strip and enter the water with her, and they strayed too far from the sandbar. The sea dragon surrounded them, and there was nothing they could do.”

“But he didn’t want the queen,” she guessed, her voice hushed. Lirian chuckled, and the sound combined with the steam in the cool air made her nipples tighten beneath her shift.

“No, he did not. He took my mother, and the queen was incensed. Bested by her own lady-in-waiting. The serpent returned my mother after a fortnight, but the damage was done. The queen could not tolerate one of her ladies being thought of as more desirable than herself, even to a beast, let alone one from a poor little island chain. My mother would have been killed, but the council was afraid of incurring the dragon’s wrath, so she was stripped of her title and cast out with nothing.” He shrugged, tipping his head back, a familiar grin taking up residence on his face for the first time since he’d left her in their bed several days earlier. “She came back to Dragonfly and had me, and that was that. Serpents are still revered in the islands, there’s none of the fear they have on the mainland. I grew up in those waters, and we had the benefit of notoriety. Not many women are able to boast having been mated by a sea dragon and birthing their offspring. And that’s the port the Malediction calls home.”

Charlotte resumed her grisly task, pressing a kiss to the side of his throat. By the time she was done, the bucket was full of chum and the water was a gory mess. She pressed her lips to the side of his neck again, sliding her hands down his chest, which was bronzed like a godling once more, sculpted muscle and dark hair, a trail that her fingers followed until they reached his cock. Cocks, she realized. She had not yet added the milk, and he had not fully shifted back. Her hands pushed on, dragging over his scales until she reached the slit in his skin from whence the two fat appendages burst.

They were identical in feel, at least to her hand. Thick and blunt, with a frill of texture moving down their lengths like the row of fins that graced his serpent back. Each possessed a fat head, that ridged crown she enjoyed so much even more pronounced. She liked the way his stomach muscles jumped beneath her hand, relished the way his hands flexed his sides as she began to stroke him, up one and down the other. She wanted to know what they would feel like inside her, together, and once the thought crossed her mind, she knew she would never be able to let it go, would carry the regret with her for eternity if she did not experience him now this way.

Lirian did nothing to stop her as she shucked off her clothing, dropping them in a heap before climbing into the bloody bathwater and straddling his tail. His lower half had not changed back, and she realized neither had his teeth, not fully. He snapped at her neck like the barracuda she had originally imagined him as she led his first cock to her clenching heat.

“Slow down, darling,” he groaned against her shoulder as she sunk down until he was fully hilted within her, staying her hand when she reached for the second. “You can’t just go slipping things in there.”

His mouth was hard against hers, giving her a bruising kiss as his finger worked the tight pucker of her behind, pressing in slowly. His fingers were slick and slippery, and she realized it was from his cock slit, a lubrication he was secreting. She began to rock against him, the bumps of that ridge making her eyes roll back every time she sunk down on him as he worked in a second finger. By the time he had a third finger in her ass, she was gasping. The water lapped around them in rhythmic waves as she rode his cock, her breasts bouncing on the water’s surface.

“Are you so desperate to fuck a monster, love?”

Her heart ached, and she hid her tears against his chest before seeking his mouth with her own, his sharp teeth grazing her lip. “We’re all monsters, Captain.”

“Well, then in that case, how do you want to be fucked, Lady Charlotte?” He hissed as she gripped his shoulders, raising herself until his second cock pressed to her ass, breaching her slowly. She could open herself in a way a mere human never could, and despite their enormous size difference, despite the thickness of those cocks and her relative inexperience being had this way, she was able to sink onto him without pain.

“Like it’s our last night.” It hurt her heart too much to admit it was.

When she began to move, his head dropped back, a full-throated moan reverberating around the space. A fat dragon cock in her ass, a fat dragon cock in her cunt, the pressure greater than anything she could have dreamt, her vision going spotty each time she sunk down on him.

“How are you so perfect?” he groaned against her, gripping her hips as she bounced atop him, pulling her down fully on each roll. “What am I going to do without this perfect little pussy, my lady?”

When he began to thrust up into her, Charlotte slumped forward against his chest, letting him do the work, her body twisted tighter than it had ever been before.

“I’m going to fill you up, love. We’ll be getting off the ship in the morning, but you’ll be leaking dragon cum for a week. Advance apologies to your delicate underthings.”

Charlotte was certain there was no way her teeth managed to stay in check as she fell apart atop him, stuffed full of him, the only way she ever wanted to feel again. When he came inside her with a groan, the pressure of his two cocks erupting was nearly enough to propel her off him, his hands at her hips and his teeth at her neck the only things holding her in place.

He was like her. Of the sea, like her. A monster, like her. Mistrusted and despised, for sea dragons were hunted in every realm, hunted and feared, again, like her. There was probably no one else in this realm or any other being who might understand her the way he did, for she’d never met another sea dragon like him, not one that was a full serpent... and she was going to be walking away from him. The thought alone made her hunch, wrapping her arms around his neck and squeezing her eyes shut as if she could brace herself against the pain she felt in her heart. One way or another, she was going to have to say goodbye. She had never wished to be called upon to fetch someone else’s bloody tea more in her entire life.

8

LIRIAN

“Are we going to discuss what happens next?”

Lirian watched as her fingers tightened around the handle of her tea cup, a nearly imperceptible movement, but not small enough to be missed by his keen eyes. He paced behind her chair, too agitated to sit, agitation her cool demeanor was doing nothing to improve. Charlotte was studiously avoiding his gaze, and he wondered if she would pretend she hadn't heard him at all.

They would be making the jump into Atlantis that day, docking in the overcrowded seaport ahead of the widely-attended regatta. Stride and the other two officers would be overseeing the unloading of their cargo, and as soon as the chore was done, Lirian knew without question that the crew would disperse, not to be seen again until they hauled up anchor. Charlotte had not disclosed the next step of her plan on how to get home, and he had begun to wonder if she even had one.

“Next?”

He blew out an impatient breath at her mild tone. "Yes, darling, next. Surely you have a plan for what you're going to do next?"

Charlotte shrugged, a dainty lift of her narrow shoulders. "I’m going to find a merchant bound for Messinas and barter passage with them, I suppose. Have you ever been to Atlantis? For a city full of brigands, it’s unwise to test the local authority.”

“Remel is not a monarch to be trifled with,” Lirian agreed. “I’ve heard people have disappeared from that golden pathway of theirs, never to be seen or heard from again. And that forest is full of portals, incredibly dangerous to go wandering. You can keep the whole bloody island as far as I’m concerned.”

“Yes, well, your personal feelings notwithstanding, Captain Jurel, I don’t have much of a choice in departure points. I’m going to barter passage with a ship bound for Messinas.” Her voice remained light and mild, but she kept her eyes focused on the surface of her tea. “Find a job, perhaps, so that I can earn myself enough coin to purchase a spell scroll and get there myself. Or maybe I'll sell myself into service on another captain's ship, who knows? I have plenty of options.” The last bit was said with a spark of the same impudent defiance she’d displayed since they left Port Perico, a barbed hook baited specifically for him.

She’s going to wind up selling herself to some absolute bastard. He’s going to fuck her selfishly, won’t care if she’s enjoying herself, won’t care if he hurts her. He might not even bring her home after that. She’ll wind up as a concubine, and you’ll never see her again.

She had been distant that morning, distant and cold since the four a.m. bells, but Lirian thought he understood why. He loved beginnings. The anticipation of starting something new and the adrenaline rush that accompanied, the novelty of a new task, a new heading, a new port of call. There was nothing but promise and hope, and possibility at the start. The beginning was to fly. Endings, on the other hand, weren't nearly as enjoyable, and they had reached the end of their shared journey.

He disliked the twist in his gut at the thought of Charlotte moving on, of watching her sashay down the gangplank of his ship for the last time. Her plan, if one could even call it that, sounded foolhardy to him, fraught with too many changing variables. I’m going to find a merchant bound for Messinas and barter passage with them. He knew what bartering passage likely meant, and jealousy clutched at his insides. She had seen him in his true form, had scraped the skin from his body, and had still—still!—slept beside him in his bed, and now he was supposed to simply send her off to another journey, another fate, another captain’s bed. He had lain awake all night, trying to memorize the heft of her hair in his hands and the contours of her lovely face. And now, somehow, he had to give her up.

Unless you don’t. She’d not even planned well to be a cabin boy. How is she going to fare selling herself to some stranger? It doesn't need to be the end. Are you actually going to let her go waltzing off into the sunset without a coin to her name and not a single plan in place? To be left to the mercy of the jackals in Atlantis? She was frightfully bad at this. Bad at this, and worse yet, didn't seem to realize it at all. Her delicate little face was wildly expressive, her eyes betraying her every emotion, regardless of the words coming out of her mouth. She had been bad at this from the start, and her skills at subterfuge had not improved since boarding the Malediction a month earlier. You can’t let her do this alone. There was a witch on his ship, one who knew magic, and he still didn't know who or even what she was, and most concerningly, Lirian had decided he didn't actually care.

“I’m sure bartering passage won’t be that difficult,” she sniffed. “After all, I managed to reach an accord with you.”

The thought of her coming to harm in the next step in her little scheme made something twist deep in his belly, a primal need to possess that he didn't want to acknowledge. It almost seemed ironic that she had asked about his sire at this juncture in their journey, for he had never fully sympathized with his serpent father more than he had when Charlotte scraped the scales from his body. He felt desperate to possess her, to claim her as his mate, to wrap her in his coils and keep her with him forever. It was madness. Madness, but it was the only hand he had to play, at the moment.

"I don't see why that's necessary, actually. You're right. You’re already on a ship, Charlie. What's the sense in bargaining with a new captain when you've already struck a fine one here.” He’d made up his mind, evidently. He’d take her through himself, leave the crew on Atlantis, not that they’d mind, he was certain. There were more illicit activities to be found on Atlantis than in most ports, and he had no doubt each member of his crew would be known by name at the Bawdy Banquet by the time he returned. Let them unload the ship and then leave with her. The sooner you go, the sooner she can get things sorted with her sister, and the sooner you can get back here... with her.

At last, Charlotte raised her eyes. Guarded, he could tell she was attempting to hold herself in check, and was doing a piss poor job of it, as usual. Her shell pink lip caught between her teeth, she glanced up at him through her thick fringe of lashes, color blooming up her throat. She didn't want to trust him, or perhaps it was the promise of hope that she didn't want to trust.

Lirian understood that, as well. Hope was a treacherous emotion. Staying loose-limbed and nimble was the secret to longevity in his profession, and being able to act on fate’s whims was a necessity, but when one began to hope for a certain outcome, the fight was already lost. The beginning was to fly, but the hope that preceded it was a hellish anxiety, a flutter of wings, flight without mastery. One was just as likely to crash into the waves and perish as they were to catch the wind and take wing with hope. He did not blame her for being wary.

“It should be easy goings, I’d think. We’ll make the jump into Atlantis this morning. Give the crew some time to unload the cargo from the hold, let Cadmus and Billings sort out the fencing of said cargo, treat ourselves to libations and a meal not cooked in the same pot Grest uses for the washing, and then we’ll be on our way to saving sisters and enjoying the off-realm scenery.”

“We?” Her voice was a sharp slash of impertinence, as if she still donned her cabin boy cap. “Since when did this include a ‘we,’ Captain? I thought you had ports to put in to. Once your cargo has been unloaded.”

“Funnily enough,” he began, pulling out the chair beside hers, gripping her chin gently once he’d sunk into it. “I’m quite happy with the port I have currently. And I plan on seeing her safely through to the end of her journey.”

She met his eyes at last, and her gaze was bright with tears. The dress she wore was new, another from Lady Maris's collection. Stride had acted like a shopkeep, hawkishly standing over his shoulder as Lirian perused the selections, bartering the price like a bloody salesman, the obnoxious, filthy little bird shrieking from his shoulder. He’d chosen a silvery lavender brocade tiered in plum lace. It reminded him of the surface of the sea at eventide, when the sky was a wash of indigo and violet, the water like glass, reflecting the silver-white light of the moon and the winking constellations overhead. It made her skin look like porcelain, the flush that bloomed on her cheeks like the soft kiss of a rose. Lirian couldn’t fathom when he’d grown so bloody poetic. His heart was like some spiny, bottom-dwelling thing, attempting to lance its way out of his chest when she sniffed.

"Do you mean it? You-you would do that? Truly?"

He captured her lips with his own, unable to restrain himself for another heartbeat. The salt of her tears mingled with their mouths. He would see her through safely, and let her decide what happened next. “Let me bring you home, Charlotte. Settle things with your sister. Then after... well, I suppose after is up to you.”

“What do you mean ‘after?’”

He shrugged. “As I said, love, that’s entirely your call. Perhaps we say our goodbyes and you decide to stay home. Maybe we sail on to the next adventure. Bring the crew back to Dragonfly and set off on our own after enjoying the local comforts for a spell. Your choice, Charlie. Remember, our agreement is that you would be an active participant or not one at all.”

Lirian was unprepared for the way she launched herself from her own chair into his arms, hooking her hands around his neck, and dragging him down to meet her mouth once more.

"Then I say yes," she breathed against his lips. “How soon can we leave?”

“Well, we can make the leap into Atlantis anytime now. The jump point puts us in advantageous waters, which is why we make a point to use it. The crew needs to unload the cargo, and Stride will need to set up his dealings. We’ll need to pick up a spell scroll with the proper heading... as long as there are no setbacks, I can’t see why we wouldn’t be able to set off by evening?” Another press of her lips, this time accompanied by the tug of her teeth and her hand cupping the shape of his cock in his trousers.

“Then let's hurry up and get it over with, as quickly as possible. The sooner we leave, the sooner you can take me back to bed.”

The port of Atlantis stood out of place and time, at the intersection of numerous realms and galaxies, a haven for the wild, weary, and wicked alike. It was not uncommon to share the same tavern table with captains from a handful of other realms, from the star sea to those who sailed to the land of the dead. Pirates were common. So were monster hunters and royals, outlaws and runaways.

Lirian had never been fond of the place. He avoided it when he could and found staying in his own realm to be not so great a sacrifice—he loved Dragonfly, loved the familiarity of those waters and the people who called the island chain theirs, and no matter how far the Malediction ranged in her travels, returning home was always a relief. He disliked being at the whims of the mysterious, capricious monarch who ruled Atlantis, but there was no denying the Malediction and her crew left the island a sight richer than they’d been upon their arrival every time they made berth in that port.

It did not take long to ensure the crew was ready, sailing master at the helm, Stride glaring over the starboard side. All they needed then was the piece of eight.

"Where did you get it?" Charlotte breathed in wonder as he unwrapped the curious figure, kept secure in a locked compartment within his armoire. Two serpents, coiled together in an elaborate knot, carved from olivine. Lirian dragged the pad of his thumb down one of the serpent’s backs. It was one of the few things of value he owned, aside from his ship. Plunder came and went, fortunes split equally amongst the crew, but this—this was from home, and it was his and no one else’s.

"I suppose you could say this was part of my mother's bride price," he murmured, holding the piece out of the palm of his hand for her to see. "She chose it from my father's treasures, one of a handful of things she was given permission to take."

"This from a dragon's treasure hoard," she gasped. "Amazing."

"A restoration, actually." The piece had been carved on Dragonfly centuries earlier, passed down from hand to hand until it had been claimed by a sea serpent, pillaging a ship. It was quite fortuitous that his mother had chosen it amongst all the other treasures at her disposal, for it had certainly been put to good use in his hands over the years. “It’s called the Lover’s Knot.”

