Page 26 of A Storm in Every Heart (Enchanted Legacies #2)

He tilts his head to show me his ears, which I’m surprised to see are stuffed with cotton—like sailors use to block out the wind and the sounds of the sirens singing beneath the ocean. My heart sinks. He must know exactly who I am to take that precaution, but how? Why?

Unbidden, my mind flies to Kastian’s throwaway comment the other day. “You’re the king’s sister and the queen’s best friend. If I were going to kidnap someone to hold for ransom, I know who I’d choose.”

Oh, shit.

“The name’s Captain James Connell,” the pirate says, holding out a blood-soaked hand as if I would ever want to shake it. “Captain of The Sea Witch . You might have heard of me?”

Captain James Connell —the name prickles at me. I remember it from somewhere, maybe a wanted poster, maybe a whispered warning in a smoky tavern. Even so, I shake my head vigorously, reacting to his question even as my brain spins.

Captain Connell looks slightly disappointed. “You haven’t? That’s too bad. I’ve certainly heard of you, Lady Odessa. You’re a popular prize at the moment, did you know that?”

I clamp my lips shut, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a retort—even so, I latch onto every word.

A popular prize …that must mean he doesn’t want to kill me.

At least, not yet. This is a ransom attempt, and I’d bet everything I own that Elio was in on it…

though that doesn’t seem to have worked out well for him.

Captain Connell squats down to my eye level.

His eyes are dark blue, like the ocean, and look almost friendly—completely at odds with the blood on his hands.

“Alright, darling, let me tell you how this is going to go. I’m sure you’re planning to escape right now, but that’s not bloody likely.

Even if you got past me—which you won’t—I have a dozen men out in the corridor waiting to grab you.

” He pauses for dramatic effect and the screaming and crashing from outside the compartment seems to grow even louder.

I swallow thickly and Captain Connell grins.

“See? So you’re going to be a good girl and come with me quietly.

We’re going to be friends, you and I. But if you bite, I’ll bite back. Got it?”

“Why would I believe that?” I ask, my voice coming out in a shaky whisper.

Whether he can hear me or not, I can’t tell, but he must guess what I said because he leans closer.

His voice is almost tender, coaxing, like I imagine I must sound using the siren voice.

“Because, darling, if you don’t come quietly I’ll make our time together bloody unpleasant for you. I doubt you want that, right?”

I try to think, but my body is nearly numb—except for a cold spike of panic needling its way up my spine. I can’t let him take me anywhere. I’d rather die here than be captured and subjected to the gods know what.

I force myself to focus. I can’t bewitch him with cotton in his ears. He’s human, but still a large man, so I can’t out-muscle him. Even if I could, I heard what he said about the men in the corridor…I have to find a weapon.

I shift my gaze to the captain’s belt. He has a pistol, holstered but not buckled.

It’s been over a hundred years since I last shot a pistol, and I’m not sure I remember how.

Certainly not well enough to do it with shaking hands.

Instead, my eyes flick back to the knife sticking out of Elio’s abdomen at a crooked angle, the hilt smeared red.

“I’ll cooperate,” I blurt out.

Captain Connell grins at me, and gestures toward his ears. “What was that, darling?”

I struggle to my feet, trying to convey my compliance. “I’ll go with you.”

He laughs again—a deep, delighted bray. “Smart girl. After you.”

He moves out of the way as if to gesture me forward in some sort of mockery of manners. I step tentatively toward the door, then lunge sideways toward the knife.

Captain Connell lets out a bark of laughter. “Not such a good girl after all, are you, darling?”

The knife handle is slick, but I grip it hard with both hands and pull. It doesn’t come out. I yank again, twisting, and on the second try it slides free with a nauseating, wet sound. I gag, partly from the effort, partly from the spray of blood that spatters my arm.

In the span of a second, I whip around. Connell is reaching for me, and he moves at the exact moment I do. The knife plunges straight into his stomach, just below the ribcage. It’s not graceful—my aim is off and the handle slams against his belt buckle, but the blade still finds flesh.

The pirate’s eyes widen in surprise. He howls, a sound halfway between rage and agony, and staggers back, his entire body doubled over reflexively, arms clutching at his midsection.

For a split second I’m frozen, staring at what I’ve done. I cannot believe that worked. His blood splatters on the floor, and my breath punches in and out, sharp and irregular, as the reality of it lands: I’ve just killed a man.

Or tried to.

As I stare at the bleeding pirate, too shocked to move, his howls of pain change. My brain is slow to register that it isn’t a moan. It’s a laugh.

It starts low, like a cough gurgling through a throat full of gravel, but then it rises, deep and rolling. Mocking.

He struggles to stand straight again, his ocean eyes flashing with amusement as he looks up at me, his hand still clutching the wound in his stomach.

He pulls his shirt up to reveal the full horror of the wound and grins with blood on his teeth as his fingers wrap around the knife handle.

Then, without breaking eye contact, he yanks the blade out in one smooth motion.

The sound it makes is grotesque—a wet, sucking pop, followed by a fresh rush of dark blood.

I watch in horror as the skin and muscles of his stomach knit back together, shifting and healing before my very eyes. He stands straight and holds the knife up, admiring it, then licks a stripe of his own blood from the blade.

My legs go rubbery, and I realize I’ve been holding my breath so fiercely I might faint. “What the fuck.”

Connell flicks the knife as if bored, then tosses it aside.

“That was a good try, darling” he says, voice full of mocking humor.

“Next time, try going for the heart. Or, you know, run.” He wipes his hands on his shirt, then gestures at the door.

“Go on. I’ll give you a five-second head start, no hard feelings. ”

I don’t believe him for a second. But every instinct says: move.

That man is not human—I don’t know what he is, but I’d rather run straight into his band of pirates than wait to find out.

I barrel past the still-grinning pirate, fling open the compartment door, and lurch into the corridor, half expecting to be cut down from behind.

Captain Connell holds true to his word and gives me a chance to run, but it’s hardly a gift.

The hall outside is chaos incarnate, worse even than last year’s train crash. Screaming passengers, overturned luggage, glass crunching underfoot. I duck low, sprinting toward the next car, slipping once in a pool of something—hopefully wine, not blood—and catch myself hard on the wall.

Behind me, the thump of Captain Connell’s heavy boots follows me. He’s not running, just… following. Stalking. Like he’s got all the time in the world.

I reach the vestibule between cars and smash the release lever with unsteady hands. The door hisses open, and I stumble out onto the platform. The crowd is gone, and there’s not a single guard in sight.

My heart pounding in my ears, I grab my skirts and sprint across the platform, not really seeing where I’m going. I round the side of the ticket booth and dart toward the road.

Then, suddenly, another pirate is in front of me, blocking my path. I scream and turn, trying to dart around him, but another man blocks that direction.

Suddenly, they’re everywhere, swarming the platform and closing me in. There’s nowhere to go. I’m caged, and every single man is grinning, like this is just some game to them.

From down the platform comes the slow, deliberate click of boots. He’s whistling now, like he’s in no hurry, and the tune sinks into me with bone-deep dread.

He’s drawing it out; he enjoys the chase.

“We can do this the easy way, or the hard way,” Captain Connell calls as he grows nearer.

I straighten my spine, and dig deep for a bravery I don’t feel. “I dare you to take me back to your ship,” I hiss, teeth bared. “I could drown you in seconds. You know that, right?”

The pirate finally stops in front of me, his bloodstained shirt still pulled up to show ridges of unblemished muscle.

He bows, sweeping his arm in a grand gesture of mock chivalry, and when he straightens again, the smile that splits his face is all teeth and hunger.

“That’s the spirit, darling. I love a fighter. ”