The Dragon's Hope
“Captain!” I swing my head toward the sound.
Two vague forms appear on the poop. Meara and Newton. The blasted idiots.
“Get off the ship!” I bellow, moving to go.
But something stops me. No. Not something. Fucking someone.
The stranger’s hand is still wrapped around my wrist, his fingers warm. His chest rises and falls with a sleeper’s peace, eyes shut and still. Unconscious because of me.
He’ll drown if I leave him here.
“Jim!” Meara’s strained voice reminds me I’m in no position for such musing.
Dragons deserve no mercy. And he’s a Dragon. . . isn’t he?
I stand up and turn away. I can’t bring myself to abandon the stranger. He called me his hope. No Dragon would do that.
A sharp squeal rattles the boards beneath my feet.
Fucking hell.
I shove the damning necklace into my pocket and swing back, wrapping my hands around the man’s shoulders. I heave backward, but he doesn’t move.
Heavy thudding pounds through the still air. Newton leaps down from the poop and sprints towards me across the other decks.
“I told you to get off!” I holler at him.
Newton scrambles up to the forecastle, stopping beside me. His block-like face inspires a mixture of relief and anger.
“Meara said to help you,” Newton says, grabbing the man.
“She’s not your captain,” I growl.
“Nope!” Newton hefts the man across his shoulders. “She’s my wife.”
The Merle shudders, and horrifying pops echo below our feet. I recognize the damning sound. Below decks, the hold is cracking. It’s a matter of time before the whole ship splits in half and sinks.
“Run!” I yell, shoving Newton.
He shoots off, jumping over the steps and landing on the main deck with a thunderous boom. I race behind, lungs already screaming from the effort. I hate running.
Crraaaaakkkk
My heart fires up to my chest, and I miss the steps leading down to the main deck. I fall hard on my side, my breath kicked out of me. By the time I can breathe again, Newton’s already halfway to Meara.
“Jim!” Meara shouts.
“Get back to the boat!” I order, springing to my feet.
An aching, keening moan cries out from below.
I’m too late. A rift cracks open in front of me. Broken planks make a snagged-toothed maw gaping wide on either side of the main mast.
I twist to the right. Running parallel to the break, I trace the winding paths of the rat lines above to where they connect at the railing.
“Shit shit shit.”
The deck starts to slide, angling towards its grave. White, frothing waters climb over the bowsprit and foremast, the harsh spray lunging at me. I leap forward, shouting, my hand stretching out for the rigging line. As soon as I grip it, I swing out my cutlass from its sheath, cutting the cord at its base.
The rope swings out in a wide arc, whipping me along. My hat flies off from the wind’s strength, and my coat flung open to its needling fingers.
My crew waits somewhere in the vast expanse below me, safe in a long boat. I pray they’re close, then release the rope.
The hard bosom of the sea strikes against me. A freezing shock of water thrashes my brain into animalistic mush.
Escape! The desperate word shrieks in every cell of my body. My arms and legs flail, weighed down by my clothes. I am too uncoordinated to bring myself to the surface. Reactively, I open my mouth to draw in whatever air I can. Instead, water rushes in, the salt burning my lungs.
The pain wrenches a soundless scream from me, and hell tries to drag me back.
Something hard and heavy slams against my chest from a distance. I’m sucked from Hades’ embrace and spat out to agonized consciousness.
Saltwater wretches up and out of my mouth and nose, puking down my cheek and puddling beneath my head.
“Jim! Jim!” Meara’s long fingers cradle my face as I disgorge everything the ocean has forced down my throat.
I heave out gallons, and in the end, I am left shaking and gasping.
Blinking, I see I’m safe on the long boat. Anya lies beside me, her eyes pinched shut and lips a bruising blue. Water drops down from her matted curls as her tiny body shivers. Something catches my eye—a rope harness laced around her chest.
I swing upright, causing another searing fit of coughing.
“W--who the f-fffuck threw her in the water?” I stammer when I speak again.
Someone’s covered me with a dry coat. I shrug the thing off and drape it on top of Anya.
“She did it herself,” Meara says behind me.
Meara’s round face fills my vision. A heavy crease of worry is chiseled over her pert nose. Behind her, the crew leans forward at their benches, anxious to see what’s happening.
“You sss-stupid ch-ch-chit,” I scold, chucking Anya under the chin. “You could have ddd-died!”
Anya’s long face cracks into an unsteady smile.” Ddd-does th-th-that mmmm-mean I get-t-t a raise?”
The crew roars with laughter, and I join them, inspiring another wave of coughing.