"What do we have to do?" Her voice retained its hushed quality, as he placed the carved figure in her palm, closing her fingers around it, and enfolding her hand in his own.

"A leap of faith, darling. That's all it takes. You know where you want to go. Think of Atlantis. Have faith this will get you there, and close your eyes.” He was wise to have placed it in her hand, for the leap of faith took concentration, and at that moment, as the eight vibrated in her palm in her hand shook in his, all Lirian could think of was her.

* * *

“Present for inspection. Keep moving, keep moving.”

Members of the Remelian guard lined the docks, jammed with new arrivals, all there for Remel’s regatta. Lirian normally went out of his way to avoid Atlantis during the annual race. The port would be overflowing with travelers from every realm, Shipwreck Cove even more treacherous to navigate, and more eyes on him than he cared for in any one place, but the hold was full, and these off-realm tourists would guarantee them the best coin.

“State your name, ship, and reason for entering the port of Atlantis.”

The black-clad guards were upright and severe, but the man’s voice had a touch of boredom, as if he had been asking the same question a hundred times an hour for the past several days, and Lirian knew he likely had been doing exactly that.

“Captain Jurel, of the Malediction. We’re here for the race. As spectators, of course.” It wasn’t strictly true, but it would get them going faster.

“Is anyone in your crew or traveling party a siren?”

Lirian bit his tongue, forcing his face to remain impassive, when all he wanted to do was roll his eyes. So it begins. He wondered if anyone actually ever said yes. Sirens were illegal on Atlantis, and every ship went through the same entry routine. They might be the only species burdened with an outright ban, but he knew from experience that other finfolk were just as mistrusted and unwelcome. Yourself included. “No sirens on board.”

Charlotte gripped his hand, her small fingers threading with his longer ones as one of the guards stepped forward to inspect the crew. He felt her tremble against him, the audible sigh of relief she gave as they were waved on making him roll his eyes in truth. She’s not even a bloody siren, and she’s still acting as if she might be put in the stockade. He had wondered if it was possible, early on, but he had known sirens in the past and nothing about Charlotte or her shimmering edges gave credence to such a supposition. She possessed magic, but she also seemed frail to him, in a way only humans with their delicate bones were, as evidenced by her injuries when Stride had pushed her down the staircase. She’d never survive out there on her own.

“It feels a bit a like playing at being on holiday,” she whispered as they were escorted up the dock.

Lirian knew without needing to poll for opinions that the entire crew would be filing down the gangplank behind him, if there wasn’t work to be done. Everyone was eager to be on land, stable ground beneath their feet for a change, taverns to visit, company to purchase, meals that weren’t cobbled together from their limited stores to be ingested. They would want to feast and fuck interchangeably, and he knew it would not take them long to unload the cargo with the motivation of such pleasures to be had just ahead of them. Grinning down at her, he impulsively decided to treat Charlotte exactly as if her little supposition were true—a holiday, a pleasure trip, two lovers in town for the race, without a single worry to call their own.

“Well then, love, let’s see what Atlantis has to offer your holiday.”

She was swarmed by a shopkeeper and her assistant when they stepped into the dress shop, after first visiting the money changer, both of the employees cooing over the high quality of her dress and how well it complemented her coloring. She squealed over the parasol they showed her, the same plum color of the lace tiering her full skirt, and his purse was already a bit lighter as they stepped out the door a short while later, a fact that was negated by her brilliant smile.

She exclaimed over the window outside the parrot shop, and Lirian grimaced as they stepped over the threshold, the cacophony from the birds making his eye twitch.

“Welcome, welcome, friends! Are we in the market for a new companion? I have a blue and gold macaw, newly arrived, that can recite the recipe for a perfectly scrumptious onion quiche.”

She chatted amiably with the owner, and giggled over the antics of the brightly colored parrot that marauded around the brim of the owner's equally brightly colored oversized hat, waving gaily when they left at last.

“Stride had the audacity to bring one of those squawking birds onto my ship,” he groused as she linked her arm in his. The streets were too crowded for his liking, too many guards, and although they were not welcome on Atlantis and had no jurisdiction on the island, there was always the possibility of the Cŵn Annwn, the cross-realm law enforcement who hunted down criminals and monsters. It would not be popular with the island sovereign, but they just might put in an appearance with so much off-realm traffic passing through the port.

“Well, I think they’re lovely,” she huffed with a brilliant smile, stretching up on her toes to reach his mouth. She sniffed imperiously when Lirian pointed out the pleasure house, noting that most of his crew had probably already found that way to the Bawdy Banquet's door. She bit her lip as they passed the erotic theater, turning her head away to exclaim nervously over the stockade in the square, and soon they had reached the destination he had in mind.

The Siren’s Call was at the end of a long line of businesses, a building that seemed as old as the island itself. The dimly lit tavern was packed with bodies, an uncomfortable press of passersby, and as they he longed for the solitude of his ship and his bed, with her in it beside him.

“You think all these people will leave once the race is done?” Charlotte asked.

Lirian shrugged, leading her to the far wall of the tavern, which was covered in posters and advertisements. Many of the rolled parchments were wanted signs, for pirates and ships alike, and he was certain he would find his own unfortunate countenance mixed in amongst them. Someoneoranother was marrying Whatsherface, called out one poster, while numerous other parchments advertising the race seemed to be overlapping everywhere.

“Some might, but the festivities don’t end today. Tomorrow is the auction.” He gestured to a prominently displayed poster depicting a colorful spotlight with an indistinguishable being standing in the middle of its bright beams. Annual Sex Auction—All Beings Welcome. He was unsurprised to see the heat climbing up her neck. “A good amount will stay on for this. Especially the rich ones. Then after that they’ve several days of fucking and frivolity ahead of them, before anyone even thinks of departing. Then, of course, everyone will need to replenish themselves, food and drink, more merriment, more fucking and frivolity, until their coin is spent and they have the uncomfortable reminder that real life is awaiting them back in their home realm, at which point, they will at last depart. But it won’t be for days.”

Charlotte ducked her head, pulling him slightly away from the poster, forcing her way into his arms. “Fucking and frivolity does sound like a good time, Captain.” Her voice was low, a coquettish whisper for his ears only, her nails grazing the front of his trousers. “We ought to take advantage of the ship being empty before we leave.” Her palm gripped the meat of his cock, squeezing just hard enough for him to go cross-eyed for a moment... before releasing him and turning back to the wall, flashing him an impish smile over her shoulder before turning her attention back to the wall of posters.

The illustrated faces of the outlaws looking back at them from the wanted signs were identical in their fearsomeness, as if the artist only knew how to draw one set of angry eyebrows, giving each poster the air of featuring the same villain over and over, wearing a clever disguise in each. He pointed out scoundrels he knew by person and those he knew only by reputation, finding the poster he was seeking with little trouble. Twisting, Lirian placed his face beside the poster bearing the Malediction’s name as she laughed. The artist had made the ridges at his temples far too pronounced, as if he bore his finned serpent’s crest beneath his hat, and comically gave him no eyebrows to speak of.

“What do you think, darling? Did they capture my likeness?”

“Not at all.” She sniffed. “They made you far too handsome.” Her words were punctuated with another kiss, and this time, his teeth were the ones to catch her lip. He rather liked playing holiday with her, and wondered how long this giddy newness would last.

“Did you happen to see any crimson sails when you arrived in port, lad?”

Lirian turned at the sound of the familiar voice, the captain of a ship he knew well. The Kraken’s Bride was a fin-sailed junk, her captain a half orc who towered over nearly everyone in the vicinity, his glass sloshing as he staggered to the wall where Lirian and Charlotte stood.

“I didn’t see any. Isn’t that supposed to be a relief, Gormah?”

The big orc belly laughed, and Charlotte pulled her hand from his grasp, drifting down the wall to look at more of the posters.

“Aye, that it is. I’m surprised, though. I thought for sure some of those bloody hunters would show up this week.”

“Well, don’t get ahead of yourself. Race is tomorrow, I’m sure there will at least be a shipload or two of them pulling into port by this evening. Although, it would take something considerable to break the treaty. More’s the pity for them, I suppose.” Lirian and the big orc exchanged a laugh, the other captain staggering back to his companions. The bar beyond had slightly fewer bodies pressed around it, and he was at last able to see the owner behind its long surface. The half elf’s family had owed the Siren’s Call for generations. If there was news or gossip happening on Atlantis, Lirian knew Seiko was the best source to hear it.

“Seiko, what say you? It’s been a long while.”

Charlotte was still down the wall, standing stock-still, staring open-mouthed at one of the posters before she turned slowly at the sound of Lirian’s voice, drifting back to his side like a ghost. His brow furrowed, uncertain of what could have upset her before deciding there was likely no end for offense to a highborn lady in a place like this.

The bartender gave him a sharp-edged smile as he pushed to the bar before her. “Captain Fishy Face. It’s been too long. Are you in for the race? I didn’t think they let in ships that had been resurrected with magic, but wonders never cease.”

“Two Siren’s Kisses, for myself and my lovely companion here. And no, I don’t want to have anything to do with the race. I’d not be here at all if we didn’t have some cargo to unload.”

He glanced down at Charlotte—who was gripping his wrist with the same cloying, tentacle-like strength she exhibited in her sleep—and back to the bartender, wondering if she would take note of the half elf’s tattoos. An array of witchery symbols graced the bartender’s arms, surely a kinship between the two of them, he would’ve thought, but Charlotte’s face remained blank and impassive. Absolute rubbish witch.

“Cargo, and my lovely companion here is going to be going on to her home realm. I don’t suppose you know the direction of the portal we need to take to reach Port Messinas?”

“Not sure if you want to be doing that.” Seiko nodded back to the wall of posters, indicating something there. “At least not right away. The port is closed. Dangerous beach, some creature wreaking havoc. Ripping sailors apart. You can sail in, I’ve not heard there’s a threat in the waters, but there’s nowhere to go from there. Cŵn Annwn will likely be sorting it out eventually. I’ve heard they have quite a bit on their plates at the moment, but if the realm’s authorities went through the trouble of posting the warning, you can be sure the Cŵn Annwn are at least aware of the problem.”

He glanced down to the top of Charlotte’s head. Her curls were immaculate, pulled up from the sides of her face and arranged in a crown, thick coils spilling out, pinned to fall over one shoulder. Her head never rose, her eyes fixed at some point across the bar, scarcely breathing from the look of it.

“Well, I suppose we can wait it out, darling? Perhaps by the end of the week, the bloody bastards will have sorted things and it’ll be safe for us to make the journey.”

At that, her head jerked up. “You’re still willing to go?” The drinks were set before them, an array of colors wavering in the glasses. Her face, which normally would have been as flushed as a berry with such a display of her temper, was bloodless and white. Her eyes remained glazed and fixed once her head dropped once more.

“Why? Why would you be willing to do that? Knowing it’s dangerous?”

“I do believe I am duty-bound as a pirate to laugh in the face of danger.” Her eyes took on a glassy cast, and he realized with a start they were filling with tears, heat spreading over her neck.

“And what if I tell you I don’t want to wait? That I want to leave tonight. Would you still take me through, even knowing the danger?”

“I would take you,” he began carefully, searching her face for any sign of what had distressed her so, “to the runesmith. Right this moment. We’ll purchase the spell we need, and we’ll be off as soon as the hold is cleared.”

Her face crumpled. If it was a test, he’d clearly not passed. The front of his shirt swallowed the sound of her sob as she buried herself against him, her fingers curling like claws to grab at him, squeezing, inhaling as if she were a bloodhound, hot in pursuit of her prey.

“Charlotte... what is it, love?”

Her head raised, eyes red-rimmed and tearful, but she picked up the glass before her at last, clinking it to his, then tipping her head back and draining it fully. His mouth opened to repeat the question when she rose on her toes, grabbing the back of his neck to drag him down to her.

“I do think I’m a little bit in love with you,” she murmured before slotting her mouth to his, a press of lips and tongue and teeth, his hand cupping the back of her head, hot and desperate and over all too soon.

There was a shout outside the tavern’s windows, a commotion in the street, and someone farther down the bar shouted something about the stocks in the square. A press of bodies churned around them, people jostling to gape at whatever was happening, pressing themselves to the windows. Under normal circumstances, he might be curious, for there was little on Atlantis that was not permitted, and it would take something egregiously profane to disrupt the normal business doings of the port town, but there was nothing in the world more important at that moment than the girl beside him, proclaiming she loved him, despite having seen what he truly was.

“Bloody ridiculous,” he muttered. “They’re acting like they finally caught a siren in the act of her song.”

Lirian turned, his mouth turned up to say something saucy to her, to ask if she was herself a siren and had him entranced, for he felt similarly smitten with her. The smile froze on his face, brow furrowing as the smile slid off. “Charlotte?” The space in front of her glass was empty, and there was no sign of her at the back wall or farther down the bar. “Charlotte!” He spun, moving in a complete circle, his eyes roving over the crowd, attempting to spot her lavender dress, her lovely hair, her infernal attitude and flashing eyes, anything... but he realized after a moment that it was futile.

She was gone.

9

CHARLOTTE

The Siren’s Call looked like every other tavern she’d ever entered in port towns like this. Dark, rough wood, a long bar and boisterous voices, and no shortage of people far in their cups. The back wall was covered in parchments, wanted signs and advertisements alike, and that was where he had led her. Charlotte wondered if they had stayed on the other side of the tavern, if they would have simply waited patiently for space to open at the bar for him to talk with the bartender, if they had bypassed the tavern altogether and continued to literally any other point on the island, if perhaps she hadn’t seen that poster, then maybe she never would have run.

She would’ve thrown her arms around his neck and squeezed with all her might, would’ve kissed him as deeply and passionately as she was able, would have suggested making a detour to the pleasure house together before they left for her realm. She wondered what would’ve happened if she had not seen the parchment, but there was no sense in dwelling on what had not come to pass.

Lirian had led her to the wall and had looked over the wanted posters, quipping over several of them, captains he knew, ships the Malediction was friendly with, finding his own with a snort. The artist had done a poor job of depicting the riches of his crest, and the absence of eyebrows made him look vaguely like a seal. She had kept looking at the posters on the wall when he was engaged by a drunken orc, the wanted posters moving on to advertisements for businesses, an announcement of the show schedule at the Pleasure Chest, and specials running at the Bawdy Banquet. A wedding announcement, dozens of flyers for the regatta, and then the red-edged parchments, warnings issued by the Cŵn Annwn.

Dread had crowded her chest as she took in the poster before her, a stark warning of danger, her heart squeezing up to her throat.

Warning: Dangerous Shoreline

Man-Eating Beast spotted in this quarter

The depiction was a writhing mass of tentacles and a skull at the center. It was laughably incorrect, but it wasn’t as if the artist would know that. It’s not as if she’s leaving any survivors.

Port Closed - Ships advised to avoid Messinas

Come ashore at your own risk

“I wouldn’t fancy throwing anchor there.” The voice came from over her shoulder, and a swift glance back showed her the smarmy grin of another ship captain. “Although, I wouldn’t say no to a man-eater right now.” A lascivious drag of his eyes moved over her, and Charlotte felt her skin crawl, like the scuttle of tiny crabs, running ahead of the man’s eyes. “Do you have any experience in that area, sugar lump?”

He didn’t possess Lirian’s aquatic features, nor did he possess one-tenth of his handsomeness or even an ounce of his charm, and Charlotte rolled her eyes, unseen to the man behind her. She decided he was simply not worth answering, looking over the inaccurate depiction of her sister once more.

The Cŵn Annwn were monster hunters. She had a feeling they would take issue with that title, and while it was possibly simplistic, it was hardly a lie. Intergalactic and cross-realm hunters, they sailed ships with crimson cover and journeyed far and wide, hunting down creatures who had jumped realms, creatures like her, and apparently creatures like her sister, who had stuck close to home and were still behaving abominably.

The issuement of the warning meant they would have been made aware, and would soon be seeking Sylvia out. You might be too late. All this, and you might be too late.

The realization changed everything.

What would be the good in saving her sister if Lirian perished in the process? She would never be able to trust her heart again. She would sink into the deepest depths until she had forgotten him, forgotten the hurt in losing him, forgetting herself, forgetting everything they had done and who she had been. Her sister would no longer matter, for Charlotte wouldn’t be anything but a mindless feeding machine. What use could she have for a sister in the darkest part of the sea? What use could she have for a heart? She would be no different than that forgotten sleeping god, never to wake again.

No. She stared at the back wall of the Siren’s Call’s bar, trying hard to make heads or tails of the word the little voice in her head had just uttered. No. You won’t risk him. You love him, and you won’t risk him. He was of the sea, like her. He understood what it was to lose oneself beneath the waves, and she would never again find someone who understood her half as well, she knew with an echoing certainty in these borrowed bones. She loved him and she would miss him, but she could not allow him to continue at her side.

His mouth had barely left hers when someone shouted at the other end of the bar. Something had happened outside, some calamity that had everyone rushing to the doorway. Charlotte realized the sudden press of eager bodies was her chance. You might not get a second one. The instant his attention was pulled, she turned and darted away. Behind them, hugging the back wall, scurrying like a mouse, invisible. Men didn’t see women they didn’t want to fuck, and she pressed through the bodies unnoticed until she was able to slip out the door and around the back of the building, losing herself in the throngs of tourists there for the race.

Charlotte held herself steady as she put as much distance between herself and the tavern as she could, at least until she reached the treeline. The forest was a dangerous quagmire of portals, and she’d need to be careful she didn’t disappear through one of them, but at least she was confident he’d not go looking for her there. Sinking to her knees in the lovely dress he’d given her, she wrapped her arms around a tree to ensure she stayed put, wondering if all the beings on the other sides of the invisible portals that surrounded her could her sobs.

* * *

The Pleasure Chest was a tall building on the main thoroughfare through the center of the square. The erotic theater was one of the most popular venues in Atlantis, and the annual sex auction was always a sold-out affair.

The owner was a tall, strapping human woman named Golda, whose intimidating, orc-like build did not take away from the brightness of her sharp eyes. She wasn’t what Charlotte envisioned when she thought of the owner of an erotic theater, but she supposed being intimidating in this particular line of work was likely an asset.

“I’d like a stipulation added that in addition to buying me, they’re also committing to bringing me back to my home realm.” Charlotte lifted her chin, hoping her voice hadn’t shook and that she sounded as sure as she was.

Golda raised an eyebrow at Charlotte’s attempt to sound authoritative. “We don’t normally have stipulations on entries,” she rumbled, walking a circle around Charlotte, examining her from every angle. “But I don’t see the harm, as long as it’s outlined from the start. If they’re unwilling to do so, they won’t bid. As long as you realize that may affect your price.”

Charlotte had spent two days huddled in the forest. She had nowhere else to go, and did not want to risk Lirian accosting her in the streets. She was bedraggled and starving, and was certain the dark circles under her eyes from the lack of sleep and the incessant crying wouldn't be doing her any favors in increasing her bids either. Now the night of the auction was here, and she needed to harden her heart, put away her hurt, and focus on her plan.

Unlike Golda, the emcee—a witch named Eloise—was every bit what one would likely think of when they mentioned the owner of a brothel. Thin and reedy, like ancient spires of dune grass wavering in the slightest breeze, Eloise minced around the stage, completely at home, keeping the crowd chuckling. She was the owner of the Bawdy Banquet, the pleasure house just up the road, and Charlotte understood Eloise would be taking a cut of the evening’s winnings for her role in hosting.

Charlotte had learned soon after her registration that the ornate stained-glass windows that encircled the space served a more significant function than simply being beautiful. The fragmented light cast colorful patterns on the floor at different times of day, corresponding with whatever show was happening on stage. On certain nights of the week, there was a labyrinth show featuring a minotaur, she learned, while another regular showtime cast the stage in shades of crimson and orange as one of the erotic dancers performed with their body strategically covered in sheer veils that were slowly removed as their dance went on.

Under normal circumstances, she would have enjoyed exploring the theater, might have enjoyed the shows they put on and the crowds they attracted, but not that night. Not at that moment. She stood on the stage trembling, attempting to center herself, to find her strength, but as soon as the lights came up, her resolve crumbled.

“Our next entry is a blushing little rose, hailing from the northern country.” Eloise waggled her eyebrows above the card she held. “They have cold nights, which means they have to know how to keep things hot. The winning bidder agrees to give her transport to the Aegeasus realm once your time together concludes. She’ll be able to provide the ship’s captain with further details upon your winning. Are we going to start the bidding at 5000 rupa?”

The light from the window bathed her in a blue halo, and Charlotte squinted against it, feeling goosebumps rise on her arms and her nipples pucker in the chill air. The chill she reminded herself, was likely in her head; Atlantis was always balmy and warm, but just then, she felt as though she were standing at the top of a snow-capped mountain. She had waffled over which form to take. Initially, she’d thought to use the redheaded vixen who had seduced the captain of the Celadon Serpent back in Port Perico, had considered taking the form of an elf or some other nonhuman being, but eventually, she decided it would be safest to remain Charlotte for one last night. Her emotions were high and her control was tenuous at best; it wasn’t the time to test a new glamour, not when she’d been wearing these bones for so long. She wasn’t sure if she’d chosen well. The other prizes to be won were more glamorous, more licentious, and more seductive, and she felt about as desirable as a thumb as she squinted against the spotlight, but to her great shock, Eloise began to call the current bids. The number continued to climb.

It was impossible to see who the bidders were. Encapsulated in viewing suites that circled the stage, they bid from their private quarters, and the news was communicated to Eloise down on stage as each bid came in. Charlotte wondered who the winning bidder might be. Perhaps some wealthy merchant, a wine seller, or someone who made their fortune building ships. There was no telling: man or woman, human or beast, any mix of the above.

She tried to imagine a creature such as one from the realm she called home. A ferocious griffin, perhaps, with the great wide wings of a golden eagle and the furred body of a lion. They would possess a lion’s cock as well, barbed and threatening. Or perhaps a minotaur, like the one who had been crowned king of Knossos, who was surrounded by his harem of wives at all times. She had spent time at the palace, had enjoyed a dalliance with one of the bull men in the king’s service, and she knew how good it felt to be filled so completely... But they had been nearly too big, too strong, and it was hard to keep her glamour in place with her body being jostled and her belly distended as the fucked her roughly. At the first graze of her teeth on his cock, the Minotaur had pushed her away, exclaiming angrily. She had left the palace that same night, scurrying away like a mouse beneath the bright white moon, before finding passage back home with a harpy.

She wondered if they would be human, or at least humanlike, like the captain. She wondered if it might be a woman, with long fingernails and a seeking tongue, perhaps someone who had no gender, or a shapeshifter, possessing an ever-changing array of pleasure appendages. It might be someone from the star sea above, and perhaps she would be able to convince them to take her with them once she settled the problem at home, traversing the black waves in the sky instead of the crushing weight of the sea she already knew. It doesn’t make a difference who it is. As long as they’re able to follow through and bring you home.

“Look at how creamy this ass is, like a warm glass of milk. For those of you with a fondness for spanking, I’m sure this one will redden beautifully.”

Charlotte flushed, following the witch’s instructions to turn, the better to show off the creamy ass in question.

The witch was chuckling once Charlotte made a full circuit. “And here we have the proof! Look at that blush, those pink cheeks and pink tits. You won’t need to spank her to get that color out of her, but you’ll want to do it anyway! I’m so glad we had this fine display on stage tonight. You can’t purchase this sort of innocence normally, my friends. Believe me, I would know! And for those of you who enjoy human feet as dainty morsels, there are ten little toes here ready to be sucked.”

As the witch continued to banter and bluster over Charlotte's alleged attributes, a lime light was lit, cast at one of the stained glass windows, hitting the faceted glass in a way that cast her in a sea of blue and green waves. The light began to spin, giving the pattern of the glass the illusion of movement, trapping her in the center, as the bids continued to roll in.

She wasn't sure why she had stayed in the forest. She could have slunk back to the docks, slipping into the water and staying there until it was safe, but even as the thought crossed her mind, the blue and green waves crashing around her, she knew why she'd not done so. She was afraid of herself in her true form. She was afraid of the heaviness beneath the waves, was afraid of forgetting herself, forgetting him, forgetting the way he made her feel. Under the surface of the water, she was a monster. The forest on Remel's island was dangerous, potentially deadly, but it had been a better alternative than facing the truth of what she was, what she would always be, and the empty, crushing loneliness that stretched before her, just as oppressive as the water.

Charlotte felt trapped as the colored light spun and the waves upon the stage swirled. She was trapped by what she was. She was trapped by Sylvia and her obligation to protect her sister. She was trapped by the water, but the pressure of the waves and her existence, sucking her down, alone for all time. No. Not alone. Lirian had understood. He knew what it was to be feared by others, knew what it was to forget oneself beneath the surface. She spun in the maelstrom of her mind, clawing to the surface, desperate not to forget. Gasping when she broke through the surface, she was blinded by the green beam of the limelight, the dull roar of the ocean coming from all around her.

She was dizzy by the time it was over, her vision nothing but spots overlapping with more spots, unable to make out form or feature for several long minutes while her eyes readjusted to the dimness backstage. Applause. Not the waves at all, but applause from those seated on the floor. She could already hear the witch’s voice from the stage, calling out the details of the next entry. She was to be taken down below, Charlotte understood, where her buyer would be inspected by Golda and her price collected. At that point, she was told, she would either be brought back up to their private booth to begin her purchased service or they would depart to more comfortable surroundings.

More comfortable surroundings where they’ll bleed out. She had already decided that she would kill them if she had to. If they reneged on the agreement to bring her home, or if they turned out to be cruel, she would kill them if she had to. Charlotte had a brief stab of panic that whoever had purchased her wouldn’t possess a cock—then she would truly need to make a mess. It would be so much easier to do the damage with her mouth from where they entered it, letting gravity and blood loss take their course before she made off with their ship.

You need to make sure they get back to their ship first. You’re getting ahead of yourself again. We have to keep order to things; we have to keep control. She needed them to bring her back to their ship first. She needed to ensure that they had the spells necessary to get her where she needed to go, that their ship would not be crawling with guards, and needed to keep control.

She heard Golda’s raised voice as she was led around the corridor, the nameless employee shooting their arm out to prevent her from going any farther as the shouting carried around the corner.

“But you continued to bid, Captain. Fully aware you did not possess the funds to pay for your purchase.”

Charlotte strained to hear the other voice in the room, a lower voice, but the employee holding her back had begun to talk into a device at their wrist.

“Ah, you see, that is where you’re wrong. I fully intend to pay for my purchase. I’m simply not doing it with something as pedestrian as rupa.”

Charlotte’s blood went cold when she heard the deep voice, tinged with amusement as if he found the entire situation delightfully comical. She could easily envision the cocky smirk on his face, having been the daily recipient of it for more than a month. “Hand carved. You see that notching there, that tells you just how old it —”

“I know what it means,” the big woman snapped, cutting him off. “You have some nerve doing this. Coming into my establishment and pulling a stunt like this on one of the biggest nights of the year.”

“Does that mean you’re not going to be accepting my payment, Golda?”

“You fucking know good and well that I’m going to accept it,” she snapped again. “You can take your winnings back to your suite, but I don’t want to ever see your face in here again once you’re through, Captain. And you have a very recognizable face, so don’t go thinking I won’t remember you.”

The employee lifted their arm before grasping Charlotte by the wrist and pulling her forward, hastening their step to cover the ground they’d missed while they waited. She turned the corner just in time to see Lirian shrug, giving the big woman the same grin that had set Charlotte’s teeth on edge with the desire to punch him all month long.

“Well, I don’t think that’s going to be a problem, Golda. How do you expect me to get back? A pleasure doing business with you.”

10

LIRIAN

It annoyed him a bit how well-provisioned Stride was in every situation.

When he found his quartermaster, the afternoon Charlotte went missing, the gargoyle was sitting at a small, battered table across from a young woman who was shoveling food into her mouth with no small amount of gusto. Not food, Lirian realized. Fruit. It was an entire plate of island fruit, piled high, and she was acting as if it were the finest, rarest delicacy she had ever enjoyed.

The woman was a little wisp, even smaller than Charlotte. Her black hair was slashed in white, and she had the strangest eyes he had ever seen, the palest blue, eyes that were keen and darting and were no stranger to trouble, he could tell at once. This was no child. The woman was likely a seasoned criminal, and the thought made him relax slightly. Strange choice for a bedwarmer, but who am I to judge?

“I need your help,” he admitted through gritted teeth. As Lirian spoke, haltingly relaying an abbreviated version of the events at the tavern, the woman reached across the table, spearing a sizable forkful of the roast chicken sitting before the quartermaster.

“Do you have any idea how foul that is?” Stride interrupted to bark at the woman, cutting Lirian off as if he weren’t even standing there. “There is something wrong with you.”

“The only thing wrong with me at the moment is that I don’t have one for me own self, because it’s delicious.”

The gargoyle snorted, signaling for the tavern wench; his companion ordered another half roast. Another look of disgust was shot in her direction, the edges of his thin black mouth fighting a smile before he finally turned back to Lirian. “You’ve gone and lost your human brat. Is that the long and short of it?”

Lirian had blown out an aggrieved breath, nodding unwillingly. He’d already looked at the money changer and in the parrot shop, retracing their steps to the dress shop, had poked his head into the weapon smith and every other business he could think of where she might have stolen away.

“I have someone who can find her,” Cadmus said slowly. He exchanged a swift glance with his companion, but said nothing. “Give her until nightfall.”

The gargoyle never revealed who the she in question was, nor her method, but hours later, once the cargo had been loaded off the ship, Stride returned, bringing news of the Pleasure Chest and the auction taking place the following day. Lirian wanted to argue, wanted to question it, but in the end, he decided he would be better served to simply be at the auction and see for himself.

It would be days before they had bartered off every bit of plunder, negotiating and renegotiating prices, seeking out more interested parties to fetch a high fare, and then things would need to be divided, an accounting made, each crew member receiving their equal share. It still might not be enough, he realized with a sinking dread. He would be outbid by some intergalactic royal, only looking for a harem to enjoy for several days, and he would have to watch her go.

Her wording in the Siren’s Call had been succinct and perfect. He was a little in love with her too. Perhaps more than a little, if he were being completely truthful with himself. He was in love with her, and he couldn’t, wouldn’t watch her be sold to someone else, someone who might not fulfill their bargain to bring her home. Especially with an active warning, what sort of star lord is going to want to risk that for a stranger?