“Easy, captain,” Meara soothes, smacking my back.
I shove her away, then pull myself onto the bench beside her. The light wind cuts through my soaked clothes like an ice knife. I shiver.
“A quarter of my shares and a permanent position on board, cucciolotta,” I say, using Anya’s nickname. “If your mother agrees.”
Anya gasps. It’s the most she could hope for in her life. As the daughter of a pirate mother and an unknown father, she’ll lead a life either on the sea or the streets. The position saves her from the worst of the two.
The crew buzzes in appreciation for the generous gift.
“Nothing for me?” Meara pouts, dropping her coat on my shoulders. “I was the one who checked on you first.”
Meara’s linen shirt clings to her lean frame, too tight in the chest and loosening around her stomach. It’s a startling reminder that the girl I consider a daughter is growing up.
“Fine.” I grip the oar waiting in front of me. “I’ll get you clothes in Tortuga.”
“Really?” Her sullen face lightens to a genuine smile. “A dress, too?”
“Where the hell would you wear a dress?” I snap, irritated by such a whim.
Meara’s finely shaped brows draw tight over thunderous eyes, and she swings her nose high. “Wherever I want.”
I frown. Although she’s not my true daughter, Meara has picked up a few of my habits. One is her stubbornness. And it’s been causing more problems as she struggles into adulthood.
“Watch your tone,” I warn.
Meara winces from the cold in my voice but doesn’t lay off. Her narrow shoulders bunch up around her neck, and a faint pink blush spreads across her face. “What tone? I’m not using a tone.”
“You know exactly what you’re doing,” I growl. “Knock it off, or you’ll get nothing at all.”
Meara ducks her head, using her choppy black hair as a curtain. An uncomfortable silence settles on the longboat, and there’s a twinge of guilt in my chest.
I love Meara, everything about her, as any mother would her child. I hardly consider her attitude a fault and want to encourage it. But I’m her captain. Certain appearances must be made.
“Let’s get back to the ship,” I order. “Blood will be missing us.”
“Saving that man is going to piss off Blood,” Meara mumbles beneath her breath.
The stranger!
“Newton!” I bellow, searching the crew for the man. “Where’s my captive?”
“Oh hi, I’m here!” Newton says, shooting up and damn near capsizing the boat.
“Christ Newton!” “Sit down, damnit!” “You’re going to tip us bloody idjit!” The crew and I shout at Newton as we cling on for dear life.
The ship swings in the water. Newton flails backward, tumbling onto his backside. When the boat settles, Newton stands up, this time more cautiously.
Newton’s body is one of the finest examples of mismatching I’ve ever seen. His squat and meaty torso promises the physique of a fighter. His hands are thick, and he can knock people out with a lazy swipe. But something went awry when it came to his limbs. Narrow wrists and spindly forearms poke out from the ill-fitting sleeves of his shirt. Stepping over a bench, Newton’s stocking puddles down, revealing his scrawny legs.
“Newton!” Meara snaps. “Sit!”
Newton plunks on the bench, jolting the ship again.
“Where’s my captive!” I roar over the chorus of complaints.
“Oh, I got him here, right next to me.” Newton reaches down and wrenches up the stranger’s pale arm, waving it like a flag.
I massage the back of my neck, where a headache is building. “You’d think a doctor would be gentler with his patient.”
“Oh.” Newton drops the man’s arm and has the decency to look ashamed. “Sorry!”
I roll my eyes.I owe Newton my life for his healing talents and was lucky when he agreed to join me on The Sparrow.
Sometimes, I have to remind myself how valuable he is.
“Why’d you go and save him anyway?” Anya’s muffled voice asks from the coat she’s burrowed into.
I flick up the collar of my borrowed coat and shiver. How can I explain to the crew what I can’t explain to myself? That the man knew me? How he called me hope? Or I liked the touch of his hand against mine? The shape of his lips?
They’d laugh their asses off, then leave me at the next port. No one wants to sail under a soft captain. Not even one as infamous as I am.
“He’s rich,” I grunt, regripping my oar. “We’ll ransom him off,”
“You hate ransoming,” Meara says, suspicion tinging her words.
“I hate being cold too, but here I am about to freeze my damned ass off,” I snap. “Get going before I blast the bottom of this boat myself!”
There’s no other argument.
With a heave-ho, we paddle through the waters. Ahead, The Sparrow, our home on the seas, bobs in the livening waters. It will be a bitter homecoming. I can order Meara to piss off, but my first mate will be a different story.