He only owned two things of value, and one of them was needed to get her home. And what about getting you home? He sucked in a lungful of Atlantis, pulling a face as he coughed. It was not the honey-sweet air of Dragonfly, and nothing ever would be again... but all things ended eventually. She might grow to hate you. You’ll be stuck there, and you won’t even be together. That may be so, he argued with himself, but it didn’t change things now, didn’t change the way he felt, and sailing into the unknown was his signature move at that point. He had the coin to purchase the necessary spell scroll and to buy his entry into the auction. Winning her was his only aim.

The private viewing rooms were reserved for the VIPs, blood red and decadent, and he witnessed through a briefly open doorway the orgy already taking place within one of them. He wouldn’t mind being at the center of that room, had been in that exact situation more times than he could count, but he wanted to be there with Charlotte, not watching her be led off to someone else. The color of the furnishings was too close to the sails of the bloody bastards for his liking anyway, he’d sniffed to himself, determined to win her. He recognized the witch emceeing, Eloise, but couldn’t place from where, only knowing it wasn’t from Atlantis. And then a number was called, and a small figure led onto the viewing platform, and she was there, bathed in blue light.

“For those of you with a fondness for spanking, I’m sure this one will redden beautifully!”

His hands had clutched convulsively at the old witch’s words. He’d threatened to turn Charlotte over his knee on more than one occasion and would be lying if he pretended he’d not imagined the exact scenario the witch described—the creamy globes of her heart-shaped ass turning as red as her cheeks as he spanked her, his cock growing hard beneath her as she writhed against it.

“Look at that blush, those pink cheeks and pink tits.”

He loved the way Charlotte flushed, blushing in indignation, in embarrassment, in lust. There was no end to the way he made heat rise to her cheeks, spreading down her breasts and up to her ears, but he did not want another to enjoy her blushes.

“There are ten little toes here ready to be sucked.”

He would slice out tongues and feed them to the gulls before he allowed a single person in this building to come within reaching distance of her tiny feet, not without her own enthusiastic consent to the act. Slice out their tongues and cut off their heads for good measure. A few heads on pikes for the topmast. Let everyone know we’re coming.

He knew he was playing a dangerous game, knew he would likely be tossed out on his ear, maybe not even with her, knew there was a chance his bluff would be called... but sailing into the unknown didn’t frighten him. The prospect of losing her did. He bid a final time, and the bidding closed.

* * *

And now his gamble had paid off, they were on the verge of being thrown out, and she’d still not spoken to him.

“Escort the captain and his purchase upstairs, please. And when he’s through, let’s make sure he finds his way outside.”

“I seem to recall paying for a ticket to the auction. Am I being removed from the floor before the auction’s end, despite behaving extraordinarily politely? How do you know I don’t have plans on acquiring additional company?”

“With more of the units you don’t actually have?” Golda was done, her patience for his mouth extinguished, and Lirian knew he had pushed his luck to the end. Her voice thundered, and he made no resistance when two members of the club’s security hooked his arms. “Get them out of my sight. Now.”

“What were you thinking?” Charlotte’s voice was a hiss at his side as they were hustled up the staircase and tightly maneuvered to the doors, the guards not allowing them any leeway to turn back to the stage. They were the first words he had heard from her since her declaration of love in the Siren’s Kiss, and the irony of those sentences being linked was not lost on him.

“I don’t understand what you were thinking.”

“What was I thinking?” he countered, whirling on her. “Charlie, I’m sensing an appalling lack of gratitude. It’s almost as if you were hoping to be purchased by some stranger who would almost certainly strand you out in the middle of nowhere.”

“What were you thinking?!”

That time, he gripped her wrist, spinning her around to face him, not letting her go. “My dear, I do believe you have some explaining to do. Do you mind giving me a hint as to what your little stunt was about yesterday? Do you have any idea how worried I’ve been? Wondering if something had happened to you? Do you know what the penalty is for murder on Atlantis, Charlotte? They don’t take kindly to Remel’s laws being broken, and there is no shortage of torture in a secluded place like this. Fully knowing that, I assure you, I was ready to slice someone’s throat all night long while we looked for you.”

Whatever smart retort had been brewing on her lips seemed to whither, and she swallowed it back, scowling sullenly for a long moment. “How did you even find me?” she grumbled after a moment.

He gave her a grim smile. How indeed. He still had no idea how Cadmus managed half the things he did with such a surly disposition, but Lirian would greatly miss his quartermaster’s penchant for always having a solution on hand. “Never mind how I found you. If I had known this was your actual plan from the beginning, I would’ve left you tied up on the ship. I would love to hear an explanation on why selling yourself to some stranger was a more attractive offer than letting me take you home, but I suppose I’ll just be told another pretty lie. You have the nerve to ask what I was thinking; what were you bloody thinking?! Do you actually think a single one of those buyers would’ve brought you back home? Do you think they wouldn’t have simply left you wherever you happened to be when they were finished? Do you think they would waste the coin and the spells to go traveling to a far-off realm where there’s an active warning to stay away? I happen to know pirates a bit better than you and I can answer all of the above for you, darling—not a fucking chance. You would have wound up stuck on some planet in the star sea, and maybe that’s what you would’ve deserved. As a matter of fact, I’m certain it is exactly what you would deserve, but that’s simply not an outcome I’d be happy with on my conscience. I struck a bargain with you, Lady Davenport. I said I would see you safely home, and I intend to. And then our obligation to each other is fulfilled.”

Lirian felt as though he were outside himself, watching in horror as his mouth snapped such sharp words to her, things he didn’t mean, sentiments he wanted to snatch back the instant they had the audacity to trip off his traitorous tongue. He wanted to take her in his arms and kiss her, tell her how worried he was, how glad he was to have her back, safe and secure and home with him, where he would keep her until the stars fell from the heavens and the sky sea and the water became one. Instead, here he was—sniping at her like some arrogant lord, undeserving of such a flower.

“You don’t know what you’ve done, Lirian,” she said in a wretched voice. “I was only trying to protect you. I don’t want anything to happen to you, don’t you understand?” He heard the tears in her voice, the genuine anguish, and he didn’t know how he was meant to doubt her. “If something happens to you, I will never be able to forgive myself.”

He spun, doing the thing he’d been aching to do since she disappeared from his side, pulling her into his arms and capturing her lips with his own. Her hands raised, whether to push him away or pull him closer, he wasn’t sure, and when they hung there indecisively for another moment, he laced his fingers with her smaller ones, tasting the salt of her tears on her kiss.

“And I’d never forgive myself for letting you disappear or be bought out from under me. I already told you, love,” he whispered into her hair as she wept against his shoulder, holding her tightly to him. “I’m not afraid of a little warning. If you want someone who’s going to shy away from a danger poster, you’d be better off with one of those rich merchants, sitting on their asses in their velvet booths, drinking wine and buying company. If you want someone who will take the danger poster as a challenge, find a pirate. I’m not afraid of sea monsters, Lady Charlotte. I’ll have you remember that I am one.”

He’d been given one of the smaller winning suites, but it was plenty large enough to suit its purpose. Charlotte shivered beneath the thin robe she’d been given to wear after leaving the stage, although the translucent material did nothing to hide her form beneath.

“Well, Captain? You won me. What are you going to make me do now?”

Lirian gave her a stony smile. He knew exactly what game she was playing. Confident that he’d demur, that he’d remind her that she was the one who had to call the shots. Not this time. He took his time seating himself on the velvet-covered sofa. The entire suite was done up in blood red, like being in a womb, he thought.

“I think it’s high time you were disciplined, Charlie,” he began in a mild voice. “I think you need to come here and let me put you over my knee, hmm? We’re long overdue for that, I’d say.”

She thought he was joking. He could tell by the way she hesitated, her brows drawing together in a confused furrow before mincing across the room, chin jutting out defiantly, her lip catching in her teeth when he raised a hand to undo the front of her robe. Lirian felt her light gasp when he abruptly tugged the sash with a hard jerk, cursing her to stumble forward, landing ungracefully over his lap in a heap.

“You had me worried sick, Charlie. You had me worried sick, and more than that, you wasted my time.” Freeing her arms, Lirian let the scrap of fabric slide forgotten to the floor. She was breathing hard as he palmed a creamy cheek. The witch was right. She would redden beautifully. “Wasted time searching for you, fretting over you, when all you had been doing was exactly what you had planned on from the start. I only wish you would've let me know earlier. I suppose we would've been able to save ourselves a lot of trouble in time along the way.”

Charlotte said nothing. She shouted out the first slap against the full globe of her ass, jolting against the second, and whimpering on the third. By the fifth strike, his cock was stiff beneath her, and her quick little intakes of breath were making him dizzy. Lirian slid two fingers down her cleft, stroking her outer lips. He kept his touch light, slow and caressing, and when one slipped into her heat, he was unsurprised by the slickness he found.

“And it makes me wonder, darling, how good of an actress you’ve been from the start,” he went on, gratified by her squeak of surprise when he withdrew his fingers, bringing his open palm down on her ass once more. “If you’d asked me just a few days ago, I would have said you’re rubbish at this and have been since the start. Transparent in your emotions, every action advertising itself.” He cupped her pussy in his palm, relishing her heat for a moment before pressing into her folds again, rubbing her clit. His cock was trapped, pressed to his thigh by the tourniquet of his trousers, flattened beneath her body, desperate for air, desperate to be inside her. When she moaned under his ministrations, his cock attempted to jerk, the aborted movement causing his eyes to roll back in agony. “Three days ago, I believed you to be a different woman entirely. If you’d have told me you loved me three days ago, I might have even believed it. Now though?” A hard slap to perfectly reddened ass, like the ruddy red blush on an overripe peach. “Now I don’t think I can believe a thing you’ve ever said.”

Her fingers were fast and nimble, undoing his trousers the instant he pulled her upright, drawing out his leaking cock. “I need you inside me,” she whimpered. “That’s the only place I ever want you to be. Right here, close to me. I ran because I love you, Lirian. I only wanted to keep you safe.”

She undulated like a wave against him, a serpent and the sea, and he felt the textured nubs of her teeth, begging to come out. He would chase her to the ends of the earth if he had to, would never stop chasing her. Her cunt squeezed and she moaned against his neck, soft and desperate, and then their positions were flipped, lifting her and spinning them easily. He fucked her in earnest, her hands tight in his hair, nails sharp against his scalp, a high keen when she came. The needlepoints of her teeth scraped the meat of his cock, catching in just the right spot, devouring him until his cock spasmed and he came with a groan, flooding her.

“Take me home,” she whispered against his jaw as their hearts slowed, her arms still wound tightly around him. “I don’t want to stay here with these people for three days.”

And that’s that. Lirian nodded, his heart heavy. “Aye. Let’s get you back to Messinas.”

“That’s not what I meant,” Charlotte interrupted. “I want to go back... you won me for three days, Captain. We can leave for Messinas tonight and get it over with, if you’d like, or we can leave in three days. But take me away from here. Take me back to the Malediction. Take me home.”

* * *

The Malediction was rocking in the harbor when he led Charlotte down the dock by the hand. The ship had been unloaded the day she’d gone running off, the crew finishing the work by nightfall, all eager to make their way to dry land. Once her whereabouts had been ascertained, he’d ensured that each of the officers knew to round up the entire crew the afternoon before the auction, instructing them to go back on board and retrieve what they would need to stay on Atlantis for an extended visit.

“How long do you reckon this is going to take?” Stride had asked, white eyebrows drawn together.

Lirian had shrugged, avoiding his quartermaster’s eye. He would miss Stride. He would miss much of his crew, but Cadmus especially. They’d been sailing together for a long while, and he never would’ve anticipated their shared time at sea would be coming to such an abrupt end that didn’t involve a noose. “It takes as long as it takes. I have no doubt the Marquis of Basingstone will be able to arrange transport for his scallywag brother and crew in the event they get tired of waiting. This rock is full of pleasures, but it will take your coin quickly. I wouldn’t tarry here for long.”

“Back to Dragonfly, then? We’ll rendezvous there when you return.”

Lirian didn’t have the heart to argue, and so he didn’t. “Aye. I’ll see you again... when I return.”

There was no gangplank now. The ship was tied off, anchored in the port, tight between her neighbors, but he would be able to maneuver her out. “Welcome home, my lady.” Lirian hopped from the deck onto the ship’s rail, extending a hand for her to do the same. “I’ll not let you fall.”

“I know you won’t,” she murmured once he’d caught her, her nails scoring the skin behind his ear as his head was dragged down to meet her lips roughly. “I know you won’t. I only hope I can say the same.”

He tried not to notice the way she paced behind him as he pulled the lines, grunting at the anchor wheel. Once, he had done this all alone, Lirian reminded himself. He would be able to do so again.

“How long do we have to wait for the rest of the crew?” she asked as the Malediction navigated her way through Shipwreck Cove, the debris of other wrecked ships, the barrier reef at the mouth of Atlantis.

“Charlie, did you notice we’re already making for sea and the crew isn’t here? You’re looking at the crew, love. I’m not bringing any of them along for this. I can’t risk their necks without promise of payment, and unless you forgot to mention that your sister is a wealthy baroness with a castle to plunder, they’d not be inclined to come along for the pleasure cruise. Beside that, there’s a wanted poster with my face on it, not any of theirs. If the bloody bastards are there already, then maybe they’ll have a taste of our cannons, but there’s no sense in risking the whole crew. But let’s not get ahead of ourselves yet. You’ll need to find something to hold onto for the jump. These spell portals can be a bit bumpy.”

A bit bumpy was a tremendous understatement. Crossing from one sea realm to another was like being sucked through a tidal wave, a rounded corridor of water, and the ship would be tossed like a rag doll.

The sound was deafening. There was a spot he loved back home, a mountainside waterfall with a cave behind it, and the thunderous churn of water reminded him of sitting in that cave as a boy, the deafening pressure of the river pouring over the rock face obliterating all other senses. Crossing through the sea realm was the same. The rush of water, the sense of being pressed in from all sides, not unlike being beneath the depths, the noise so loud it overtook sight and smell, soaking everything in its deluge.

Lirian was shaken from his watery reverie by the boom of a cannon. He had managed to stay upright through the crossing, hands so tight to the spokes of the wheel, they practically molded to the wood, but the second cannon fire rocked him off his feet. His knees hit the wood of the deck with a force that sent a lightning bolt of pain up his back. The brigantine ahead wore a cover of crimson sails, and it took him several heartbeats to realize the Malediction was not the target of her cannons. At least, not yet. It was the Cŵn Annwn, already there, and they had been for some time from the look of it. The brigantine was listing to her port side, barely upright like a drunken sailor. Hauling himself up from his knees, Lirian spun, looking for another ship, trying to place the location of whatever threat had the cross-portal bounty hunters nearly dog paddling to shore.

There was no other ship, and the sound that ripped from the beach—a roar so immense that it shook the water, making the Malediction vibrate—quickly dispelled any notion that paddling for shore would be wise. There was a beast on the sand, like nothing he had ever seen before, which was saying something, as he was a beast of which most people could say the same thing. Long, snake-like necks held a dozen different heads, a writhing mass of tentacles moved it across the sand, long arms and grasping claws swiping at the water. It’s ripping sailors apart. There were hounds attached to its waist, hounds! Baying hounds, adding to the cacophony of sound, the beast’s bellows, and the ship’s cannons, overwhelming and horrifying. Somewhere below the helm, Charlotte was screaming. He staggered in panic, eyes sweeping the deck, his heart climbing to his throat when he saw her leaning over the starboard rail. He had to get her down below, away from danger, before whatever that beast was moved its attention to the Malediction. They should have waited things out, should have never come with an active warning. This was a mistake. This was all a terrible, terrible mistake.

“You have to hide, Charlotte, get below deck. Right now!” Seizing her by the shoulders, he pulled her away from the railing, shaking until her eyes swung up to him. “There are two emergency satchels, one in the whipstaff stairwell and one in the fo’c’sle, find both of them. They have water and hardtack. We might need to put you in the longboat.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” she choked, shaking her head obstinately. “I have to stop them, Lirian, I have to stop them before they hurt her!”

Lirian latched onto her arms as Charlotte pushed past him to the railing once more, gripping the wood. Another cannon fire from the Cŵn Annwn ship, another scream of rage from the creature on the beach. “You can’t. You’re going to get yourself killed. Either from that beast, or from the ship, or the bloody water itself—look at the current pull. This is a death trap. There’s no mastering the sea, love. This isn’t a fight we can win.”

At that moment, a boulder the size of a wagon wheel struck the brigantine, hurled from the beach, and he understood then how they’d been damaged. The ship was listing badly enough to be taking on water, and he knew it was only a matter of time before the sea swallowed her.

“There’s nothing you can do, and besides that, they won’t be afloat for much longer. We need to get you to —”

His words were swallowed by the water roar of another portal opening, two more crimson-sailed ships coming though it, and his heart sank. You’ve evaded capture for years, and now you’re just sitting here, waiting to be plucked up. You ought to have gift-wrapped yourself before leaving Atlantis. He bit out a curse when the smaller of the two ships turned, a swift-moving ketch, making its way toward the Malediction.

“Charlie, you have to go now.”

“I have to save her, I have to! This is what I came for. I’m sorry —”

“Listen to me!” Panic crowded his chest, the notion of her leaving the ship and his arms to throw herself in the path of certain doom was not one he could abide by. And for what?! Wherever her sister was on this island, there was no getting to her, not now. “You never just listen, Charlotte. I love you. I’m not letting you sacrifice yourself for Goddess only knows—”

She spun in his arms, her face a misery, eyes flooded with tears. “I can’t let them hurt her, Lirian; I’m sorry.” Rising on her toes, she dragged his face down to crash her mouth into his, teeth glancing, a bruising kiss. “Can you take the ship back? I need you to stay on board and pull the ship back as far as you can go. Get as far away as you can!” A sob shook her shoulders as she cupped his face, not letting him interrupt her. “Remember me this way, and how soft those mornings were. Please don’t think too badly of me. I love you, Captain, I really do. You’re right. There’s no mastering the sea. But I am the sea.” Pushing herself off his chest, she used the momentum to disappear over the railing, dropping into the water before he could even react, taking his heart along with her.

Just ahead, the crimson-sailed ketch was approaching. Below the Malediction’s belly, the sea jolted, and Lirian dropped to his knees once more. He had only just pushed back to his feet, dragging himself up the steps to the helm and gripping the ship’s wheel, when a wave struck the starboard side. A rogue wave of that size might’ve capsized her normally, but this one seemed to have been a push from beneath, sending the Malediction backward in a cascade that rained down the decks and left him reeling. When the water began to swirl, he shook himself to order. The vicious current he’d noted earlier had decided it too would join the fight, spurred on by whatever had jolted the ship.

“Maelstrom!” he bellowed, waiting to hear Stride and the bos’n carry the warning down the ship. You’re on your own now—no more crew. No one to rely on to get you out of this mess. He didn’t know how it managed to be so, but the wind was on his side. He needed to drop full cover and take the Malediction out of harm’s way. Or you can drive her into the center and find Charlotte.

Far across the whirlpool, the crimson sails of the first brigantine were caught in the waves. She’d already been half drowned as it was, and was no match for the sucking pull of the whirlpool. You need full cover. He’d not needed to man the lines of his own ship in an age, but it didn’t mean he had forgotten how to do so. He would never be able to manage the Malediction on her own for any length of time, for she was too big and the sea too dangerous, and he only possessed these two human arms. She required a crew, but right now, he would need to do well enough on his own to save her. His hands were as clumsy as a cabin boy’s as he tied off the lines, as clumsy as her tiny hands had been. The wind caught the main sail as soon as he had it secured, hauling down the rigging lines until the foremast billowed, the wind pulling them out of the undertow.

After moving back up to the helm, Lirian leaned over the railing at the stern, looking back to see the red sails caught in the whirlpool. His eyes swept the surface of the water, but there was no sign of Charlotte. Gone. His grip on the polished wood was all that held him up, and he wondered why he was even bothering. He’d given her his heart, and now she was gone. Far better to dive into the water, to turn into his other form and forget himself, forget her, forget the way his heart ached.

The second brigantine was retaliating, against what though, he could not discern. He’d never seen a ship fire her cannons into the open water in such a way, nor had he ever seen a triple barrel bow chaser being deployed at nothing but the waves. Once, twice. The cannon bellows overtook the sound of the creature on the sand, the bow chasers emptying in rapid succession.

It was then that he felt it. The vibration of the railing beneath his hand, felt the hum in the wooden planks beneath his feet, the belly of the Malediction vibrating with the water around her. He felt the vibration before he heard the roar, but nothing could have prepared him for the mouth that opened in the center of the maelstrom, screaming in fury. The whirlpool was not merely an act of opposing currents, but was a mouth. A great maw, with a swirling downward vortex as its throat, and he watched in wonder as it opened in a primal scream, taking note of the hundreds of thousands of teeth lining the swirling water.

Hope was a treacherous thing. Unsteady wings and no promise of a safe landing, but even still, it surged through him then. He understood. He’d felt those teeth, felt those teeth on his most sensitive anatomy, had ejaculated hugely because of those teeth, to the point that he wasn’t sure he would ever be able to enjoy sex again without feeling their graze. She was no witch. She was a monster, a monster like him. Of the sea, like him. A charybdis. He had heard of these waters, he realized, heard of the pair of monsters who guarded them. That was why Messinas had seemed so familiar to him the first time she’d mentioned it by name.

He understood that he was meant to be terrified, understood that he was meant to feel nothing but horror. But he had courted horror, felt exhilarated by the things that caused other people terror, and the sight of that giant gaping maw of teeth in the water made his blood thrill in excitement. Lirian watched in fascination as her circular jaws snapped shut, an action he felt like a lightning bolt to his cock. This was what she had been hiding. The crimson sails shredded in her teeth, the hull of the ship reduced to kindling, and any men who’d had the unfortunate bad luck to be aboard were now lost to the depths of her throat.

The ketch was turning back, cannons at the ready, and a red mist swam over his eyes. He’d kill them all before he let a single shot be fired at her again. Diving off the railing, he willed himself to shift the moment he entered the water. He was told that for some, the change was painful. The shifting of bones, stretching and ripping of muscles, reforming into something new. For him, it was as natural as breathing. Perhaps because of the way he was raised, in the waters around Dragonfly, taught to be exactly what he was. He changed daily, from his human bones to his serpent crest, in and out of the water a hundred times a day, every day of his childhood, until the flex and change and shift of his bones happened seamlessly, without pain.

The ketch was small and he surrounded it easily. The armoured plates of his scales protected him as he rammed the keel, rammed the hull, opened his jaws wide to tear and swallow. He was a monster, just like his sire before him... but she was a monster too. Charlotte. The ketch drifted down the seabed and Lirian turned, searching for her.

It did not take long to find her. She was pink and pearlescent, a writhing creature with flailing arms and tentacles, mostly comprised of a mouth and little else, but as the threat had been eliminated, she began to shrink slowly. Lirian twisted and wavered before her, monster to monster, horror to horror, wondering if she would recognize him. She did. She was shrinking, was becoming his Charlotte again, reaching to him with grasping claws. She was as big as Grest, as big as the orc pirate, not shrunken enough to tuck against his human chest, but small enough for him to wind around her, enveloping her in his coils. He twisted around her and wove through himself, the lovers’ knot, unwinding after a moment to let her decide what happened next. It was her choice, her choice from the start, and he would not renege on their arrangement now.

She clung to him, hair wavering, the soft features he recognized slowly coming back to themselves. Her hands stroked down his scales, exploring his serpent body until she reached the slit in his skin, plunging her fingers in without hesitation. His cocks vibrated within their sheath in response. Her fingers stroked the inner wall of his sheath, rubbing against the hard wall of muscle, coating herself in the slick lubrication he produced. It did not take long for his cocks to push to the surface, moving against her hand until they erupted from his slit, thick and straining.

No time was wasted as she gripped him, leading his cockhead to the mouth between her legs, the same mouth that had just consumed an entire ship. How do you want to be fucked, Lady Charlotte? He wasn’t sure what he had been expecting. The silky glide of her sweet pussy, the way he had enjoyed it so many times in his bed? The barbed sensation of her clenching cunt as she shook in his arms, tightening around him? Nothing could have prepared him for reality. Her teeth had retracted, but he could feel them there, nubs just beneath the skin, dragging against the fat shaft of his textured dragon cock, against his own ridges, a sensation that made his serpent eyes roll back.

There were times when it seemed far easier to give in to the beast he became, putting aside his conscience and envy and ambition to simply exist. He gave in to the beast then, rutting against her wildly, once more twisting her in his coils, letting his cock plunge into her to the hilt on every frenzied thrust. He felt the graze of her teeth throughout. Nubs beneath the skin became needle-like points, not out enough to hurt, but enough to feel. She normally didn’t let them slip until just before she came, and it was usually enough to make him come as well, but this time he felt them against his ridges, against his head, against the sensitive crown, and all too soon, it became too much.

He felt the pulsing begin within him, a spasming eruption as he came with a bellow that sounded like a roar, reverberating through the water as his cock exploded. He filled her with pump after pump of his hot seed, felt the vibration of her body against him as she moaned, two monsters together.

“That’s right, love, feed me. Keep feeding me.”

Lirian felt the stroke of the tongue with a jolt; it wrapped around his length the same way he was coiled around her body. He felt it tickle the crown of his head, felt it massage the slit in his cock tip, felt it stroke around the base and into the lip of his sheath. When it pressed into his slit, he nearly combusted. She was inside him, invading him, moving down his cock like a serpent of her own. He felt the moment she grazed the deepest part of him, sucking lightly. Somewhere within his serpent sheath, his balls contracted, nearly turning inside out as he spilled a second time, his release sucked out from the source as her tongue withdrew. When her teeth clamped shut, he went rigid in her arms. He could feel the separation, the absence of what had just been there, and felt the suction of her body as his cock disappeared down her second throat. And then that tongue once more, stroking against the wound, sealing it until an icy sensation was left in its wake.

“Don’t worry, darling,” she whispered against his temple, supporting him in her arms like a baby as they pushed to the surface. “It will grow back. I promise.”

11

CHARLOTTE

Charlotte remembered rage. She remembered the passage through the portal, the deluge of water, and the way it knocked her off her feet, gripping the railing tightly, grateful he had told her to do so just before they had entered the vortex. The sea realm was endless, and the water was an ever-crushing presence, and it took a moment for them both to gather their bearings once the Malediction appeared on the other side of the portal at Messinas.

She saw the scarlet sails before her sister. Charlotte didn’t need to see anything else. The ship was a brigantine, not as large as the Malediction. It would be easy to swallow, easy to crush, and she would take great pleasure in doing so. The explosion from one of the cannons seemed to shake the air around them—the brigantine was shooting towards the shore, and if they were shooting, she realized, that meant there was still something for them to be shooting at. It was then that she heard the roar. Sylvia was there on the sand, looking no worse for wear, at least not to Charlotte’s eye. Her sister didn’t appear to be injured, and there was still time to stop this. They had not arrived too late.

He tried to stop her. She’d known he would. It was one of the reasons why she didn’t want him here. Charlotte knew deep down there was only one way for this to end, and she didn’t want him to get hurt, but she realized then that even more than that, she didn’t want him to see. If he saw and shunned her, it would be worse than his injury or death. It would be far worse than having to say goodbye to him. To have her heart broken by him was not something she would survive, and she had never felt more sympathy for her little sister in all the years of their symbiotic existence.

“I love you, Captain. I really do.” His eyes were stricken when she leaned forward, catching him in a hard kiss, one he returned with an equally bruising pressure, but before his hand could even make it to the back of her head, Charlotte was pushing off his chest, using the momentum to propel herself over the railing and into the water with a drop, before he could do anything more to halt her progress. She was a monster, and it was time he knew.

The pressure beneath the waves was all-consuming. As she began to spin, Charlotte felt herself slip away, her borrowed bones disintegrating in the crush of the water. She was nothing but water, water and teeth, and it was all she had ever been.

Sailors sang songs about the sisters of Messinas. She didn’t know how widely the stories traveled beyond the borders of their own realm, for enough off-realm sailors landed on the shore, enough of them to break her sister’s heart over and over, but everyone in Aegeasus knew to avoid their stretch of the world. Sylvia scuttled along the rocks, making her home in a dark cave where she hid away, inconsolable over her ever-broken heart. Charlotte, on the other hand, was the water. A great whirlpool that swallowed ships whole, dragging them to the depths, a punishment for even considering approaching the shore and threatening the sisters who called this place home.

She sent a wave in the Malediction’s direction, catching her at the stern and propelling her forward. Lirian had the winds on his side, and he could get away. He could put distance between himself and the horror in the water, and perhaps he would mourn the girl he had lost, but Charlotte was sure he would forget her eventually. The brigantine was her only target, and with them, she would show no quarter.

She stretched her arms out, extending the circumference of her pool, swirling and churning everything in her path until there was no way out of the sucking vortex. The first went down easily enough, Sylvia had already ensured that. Charlotte continued to spin until the second brigantine was trapped. Their captain had sought to cut across. He’d thought that if he could cut sideways across the current, he would be able to come up the other side, but she was no green girl, and this was not the first ship she had consumed. And aside from that, he had made her angry. Cannon fire shook the water, a triple gun aimed at her! The red sails tipped, caught in the maelstrom, sucked down, down, down into the vortex until the sea would be sure to trap them. It was then that she closed her jaws with a crunch and it was over.

She could sink to the bottom of the sea, Charlotte thought, deciding she might as well do exactly that. She closed her eyes and let herself fall, and she would have let the sea crush her if he had not appeared. One moment she was ready to renounce her frail human bones and accept her fate, and in the next, he was there before her, wavering in the water. He was just as beautiful as the first time she had laid eyes on him in his true form—bleached coral and the violet sky, winding like the serpent that encircled the universe, and stranger still, he did not seem afraid.

You don’t have to give up these bones, she told herself. You don’t have to give up being Charlotte. She held her breath and focused, finding the skin she had worn for so long easily. Slipping into it had been a relief. He wound around her, tying her in a knot at his center before unwinding and hanging back. You’ll be an active participant in this or not one at all. It was an easy choice to make. She wanted him. She only wanted him, and she would follow him wherever he led.

His scales were smooth beneath her hands, which she dragged down his long serpent body until she had reached that slit in his skin, teasing his cocks out, relishing their heat. Lirian did not stop her as she led him to her still gaping mouth, with hundreds of teeth that could rip him to shreds, but he trusted her enough to allow her to proceed. And then he had fucked her. It didn’t matter that he had seen her for what she was, that she was a monster, a true monster, not beautiful like him. She was nothing but death and destruction, but still, he coiled himself around her and plumbed her depths with his cock.

A wild energy vibrated through her, and she knew it was from the way she had fed. She had not consumed man flesh since long before leaving this realm to be Charlotte Davenport, and it had been ages since she had taken down a full ship. She was hungry for meat, hungry for more, and then he was erupting within her, cumming down her throat, and the heat and taste of him pushed her too far. Her teeth snapped shut, severing him at the root and stiffening him in her arms. She had never before used her tongue on him. It would have been too strange, too hard to explain, but she had needed to use it then. She licked the wound until it was a wound no more, coating him with the secretions from her stomach, knowing it would aid in his regrowth. And it’s not like he doesn’t have two.

When she rose from the water, it was on Charlotte’s two legs, carrying him to the shallows before laying him gently on the sand. Sylvia bellowed in rage. A dozen sets of teeth snapped in her small serpent-like heads, the baying hounds at her midsection creating a cacophony. She screamed and writhed, long arms reaching out to slash at Lirian, but Charlotte held her ground.

“If you touch him, I’ll kill you. Do you hear me, Sylvia? I will kill you if I have to. I think it might almost be a mercy. I can’t imagine you’re happy living this way.” Charlotte’s shoulders shook with her tears, and before her eyes, her sister shrunk, her form changing. “Is that what you want me to do? I will mourn you, and I will carry you in my heart forever, but I can’t stand seeing you so miserable, and I can’t keep coming back here to save you from yourself.”

She didn’t know how it was that Sylvia had chosen the form she had, only that she resembled a washed-out widow, her eyes full of misery and her black hair in disarray. The sunken purple pits beneath her eyes resembled bruises, and her mouth was like a bloodstain. When she collapsed in her arms, Charlotte took note of how little she weighed. She was frail and unhappy, and Charlotte realized she could not let her stay here for another day. It would be kinder to kill her than to allow her to stay.

The sob that ripped from her sister’s throat rent her heart. “He said he loved me. And then he left. Why would he do that? Why would he leave, Charlotte? Why would he tell me he loved me if he was planning on leaving?”

Charlotte’s own eyes were still overflowing with tears, overflowing with sympathy for her sister and guilt for what she had put Lirian through, for what her sister was describing was what she had done to the letter. “I don’t know, Bimi. I don’t know, but you can’t keep doing this. I’m going to take you away from here. You’ll love it up north. There are parties and friends, and you’ll never have to worry about this place again.”

Sylvia was looking beyond her, staring open-mouthed at Lirian; Charlotte turned to see him kneeling in the sand, serpent tail gone, staring at her miserably.

“I’m afraid that’s not going to be so easy, love. Unless you have more secrets you’re keeping.”

Something inside her twisted as she watched his sad smile. “What—what do you mean? You have your eight? The lovers’ knot?”

Lirian shook his head, the sad smile staying in place. “I don’t. Not anymore.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Pieces of eight are very valuable, you know. I’m sure it seems as if every captain has one, but that’s not the case. Remel’s regatta is the busiest week Atlantis sees the whole year through, and that’s only because it’s an intergalactic, multi-realm event. There aren’t that many ships passing through there on a regular basis. You said so yourself. You had to wait weeks to find a ship with Atlantis as her heading.”

“But what happened to your —”

“You were very expensive, darling. It turns out quite a few bidders wanted to redden those cheeks, both above and below.”

She flushed at his words, and his smile turned genuine, his eyes sparkling in the familiar way she loved. His meaning reached her a moment later.

“You—you sold your eight to Golda? To purchase me? Why? Why would you do that? How were you planning on getting home?”

He shrugged, a careless little gesture she had seen a hundred times a week, and she could see it a hundred times a day and never tire of it, she was certain. “This journey was never about bringing me home, darling. Bringing you home was always our agreement.”

Sylvia spent all her days treading the sand, but Charlotte did not, and her feet were unsteady, sinking in pits and stumbling forward. He caught her, her arms coming around his neck and her face burying against his chest, soaking him in her tears.

“I think what we need to do right now is fetch the ship,” he murmured into her hair. “I’ll forgive you anything, but if you lose my ship, I will be quite insufferable, I’m warning you now.”

He was right. The Malediction was a black speck on the horizon. “That at least I can manage,” she hiccupped. She had powers here that did not extend beyond these waters, but within her own realm, as she’d told him, she was the sea. All she needed to do was walk back to the water’s edge before placing her palm on the surface and turning the tides until the Malediction was being pushed up onto the sand.

“That was shockingly easy. Let’s hope everything else goes that smoothly, shall we? Now, unless you have a very well-protected little hidey hole for us, I think we ought to sail around to the other side of the island as quickly as possible. Those ships have tracking spells. If one of them were activated, a portal is going to open, and an entire fleet of Cŵn Annwn is going to pop through it, searching for their downed comrades.”

Sylvia’s legs shook like those of a newborn foal as she was pulled up the rope ladder and deposited on the Malediction’s quarterdeck. It was the first time her sister’s feet had ever left the sand of Messinas, Charlotte realized. She would need to be patient with her, as this was likely to be a great and terrible change. Lirian was cut off from his home, his crew, his entire life, all because of her... and she had gotten everything she wanted. Charlotte attempted to swallow her smile as they set off into the horizon. A terrible change, indeed.

* * *

“Do you think we make a good team?”

He glanced down at her, an eyebrow cocked. “Charlotte, we’re both vicious sea monsters. I can’t think of a more formidable team.”

She shook in laughter against him, sighing as his hand stroked up the back of her thigh. Charlotte had no idea how long they could go on this way, but the two weeks they had spent drifting around Aegeasus had been oddly idyllic. Sylvia was quiet and withdrawn, skittish around Lirian and seemingly discomfited by the way he made Charlotte smile, but Charlotte thought she understood. After all, Sylvia was the one who gave her heart away foolishly, not her fathomless sister beneath the waves.

For her part, Sylvia was eager to be useful, although Charlotte suspected that was in part because she was frightened of being left behind. She took over milkmaid duties, visiting Brigita—who had been upset in her stable stall, but uninjured from the portal crossing—every morning at dawn, collecting eggs from the hens and plucking feathers when a chicken was deemed no longer a layer. The fresh water stores had been replenished on the other side of Messinas, and Sylvia meticulously picked through catch from the trawler net each evening, turning the various scuttling sea creatures into their meals. She and Charlotte shared the watch, rotating shifts in the crow’s nest. It was where she was then, the sails bright to half-mast as they bobbed beneath the blinding sun on an airless Aegeasian afternoon.

“You know, darling, I purchased three uninterrupted days to have my every sexual fantasy indulged. A rather steep price, if you don’t mind my saying so.”

“I do mind, actually.” She shrugged. “You heard some of those bids. My little toes were on the line. Someone wanted to buy me to make me blush.”

“Oh, believe you me, they wanted to do more than make you blush, love. As I was saying, three days, a steep price, and what did I get for it? My cock bitten off.”

“Your cock is right here. I don’t know what you’re bleating about. The other one will regrow soon enough, you have my word as a lady of honor.”

He grunted as she began stroking him, hand over hand, twisting up his shaft in the way she knew he liked best. When her thumbs worked into the sensitive spot at the base of his head, where the nubbed crown met the ridges of his underside, he groaned deeply. Charlotte led his pearling tip to her clit, rubbing in circles until she began to crave him deeper. He made no move to stop her as she fed his shaft into the mouth of her cunt, sucking him in deeply. When he thrust, she allowed her inner tongue to unspool before curling around his cock and licking his crown.

“I can’t believe you’re able to suck me off while I’m fucking you, and I’m only finding out about it now,” he groaned, pulling her legs over his shoulders to deepen his thrusts. “Most disreputable, Miss Davenport.”

“You paid a steep price,” she gasped, her eyes rolling back as he hammered into a particularly sensitive spot within her over and over. “I thought that entitled you to special accommodations, Captain Jurel.”

When he came with a grunt, her whole body flexed, sucking him down, devouring every drop. She’d never been so well-fed, so well fucked, and so happy.

“You have a very smug look that does not at all befit your station, Charlie.”

“I can’t help it, Captain. I’m about to lie back against the pillows and have my pussy licked. That’s a fine way to end the day, as far as I’m concerned.”

She had just arranged herself across the pillows for him to do exactly that, when the sharp clang of the bells cut the air. He was on his feet before she’d even sat up, stepping into his boots and hitching up his trousers as he crossed the room, already on high alert. A black shape loomed at the horizon, a speck Charlotte could barely make out without her spyglass, once she finally arrived above board.

“Any flags she’s flying?” Lirian called up the mast.

“No flag that I can see, not yet.” Sylvia brought the spyglass to her eye once more. “Ugly green sails with a grey snake. That’s all I see.”

Charlotte’s brow furrowed, trying to make out why that seemed so familiar to her.

“Probably a merchant ship,” Lirian grumbled. “I half feel like setting up the water cannon just to cause some trouble.”

Charlotte gasped. She remembered standing on the dock at Port Perico, several weeks before the Malediction had arrived in the harbour, watching the Celadon Serpent raise her sails as she made for sea, her upright, moral captain at the helm. “That is a merchant ship,” she agreed, gripping Lirian’s arm. “I know it.” Fire heated her cheeks at the memory. “The greybeard who wouldn’t take my concubine offer. Before you came into port.”

“Do you want me to attack him because he impugned your honor, Charlie? What are you going to do for me, love?”

“Yes, I think we should attack him,” she agreed, ignoring his jibe, “because he has a piece of eight. He was traveling to Atlantis from Port Perico. He probably had business here after, this is a major trade route through Aegeasus.”

Lirian raised a disbelieving eyebrow, but Charlotte only shrugged.

“Are you a pirate or not, Captain Jurel?”

“And what of after, Charlie? Have you made up your mind?”

She nodded. She’d been thinking about nothing else, after all. “I’m going to send Sylvia to Podmire. I’ll write to the duchess, I know they’ll be happy to have her. She’ll love it there, and it will be good for her.”

“Is that all, Miss Davenport?”

“No, Captain, it’s not. Then we’ll sail on to Dragonfly, and rendezvous with a scallywag crew. Replenish the stores, put Brigita out to pasture and find a younger calf. Make our plans for plunder.”

Charlotte stretched up on her toes, meeting his lips. Hot and alive, the ebb and flow of the undertow an echo of his veins against hers, felt in the stroke of his tongue. Against the horizon, the Celadon Serpent was getting closer. Lirian could board the ship while she dropped into the water, pulling it into her current. Or else, she and Sylvia could pretend to be stranded, as Lirian took the boat from beneath. There was no end to the havoc they could wreak together, a more formidable team than she could fathom. Not just a good team. Pirates.

“And after that, we sail into the horizon, love. And who knows what might happen next.”

BONUS EPILOGUE

CHARLOTTE

The Pirate Queen of Maranok had been the scourge of the Andulusian waters in her time.

Charlotte closed her eyes, trying to envision the woman in the story. Beautiful and vicious, she ruled the galleon she commanded with an iron fist. The queen followed the trade routes, intercepting merchant ships, naval ships, and other pirate ships alike. She attacked without mercy, showed no quarter, and amassed a fortune in plunder those waters had seldom seen before. There had been no sailing vessel that could cross the seas from Maranok to Harmony Bay without encountering the queen, the entire ocean at her mercy.

“And then, one day, she took a lover.” Lirian’s voice was plush against her skin. A hot, moist huff against her just before closing over her nipple, teasing the tip of it with his tongue as he sucked.

“The tiburón,” she breathed, scraping her nails against the sand at his scalp. She was lying back against a canvas sack stuffed with provisions, with Lirian stretched atop her, her thighs pulled around him and his head against her breast. She gripped his cock as his voice droned against her, stroking him lazily, squeezing at the points in the story that warranted a dramatic reaction.

This was one of her favorite times of day. They were stretched out on the sand, fire burning before them, the somewhat protective walls of the open-faced hut at their back, and the sun puddling to crimson beyond the water’s edge. The framing of the small cabana they had claimed had been intact when they’d arrived, a fishing hut, he’d said, although the lashed-leaf walls were in tatters. Lirian had shown her how to gather the best palm fronds, weaving them together, double layered on all three walls, thatching over the small structure’s roof. It wasn’t strictly necessary. They could sleep on the ship, of course, but it was nice to be on solid ground for a change. To have the waves lapping in front of them rather than beneath them, the constant ebb and flow in their veins slowing as they stretched together in the rapidly cooling sand.

It was not the first time he had told her the tale of the pirate and her ship, the same ship he claimed to have had resurrected from the sea bed. Charlotte had heard all his stories by then, asking for one each day, although this was one of her favorites.

“The tiburón,” he echoed against her. “The white shark. He was a corsair from southern waters, ranging north into the queen’s territory.” His teeth closed around the pebbled tip of her nipple, his lips curled back, biting just hard enough to elicit a slight sound from her throat before soothing it with his tongue. “He was foolhardy enough to attack her ship, not realizing who sailed it. He was also prepared to show no quarter until he saw her. The tiburón claimed he could not kill a woman of such beauty and fearlessness and offered himself to her instead.”

“She took him as her lover,” she continued for him, grinning at this favorite part of the story. “And they plundered the seas together.”

“They plundered the seas,” he agreed, teeth nipping at her throat, “and each other.”

Charlotte sucked in a breath at the first press of his cock head against the lips of her sex. For a while, he did nothing but tease her that way. The only sound was the unending roll of the waves crashing on the sand as Lirian rubbed his head against her folds, letting her feel the drag of his ridges until his shaft was sticky with her slick and her clit was slickened with his precum. She whined when he breached her at last, keening as he fed himself into her slowly, letting her second mouth swallow him down.

“A handsome pirate of her own.”

He grinned, kissing up her neck until he reached her lips. “A rogue of her own. Together they were an unstoppable force in these waters. There was no ship they could not take, no plunder they left ignored. They took down every ship that crossed their path,” he rumbled as he held himself above her, hands on either side of her head.

His hips began to roll, matching the cadence of the waves. As he rocked against her, Charlotte’s hands skated down his back, pulling his warmth tighter against her, settling over the rounded swell of his well-shaped ass.

“Merchant fleets. Emissaries of the crowns.” His voice hitched as he fucked her, pulling her legs around his hips. “Entire armadas fell before them. On their own, they were each formidable, but together they were unstoppable.” He began to thump into her solidly, the ridges of his cock dragging against her sensitive inner walls, stimulating the fleshy nubs where her teeth lurked, plumbing her depths. Charlotte reeled.

They, too, were unstoppable together. She wondered if that was why she liked this story so much, even if she hated how it ended. She had never felt as carefree and weightless as she had in the past month, as if his arm around her at night were the only thing tethering her to the sand, preventing her from floating into the sky. There was no foe they could not defeat, no ship they could not take together. Like the formidable couple in the story, they were an unyielding obstacle, as indomitable as the sea itself. They were the same, and with each other, they were complete.

It was hard to keep control when he did this. Now that she knew how good his flesh tasted, keeping her teeth in check when he fucked her this way was an exercise in restraint, and restraint was what she needed to exercise just then. Between their bodies, his hand slithered like a serpent, trapping the plump pearl of her clit between two knuckles, using the pad of his thumb to rub over it. Charlotte moaned, letting her inner tongue unspool as he increased his speed.

Lirian shifted their bodies, moving his hand away to allow his pelvic bone to rub against her with every thrust of his hips, and she was gone. The stars overhead streamed, a blur of light, and for a moment, it felt like one of the waves crested overtop them, pulling her down into oblivion as she shook. Her back arched, teeth slipping just enough to make him jerk and wheeze against her, but not enough to make him come. She was unable to vocalize as her muscles tightened rhythmically around him, the air leaving her lungs in a woosh. She had lost track of how many times a week they fucked this way, but she had no desire for the routine to end.

Charlotte felt boneless once she came down from her peak, but Lirian was still hard and straining, pulling himself up to his knees to be able to pump into her with more leverage. She wanted to taste him, and he wanted to come, and she had a remedy for both desires.

The long, snake-like tongue within her second mouth wrapped around his shaft, the tip sliding over his cockhead, rubbing that spot where he was most sensitive until he groaned. His head was dropped forward, eyes closed, his hips faltering in their movement, and she took advantage of his lax state to finish him off.

When her tongue pushed into the slit in his cock head, his eyes rolled back, the strangled sound coming from his throat not quite a moan, not quite a grunt. She probed down his shaft, feeling his cock vibrate around her, dipping into the deepest recesses of his body. Charlotte felt his stomach muscles jumping against her, his shoulders rigid and trembling, his entire body taut like a bowstring. They were formidable together, but she wouldn’t pretend that having him in such a vulnerable state wasn’t entirely arousing. Every jerk of his cock within her sent a pleasurable ripple through her still-sensitive inner walls until it became too much. His balls were tight and hard when she reached down to grip them, and she was ready to feed.

She licked her way down his cock until she reached his prostate, laving the bundle of nerves until control left him and he erupted. Lirian’s throaty groan was a strangled sound in her hair as his cock jerked, her tongue retreating to allow the tidal wave of his hot release to flood her. Pulse after pulse, his hips bucked as he came, and she lapped it up, not allowing a single drop to go to waste.

Charlotte usually reserved this treatment as an after-course to the main dish of their lovemaking, always confident she could force out one last gush of his semen if she sucked it directly from the source, and normally she was right. That night, though, his cock was thoroughly drained once she was finished with him, limp and spent within her, where she held him securely.

When he slumped in her arms afterward, she dragged her nails against his scalp once more, scraping the sand that accumulated there. Scalding hot baths and a feather bed, that was what he had promised her once they arrived at the main island. A suite at the poshest inn Dragonfly had to offer, a feast of fruit and fowl, and everything else they hadn’t had in months, including rest. They were looking forward to it . . . but they hadn’t yet quit this forgotten rock. She didn’t put up any resistance when he turned them, dropping against the canvas to pull her into his arms.

“And then he was captured.”

Charlotte hated this point in the story. The lovers tested, not so invincible on their own. The strength of their bond pulled taut by distance and outside threats, their foundation shaken and cracked, leaving them unsteady.

“They had grown too notorious, too dangerous. Three different crowns put all their efforts into the separation and capture, determining that the tiburón was the weak link. They starved him, tortured him. Kept him locked away from the sea, where she could not reach him. And then, eventually, they offered to pardon him.” Above them, the sky had darkened to ink, the star sea winking with a million pinpricks of light. “They would give him a letter of marque, all of his past crimes forgiven, if only he led them to her and aided in her capture.”

Charlotte pressed her face to his chest. She did not like the end of this tale and would have been just as satisfied if he had stopped before the lovers were parted.

“The tiburón set out. He did not want to betray his love, but his freedom was too tenuous a thing to risk, and they had been long parted.”

Charlotte knew the next part well. The pirate in the story led the crown ships in pursuit of the queen, coming within sight of her galleon and running her own flag up to the top of his main mast so that she would know it was him signaling to her. A flag bearing a beautiful woman with the lower haunches of a serpent and a blood-red heart.

“He caught her unawares and opened fire. The hull was damaged, and she knew they would go down, but not without a fight. The Pirate Queen showed no quarter to her traitorous lover and turned all forty guns on him. But then, just before the sea swallowed what was left of his ship, she blew a hole in her own hold, ensuring they sank together. She would not be taken by the crown, and despite his perfidiousness at the end, there was nowhere else in the world she wanted to die other than right there — at the bottom of the sea, beside him.”

“I hate the end of this story.”

Lirian chuckled, reaching back to toss another two logs onto the fire before reclining all the way back, enfolding her in his arms. The lull of his heartbeat was greater than the pull of the waves, and Charlotte closed her eyes stubbornly, refusing to cry at the ending, as she’d done so many times before. Sleep beckoned, and there was nowhere else in the world she wanted to be than right there.

“I know you do, darling. But all things end, eventually.”

* * *

The Pirate Queen of Maranok had been the scourge of the Andulusian waters in her time.

Above the Andulusian waters that morning, the sun had already risen; white gold, cutting through the cirrus wisps that clung to the sky’s cerulean surface like the translucent film of scales that sometimes still clung to Lirian’s shoulders, not yet burning off the haze that rose from the water. Charlotte shrugged off her shawl as she stepped out onto the sand, echoes of the previous night’s story still whispering in her mind.

They had been anchored just off the shore of the little island for nearly a week. It was a part of the dragonfly archipelago, his childhood home, the crystal blue waters he had grown up in. Charlotte had never seen anything so beautiful. Every morning she would walk out from the sand into the lapping surf, marveling at how far she could go and still see straight through to the sandy bottom. It was nothing like the waters she had called home.

The waters around Messinas were an inky cobalt, rich and deep, swallowing up the sight of one’s foot as soon as the water was over one’s ankle. Here, every grain of sand on the ocean floor was visible. Each darting fish and scuttling crab, each spot on the coral that matched his scales, each swaying pink anemone that vaguely resembled her core of tentacles when she opened into her other form — they were all as naked to the eye beneath the water here as they would have been upon the sun-washed sand.

It was no wonder he had been able to live a half-life, straddling the line between both worlds, shedding his man skin easily, bones and muscle shifting and stretching to accommodate his long serpent form, and then shrinking up again just as effortlessly when he stepped back onto the land.

That was how she found him that morning, reclined in the surf, seeming completely at ease, fanned fin waving lazily as he waited for scales to split, his legs reforming from the long serpent tail. The unrelenting sun had burnished his already copper skin, bronzed like a god from the waist up, his long serpent tail stretching into the water.

“Good morning, Captain Fishyface.” She dropped to the sand, straddling his serpent flank, where his hips would eventually be. “You should’ve woken me. I would have helped with everything on board.”

Lirian swam out to the Malediction’s side each morning before the sun rose, climbing the rope ladder, shaking off like a dog once he vaulted his legs over the starboard side. He kept Brigita fed and milked and ensured the sails and roping were in good condition, the anchor was secure, and the decks were not unduly underscrubbed. He kept the ship in sailing condition in preparation to push off, waiting for her to make the decision.

“Charlie, you are facing severe charges for dereliction of duty. Worst bloody cabin boy ever. The cow doesn’t even know who you are anymore.”

“I’m sorry!” she yelped, laughing, hooking her arms around his neck to drop against his chest. “I suppose we’ll need to be pushing off soon?”

Lirian sighed heavily. The rise and fall of his chest moved beneath her like a wave, and Charlotte closed her eyes, not wanting to fully accept the truth — she wanted to stay here, suspended in the cozy little bubble of solitude with him forever, where no one could find them, no one would ever part them, and where they were happy together . . . yet knowing they needed to leave.

“All good things must come to an end, love. We’re out of water. We would have been out of food had we not thrown anchor here. This has been an enjoyable little holiday, but if I don’t get a hot bath and a real meal soon, I might not change back from my scales the next time I go out for a swim.”

They had spent several days in Atlantis, looking for any sign of Lirian’s stranded crew, but they were gone.

“But what happened?!” she’d exclaimed when he’d only shrugged, announcing that he was finished looking for them, as they were clearly gone. “Where would they have gone? How would they have gotten there, Lirian? They didn’t have a ship! Did they join a new crew?”

He’d only yawned hugely after placing an order at the bar, turning back to her with a lazy grin. “I have no doubt that the Marquis of Basingstone is what happened. Cadmus’s esteemed younger brother. It might seem odd to you and me, love,” he went on, swallowing down the drink Seiko had placed before him in the Siren’s Call, “but despite the vast difference in their professions, Lord Silas would never, ever leave his beloved brother stranded. He’d have the queen’s whole bloody navy out looking for him, if necessary.”

Charlotte had pursed her lips as he shrugged, moving her own drink out of his reach.

“Cadmus would’ve sent word to him if they had no other options. I’m certain they were likely sent a pleasure ship to make the journey back to Dragonfly, with every possible accommodation at their disposal. They’ll be utterly ruined for hard work after this.”

Entering the Pleasure Chest had nearly cost Lirian his head, and it had taken much pleading for Golda to even entertain their conversation.

“Already sold it,” she had huffed brusquely when he had inquired after his piece of eight, offering to make a trade. They had gone on to the fencer with whom she had struck her deal, and Lirian had only needed to threaten minimal bodily harm to the man for him to give up the name of the ship to whom he had sold the lover’s knot. They would return to Dragonfly, it was decided. They would meet up with the crew and form their plan to track down the ship, taking all the plunder they could in the process, using the ship’s numbers to strengthen the Malediction’s, or else putting her to the bottom of the sea, along with her crew.

“Cadmus can have his own bloody ship and piece of eight,” he’d mused, “sail under the Malediction’s flag. You’ll have to call me Commodore Jurel, and I won’t answer to anything else.”

Now they were nearly there. Charlotte had been tight with anxiety in those last few days as they approached Dragonfly — panicked over having to fit in with the local populace of the island and the possibility of needing to be sociable and charming and normal. She wasn’t good at people, and this seemed to be asking more than she was capable of delivering.

“Charlie, how is this any different from your stay at Podlingtonshire?”

“Podmire,” she’d corrected with a huff. She had written to the duchess, and Sylvia was already on her way to the lush, green landscape of the far north, where she would play at tea parties and dancing and balls, a far cry from the rocks and endless water of Messinas; a new start for them all. “It was different,” Charlotte insisted. “I could leave if something happened. It wasn’t really my life. I didn’t care if . . . it was different.”

He’d not mentioned a detour, but then they’d thrown anchor off the coast of this small, unmanned rock instead, spending the following days diving in the crystal blue water, collecting scuttling crabs and conch and coconuts, and making love in the shadow of the small open-faced hut. They were un-provisioned and exposed to the elements with naught but each other, and it was bliss.

And now, she admitted with a sigh against him as the sun broke through the haze at last, blindingly bright as the white clouds parted over an endless cerulean sky, he was right. They needed to push on. Charlotte traced her hand down his chest, his hot, sunbaked skin giving way to rough scales. She moved her fingertip over the slit in his skin with a featherlight pressure, up and down, soft and gentle, until she felt the muscle that sealed it shut slacken slightly.

“What are you doing, Charlotte?” There was a slight edge of warning in his voice as she pressed into his slit. Keeping her touch gentle and soft, she ensured her fingers were free of sand as she hooked them against the inner wall muscle, caressing him from the inside out. Lirian grunted, his head dropping back. His thick, dark hair had grown so long it grazed the sand behind him, and she wondered, not for the first time, how long it was they had actually been gone.

The first bump of his cock head against her fingers made him rumble. She swirled in the slick lubrication he created, lightly tracing over the tip of it, still hidden within the sheath. With her other hand, Charlotte rubbed the skin around his slit, stimulating him from the outside in, encouraging his cocks to unsheath fully for her. It did not take long.

Fat and full and straining, his dragon cock was magnificent. A thick frill of ridges moved up the underside, meeting the pronounced crown of nubs at the base of his head, and he hissed as she gripped it, giving it a solid pump. It was not, however, her target. His other cock was not as impressive, not yet. It was still too new, still regrowing its texture and solidity, and the slick skin was fresh and sensitive — wildly sensitive, she had learned. Lirian was already breathing hard before she took it carefully in hand. He claimed it was agony. That didn’t account for the way he came, she was quick to point out.

“It’s like being an idiot boy, stroking my cock for the first time,” he’d argued. “Oversensitive. Every little thing sets it off.”

Charlotte had never been an adolescent boy and had no point of reference for his claims. All she knew was that she was able to reduce him to a quivering, panting, begging jellyfish with the barest hint of pressure on the new, slippery skin, and she used the fact to her advantage as often as she could get away with it.

“I want you to promise me that we’ll never wind up like the queen and her rogue.” She twisted her hand up the regrown length, and Lirian moaned, his breath hitching. “We’ll never let anyone part us that way. And if they try, we kill them all. Or we sacrifice each other, together.” The high-pitched sounds he was making could only be described as yelps as she stroked him firmly. “Promise me, Lirian. Our story will never end that way.”

“Charlotte, for the love of the moon, you’re going to kill me right now if you don’t stop.”

“Promise me.” She punctuated her words by pushing off him, dropping to the sand. Before he had a chance to roll out of the way, she had him in hand again, leading the sensitive new flesh to her lips. Lirian was keening. The moan that ripped from his throat when she began to suck on his oversensitive, regrown cockhead did sound like one of pain, she considered, sucking him down her throat until her nose bumped scales. She swallowed him there, once, twice, the deep-throating finishing him off.

Her throat was flooded half a heartbeat later. His moan seemed to reverberate across the sand, his serpent tail thrashing, pulse after pulse of his salty, hot seed down her throat. His cock might have been brand new, but he ejaculated with the same force and volume she had witnessed all those moons ago, watching him stroke himself in the bath. His fingers tightened in her hair, and Charlotte was unsure if he was trying to pull her off or keep her right where she was as he came, and she felt the moment when his entire body went limp beneath her.

His other cock had erupted as well, she saw when she sat up at last. Ropes of white covered his belly and chest, as far as his bronzed shoulder, and his dragon cock lay twitching in a puddle of his semen, spent. Perhaps he really is too sensitive.

“Promise me,” she repeated, stretching out beside him, rubbing her nose against the shoulder that wasn’t sticky with his seed.

“Charlie,” he said weakly, “you’re going to kill me doing that. Off-limits. Keep your tongue and your teeth to yourself. All of them. And you’re forgetting a vital aspect of the story. They were both human. Weak humans with no mastery of the sea. I’ll never be captured in such a way because you’ll bring down the entire ocean around them. You’ll never be captured in such a way because I’ll chase whoever threatens your comfort to the end of the earth, and there is nowhere they can hide from a dragon’s wrath.”

“Promise me,” she whispered against his lips. The sun was blinding overhead, which was why tears pricked at her eyes; she was sure of it.

“I promise you, love,” he murmured, leaning in to kiss the tip of her sand-speckled nose, “that someday when this mortal form fails, there is nowhere I would rather spend the rest of eternity than at the bottom of the sea with you. That’s the way the story ended, darling. They were together. And so will we be, until the star sea falls into the water.”

She hadn’t considered that particular interpretation of the story. He was right, Charlotte decided, letting him pull her lips to his, tasting the salt of her tears. There was nowhere else in the world she wanted to be other than wherever he was, wherever that was, and there never would be again. Everything else was superfluous.

“Then I suppose it’s time to pull up anchor, Commodore Jurel. All things end eventually; that’s what someone told me.” His mouth was hot against hers, her nails scraping against the sand in his hair, and even his kiss, she realized, held the grit of sand. They might never get out of the bath again, and that, too, would be fine by her. Take me home to Dragonfly.”

* * *

Thank you so much for reading! If you enjoyed the book, please consider leaving a review!

If you haven’t checked out To Seduce a Siren, now’s the time to do it! After his wife flees him, a berserker pirate captain is determined to hunt her down. No matter the cost! Keep reading for a sneak peek!

* * *

Whatever you do, don’t start another war.

It had seemed like a perfectly reasonable request when my brother, the newly crowned king of pirates, made it. How hard could it be to convince a tavern owner to pay back his debt without killing anyone?

We knew he didn’t have the money because he’d blown it gambling the night before, but he’d done it so publicly, drunkenly bragging that he wasn’t even really losing his money since it was owed to Thorin.

It demanded an answer.

The dimly lit tavern was packed like it was on most nights, but the usual laughter and drunken banter was subdued as every pirate in the place watched my conversation. There was a reason I’d chosen a table in the middle of the room. We were interested in building relationships with the business owners on Ocracoke Island who didn’t already support us, but first, the ones who were disrespecting us needed to be put in their place.

Malcolm Asher sat across from me, his ruddy cheeks redder than usual as he flailed his hands in desperation. “Please! I don’t have the coin to repay Thorin yet.”

A pirate at a table behind me snorted. “Malcolm expects Talon the Destroyer to show mercy? I heard he skinned a man alive.”

“I heard he took three days to kill some guy who stole from him. Made the thief into a stew, one piece at a time.”

I sighed. If I was going to kill a man, I didn’t need three days to do it. And it was my sister who’d skinned someone alive.

The serving wench arrived at our table, and placed a glass of ale in front of me before moving to the next table without meeting my eyes. Pearl never met my eyes.

Maybe she believed all the stories they told about me. Probably wise to keep her distance since some of them were true.

Her bright smile returned once she moved away from me, and she set drinks down in front of the other pirates, but her smile faltered when she leaned forward next to Edgar Avery. If his hand roamed to her backside uninvited one more time, I was at risk of breaking that oath to my brother.

Avery was a respected member of the pirate crew that had opposed Thorin. Maiming him in the middle of the busiest tavern on the island was sure to start the war I wasn’t supposed to be starting.

And yet…

I let out a controlled breath just as Pearl twisted out of his grasp with her smile back in place. “Careful, Mister Avery. Startle me like that and you may end up with a drink in your lap.” There was steel in her tone, making it clear his advances were unwelcome.

She leaned forward to pass out the rest of the ale, and the sonofabitch groped her again. For a split second, her expression fell, but then she picked up a full mug and dumped it on Avery’s lap. “Whoops,” she said, without a hint of remorse.

I fought a grin at the satisfied look on her face as she breezed back behind the bar like nothing had happened.

“What the fuck, Pearl?!” Avery jumped up from his chair looking enraged. Everyone momentarily forgot Malcolm’s plight as they mocked Avery’s soaked pants. He couldn’t touch her now, but she’d need to be careful with him later. He wouldn’t take kindly to humiliation.

As a rule, I didn’t give a fuck about anyone but my siblings and my crew. But Pearl was different. When we’d fled Daneland and come to Ocracoke five years earlier, she’d shown me what we were even fighting for. She wasn’t hard like the rest of us. She’d managed to live in this brutal world of ours and not lose the joyful hope that practically glowed from her.

Her spirit sang to me.

The gods had given me a gift…the ability to read people’s desires. Some days it felt like I was swimming in a sea of all the greedy, disgusting, disturbing desires of everyone around me, and she was a boat I could cling to. Her deepest wants, so full of light, soothed the roiling darkness in me. She yearned for simple things like a quiet, warm place to sleep, a break from the unrelenting attention she got in the tavern…and love. She ached to be loved.

The problem was that anytime she saw me, I sensed her core desire shifting until she thrummed with a need to get away. I was used to people wanting to run from me, but her visceral fear of me was unsettling. I was as drawn to her as she was repulsed by me.

It was fucked.

I’d taken to lurking in the alley behind the tavern like a fucking cutpurse, just waiting to feel her presence. When she didn’t know I was outside, I’d catch waves of her hopefulness and drink them in.

It was pathetic.

Everyone else in the tavern thirsted for sex, power, or wealth.

Or her. They all wanted her.

She just wanted them all to leave her the fuck alone. But you’d never have known it since her vivacious mask so rarely slipped. She was the famous Ocracoke Pearl, the most beautiful woman anyone had ever seen, an unspoiled treasure who drew many a sailor here simply to catch a glimpse of her fiery-red hair and arrestingly lovely face.

She was forbidden.

She was the daughter of the man I’d come to make an example of.

I turned back to Malcolm. “The fuck am I supposed to do with you?”

His face relaxed with relief like he thought I actually wanted his opinion. “I just need more time.”

“Don’t have time, Malcolm. Not for this kind of disloyalty. The pirates here have been fighting each other for so long we’ve grown weak. The Saxons will take advantage of that.” It would only be a matter of time before they staged a full-blown invasion, and we had to unite the crews before it happened.

Two kingdoms dominated the mainland to the East: Daneland in the North where my family was from, and the Saxon kingdom in the South, where they used their monotheistic fanaticism to justify oppression of every kind. They hated the old gods we worshipped in the North, hated women who did anything but obey, hated anyone who was different, and above all, they hated pirates.

The pirates on Ocracoke were a mixture of people who’d fled the two kingdoms, along with people from other far-flung places and realms. Here, all people were welcome and all people were free. Or at least that was the dream we were fighting for.

“The Saxons have no interest in Ocracoke,” Malcolm said, brimming with the desire to deceive me.

“And just how would you know that?” I asked, leaning closer, pinning him with a look.

Malcolm traded with the Saxons, and I’d long suspected he traded in information as well, but until I could prove it, I had to put up with him.

He shifted uneasily. “They’ve left us alone for years.”

The pirates in my line of sight sat up straighter and shifted their hungry gazes over my shoulder. Pearl was making her way around the room behind me, but I managed to resist looking. She seemed to be hovering near my table, which was unusual.

On the occasions when she’d been forced to serve me drinks, she kept her eyes averted like she couldn’t even stand to look at me and stayed as far away as possible. As far as I knew, I hadn’t murdered anyone she cared about…but it was possible.

As she came back into my line of sight, I sipped my ale and tried not to watch her, but Avery threw out an arm and snatched her around the waist, pulling her onto his soaking wet lap.

“If you’re going to get me all wet, surely I should get to do the same to you,” Avery said as she frantically tried to twist out of his hold.

Malcolm saw what was happening but ignored it like his daughter being groped didn’t matter. “Thorin never said I had to pay him back this quickly…”

Avery’s hands held Pearl’s hips, so her struggles just meant she was grinding against him. I thumped my glass down on the table so hard, it cracked into pieces, and I was fully ready to use one of the blunt shards to eviscerate Avery.

The tavern fell silent, the tense silence of people who’ve seen too many fights and know better than to make sudden moves when one is about to start. It was enough to snap me out of the fog of rage…but barely. Pearl used the distraction to get free, and crossed to the other side of my table, putting me between her and Avery.

Good girl.

Avery was the worst kind of pirate, but he’d be too useful in the fight ahead for me to kill him over this. Everyone else just saw it as a bit of fun.

Whatever you do, don’t start another war.

Malcolm misinterpreted my angry gesture and thought I was about to take the debt out of his hide. It was what everyone else assumed too, but no one came to his defense.

His whining pleas intensified. “Please! I don’t have the money, but I can get it.”

Thorin wanted me to give him three more days, but I’d escalated things too far already, so everyone was watching. I couldn’t back down now without showing weakness.

In our world, weakness was death.

I took a deep gulp from his drink since I’d shattered mine, considering my next move. “You’ve had more than enough time. Seems you need something to motivate you.”

When I reached for my blade just to fuck with him, he dropped to his knees on the grimy tavern floor, humiliating himself.

“Please!” He sobbed. “You can have the night’s earnings, just please don’t hurt me.”

The pirate behind me muttered, “Bet he cuts Malcolm’s throat right here in the bar.” He sounded eager to watch.

Another responded, “Nah, won’t kill him yet. My money’s on taking a finger or an ear.”

Malcolm could hear them too and whimpered in terror.

If I was going to make him bleed, it would be better for Pearl if I did it outside so she didn’t have to clean up the mess.

What would happen to her if he were gone?

While everyone else sat perfectly still, their bloodlust thick in the air, Pearl rushed towards the table. She put her hand over mine. “Stop,” she said, tone laced with fear.

I looked down at where she was touching me, my heart inexplicably racing at such simple contact. She pulled her hand away like I’d burned her, but she was the one who’d branded me with a touch.

I was ready to obey her command, put the knife away, and weaken myself simply because she’d asked.

Malcolm looked between us and spluttered. “My daughter! Our new king has no one to share his bed. Take my daughter for the night. Offer Thorin her innocence in exchange for my debt.”

Murderous rage twisted through me. If I so much as told Thorin this bastard was bartering his unwilling daughter to pay his debts, my brother would come back himself and burn the damn tavern down. But then the war we started would still be my fault. If we were to survive the enemy on the horizon, we couldn’t divide the island again.

I was spinning with anger, creeping closer to losing control. Like she somehow knew, Pearl looked into my eyes, flooding me with her desire for me to stay calm. We stared at each other for so long, the pirates around me started to mutter about it.

What the fuck was I thinking? I’d been sent to make a point and instead all I was doing was making us look weak. I needed to turn down the offer without telling him the real reason why.

I laughed harshly. “You think a lowly tavern wench is a suitable match for Thorin Thorvald? I won’t insult him by even suggesting it.”

Pearl broke eye contact, dropping her gaze to the floor, and I wanted to turn the fucking knife on myself.

Malcolm stank of desperation as he scanned the tavern. “Then give me time to find a man who can appreciate her value. Tell Thorin he’ll have his money tomorrow.”

Avery met Malcolm’s eyes and grinned. Avery easily had the coin Malcolm needed.

Fuck.

Fuck.

Godsdamn it.

Avery would break her.

No…she wouldn’t break, so she’d endure far more than she should until that light inside her was finally snuffed out.

I couldn’t kill him without putting my family at risk. How much harm could he do before I could make it look like an accident?

Too much.

Too fucking much.

“Enough,” I snapped. “Out. All of you.”

There was some grumbling from Avery’s side of the tavern, but no one was brave enough to challenge me.

Pity.

It would’ve given me the tool I needed to save face without breaking my oath.

When all the pirates had left, Pearl stood uncertainly next to our table. Her desire to flee was like a tangible creature in the room, a terrified rabbit thumping its hind legs on the ground in warning that a predator was approaching.

Her father scrambled to get up from the ground, raising his hands in supplication.

Before he could start bleating again, I said, “Your daughter. I’ll take her.”

She went still.

“You said Thorin wouldn’t want her.”

“He won’t. But I might.”

I couldn’t reassure her without looking weak, couldn’t put an end to the whole thing by forgiving her father’s debt without risking my brother’s tenuous hold on the peace.

I reached for Malcolm’s glass again, and my hand shook. I’d been away from the sea too long, and it was clouding my judgment. Talon Thorvald didn’t hesitate. Hesitation got a man killed.

I snapped my fingers, and Pearl brought me another ale, never meeting my eyes.

Her father couldn’t know how badly I wanted her or that I was doing this out of some misguided desire to protect her. The pirates who’d been in the tavern would be out on the street making wagers about the gruesome things they assumed I was doing to Malcolm. If I was letting him walk out in one piece, he at least needed to believe I’d taken her to punish him.

Malcolm squared his shoulders. “She’s the prize of the island, and you well know it. Too good for the likes of you.”

I sighed in irritation. “I liked you better when you were quivering on your knees. Perhaps I’ll like your daughter even better in that position.”

“Maybe you should go fuck your whore of a sister instead.” He spat on the floor, seeming to forget how close I was to cutting out his tongue.

It was good Thorin had sent me and not the sister in question. Sigrid would’ve made Malcom fuck his own daughter for that insult. He was backed into a corner, and he was lashing out. If he was trying to get a reaction out of me, he was damn close to accomplishing it.

“Keep that up and I’ll make you watch me take her,” I growled.

Pearl marched angrily towards the table. “That is enough. Both of you. You think bartering me is the answer? Come to terms and get it over with. This pissing match benefits no one.”

How could she have come from this piece of shit? She stared Malcolm down, making him face the choices he was making.

Malcolm’s expression contorted with rage. “Take her then and consider it a debt repaid. But you’d better have her back in time for her chores in the morning.”

She took a step back, looking stunned. She’d thought he’d come to his senses, but he betrayed her to save himself. It would only get worse for her after this. She was the reason anyone put up with his ridiculous prices and watered-down ale. She’d been untouched before, which was part of her mystique, but now he’d see whoring her out as one more way to feed his greed.

Fuck.

I couldn’t send her back to that fate in the morning. There was only one answer.

I turned to her. “If we do this, you’ll belong to me.” I couldn’t give her a choice in front of him, but I needed some acknowledgment from her that what I was about to do was the path she’d choose.

Seeming to understand, she gave me a tiny nod.

A sneer contorted Malcolm’s face. “She isn’t a barrel of molasses. You can’t just make her your property! Use her and be done with it.”

I exhaled, imagining how I was going to explain this moment to my brother later, how I’d tell him that the next words out of my mouth were the only ones that could resolve this without bloodshed.

I shrugged, lifting my mouth into a smile that had been known to make sailors piss themselves in terror. “I can, though. By making her my wife.”

His face went from red to purple. “You can’t marry her!”

I slammed my knife into the table so close to one of his fingers that it drew blood…but not much. More self-control than he deserved.

“Say the word can’t to me again and see what happens.”

Before he could do anything stupid, Pearl said, “I’ll marry him.” She pulled out a chair and sat next to me like it was settled.

Malcolm wanted to kill me but knew better than to try. He got up and stormed towards the door, but turned back to say, “She’s your fucking problem now. You deserve the hell she’ll bring down upon you.”

He slammed the door as he left, shutting his daughter in with a murderous pirate to save his own skin.

She was trembling, but she didn’t try to run, didn’t cry. She lifted her chin like a warrior queen of legend and met my eyes, but quickly lowered her gaze and caved in on herself, wrapping her arms around her body like she’d done something bad by looking at me.

What would she be like if she learned not to be afraid?

She sat there looking calm when I could sense how urgently she wanted to run, but her voice was steady when she asked, “What happens now?”

I wish I fucking knew.

In the state her father was in, I wouldn’t put it past him to stir up enough drunken thugs to attack me while I was still here alone.

I needed to get the fuck out of there if I was going to keep my word to Thorin.

“We have to go,” I said, putting my hand under her elbow to tug her to her feet.

She jerked away so violently, she tripped over the stool behind her, flailed forward, and crashed into me. I caught her in my arms, and a charged feeling passed between us.

Our bodies were pressed together, and something besides fear flashed in her expression.

She wanted me to kiss her.

She looked up at me with pleading eyes, lips parted as she tilted her chin up and arched her body into mine.

Can this really be happening?

Her desire was real. Of that I had no doubt, but it was at odds with what I’d felt every other time I was in her presence.

So long I’d wanted her.

I started to lean down for a kiss, and her desire only surged more.

Then it changed in a flash, and the need to flee became overpowering.

She slapped me hard across the jaw.

I was so stunned, I released her.

She gasped, seeming as stunned as I was, but recovered her wits quickly and went to run from me.

Gods be damned, I’d made too public a spectacle to let her simply escape me with no consequences. And escape me to what? She was my responsibility now, and no matter how she feared me, I was a safer option than running into the night.

So I did the only reasonable thing I could think of.

I caught her before she’d even gotten to the bar.

Then I tossed her over my shoulder and carried her towards my ship.

Read To Seduce a Siren now!

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

C.M. Nascosta is a USA Today Bestselling author of high heat monster romance.

For Patreon extras, bookish merch, signed paperbacks, pre-sales, newsletter and more, visit:

https://linktr.ee/Monster_Bait