Page 18 of Bloody Black

“Not giving you my name.” I dab at my lips with a handkerchief. Plenty of women might fall at his feet, just not someone like me.

“Come now, darling, don’t be salty. Let’s try again. Your name?”

Around me, the crew bristles. We’ve all had more than our share of men like this one: all charm and calculation. He’s the type who mistakes silence for weakness, my refusal for an invitation. He’ll want to have the last word, not knowing that any one of us would happily cut his tongue out.

“Profoundly uninterested.”

“Name?”

“Not letting you writhe on top of me.” I keep a blade in my boot, sailor, so don’t test your luck. I take another sip of soup and wait patiently for him to leave.

Tremaine’s lips curl up in a smile, clearly not deterred. I can see him calculating, enjoying the chase. His stare lingers a second too long. Assessing, considering.

Then he puts his hand on my shoulder. “Pretty thing like you shouldn’t be so cold,” he mutters, voice low, just for me.

My heart spikes. The edges of the room wink out, go black, my head spinning. I force the fear down, trying to get a grip on it.

“Hands off.” Samson’s voice booms, and he stands, bristling. “Don’t touch her.” He doesn’t bother to rhyme.

Domino is also on her feet, expression furious .

I can’t breathe. I can’t breathe. I can’t… he’s too near to me.

Prudence’s fingers wrap around the stranger’s wrist, her mouth drawn in a hiss. “Let her go.”

The man named Tremaine swallows. Domino’s hidden knife is at his throat.

“No need to lose your heads.” He steps back, fumbling. “Didn’t realize you’d all take offense.”

Alright? Holly’s gaze inquires, eyes scanning mine.

It takes a full minute until I can even see, so acute is the panic that fills me. The sounds of the room slip away, and I imagine their bodies atop of me.

“Focus, Captain,” Xandretta’s shoulder presses alongside my arm. “Steady now.”

For some reason, her voice grounds me. Brings me back to the tavern, to the wood-clad room, to the ale and the soup, to my crew.

“All I wanted was to buy her a drink,” Tremaine says, clearly confused.

“You can buy mine instead, handsome,” Domino smiles. “Are you married?”

If he is, she’ll be carving him up by sunrise.

“Not yet.” He wiggles his eyebrows.

“Well, that’s too bad. I was really hoping you were.” She twirls a strand of pale white hair between her fingers and sucks her spoon. “Because I’d carve you up like a bird, and leave you in the street for the shopkeeps to find.”

This is apparently too much for him. “Bitches,” he declares, and gives a sloppy shake of his head. He stumbles back to his table, where friends laugh and clap him on the shoulder .

“He called you bitches.” Samson is appalled. Somehow, despite everything he’s been through, name-calling still bothers him.

“Perhaps he meant witches?” Holly laughs.

“How would he even know?” Domino leans back in her chair.

“Maybe we knew him in a prior life,” Prudence stretches luxuriously. “ Bitches and witches. I like it. Let’s open a tavern on the beach and call it that.”

I give a dry laugh and sip my rum. “You know, it’s strange how conflict always puts you in a good mood.”

Now that he’s gone, we eat our food and drink our spirits. Chatting, laughing, much as we would on The Flying Rose . For a few minutes, I forget about The Concorde entirely. That is, until my skin starts prickling, and I get the strong feeling of someone staring from across the room.

Bearded and with a silver earring, a dark-haired male at another table is intrigued, not even bothering to hide it.

His eyes are beautiful, a lovely sea green.

Like the ocean on a bright blue day. I’m curious which of us he’s interested in.

Probably Domino–she’s striking, with her pale skin and white hair.

Or Holly, with her big eyes and freckled breasts.

Prudence, if he’s a masochist. But most likely, he’s just like everyone else, intrigued by the women who belong to Blackbeard.

In truth, Blackbeard’s legend is mostly driven by other men’s envy.

Once we started the rumor that he had fourteen wives, each cruel and bloodthirsty, other sailors could not stop talking about him.

Wanting to join his crew. It did more for Blackbeard’s reputation than stealing ships, and now he’s known in every corner of the kingdom .

Holly rolls her eyes and snorts . “The entire lot of them are eyeing us.”

Xandretta clears her throat, and it sounds suspiciously like a laugh. “That’s what they always do.”

A serving wench approaches. “The gentleman over there would like to buy your dinner. All of you.”

I raise my eyes to their table again, considering. The dark-haired one is still staring.

“No thanks.” I don’t know why the words slip off my tongue. Decorum? I should let him, whoever he is. I’m a pirate, after all. Three things a pirate should never turn down: free coin, free food, and free rum.

“Whyever not?” The wench isn’t pushy, just curious.

“I prefer to pay my own way in the world.”

“A woman as beautiful as you need never pay for anything.” She gives me a knowing grin.

Beside me, Xandretta grimaces into her ale.

“Ask if he’s married,” Domino yells after her.

The stranger is still inspecting us much too closely for comfort, and for some reason the tavern suddenly feels small and hot. Desperate to escape everyone’s scrutiny, I shove back my chair.

“If you’ll excuse me,” I say softly, and rise. Then show myself out, into the night.

Gathering my wits, I lean against the stones of the tavern, inhaling the balmy sea breeze. Tip my head back toward the sky and her stars.

So much for keeping a low profile.

“It’s being around all these people,” I say aloud. “It has me all knotted up.”

“Pity. I hoped it was me. Knotting you up, that is.” A low, masculine voice says from the shadows to my right.

Quick as lightning, I draw my knife, angling it toward him. It’s pressed under his chin before he can blink.

The stranger doesn’t flinch. His breathing remains measured, as if the edge of a blade at his throat is nothing more than an idle inconvenience. His pulse—there, just beneath the skin—is steady, a controlled reaction that tells me he’s all too familiar with danger.

“Good evening.” His voice is deep, reverberating down to my toes.

“I’m not interested. Go away.” The tip of my blade presses against the column of his throat.

“Technically, you weren’t interested in Tremaine, but you aren’t sure about me.”

Good grief. “Is that what you followed me out here for?”

“With no offense, if I waited for Tremaine to succeed before making my own attempt, I’d die of old age.”

I almost laugh. Almost.

“Why didn’t you let me pay for your meal?” he asks.

Because I don’t want another debt around my neck. “I never let a man believe he can buy me,” I say instead .

He regards me with open interest. “If it helps, think of it as payment for services rendered.”

“And what services would I be providing you?” My voice is arctic cold, like the northern gales and storms of Celestia.

“Surprise.” At my perplexed look, he smiles. “I saw you, and forgot to breathe.”

I’m struck speechless. All salty quips forgotten. Is this fool flirting with me?

He studies me, avidly. “You’re dressed like a pirate.”

“That I am.” I lift my chin. “Do you want to join the crew?”

He chuckles, then turns serious. “Do you live here, in Venedria?”

“Why do you ask?”

“So that I might call upon you. Obviously.”

It takes a full ten seconds to process what he’s saying. He’s suggesting that he court me. Even though he met me in a pirate bar, in a pirate city… and he is clearly not one of us. Did he wander into the Cock and Crow off the street?

Men. Always thinking with their cocks instead of their brains. That’s why they never live very long.

“Did it occur to you that I might be taken?” My words are sharper than I intend, yet it doesn’t seem to cut his enthusiasm down even a whit.

His head tilts slightly, studying me. Measuring the lie.

“Are you saying you’re one of Blackbeard’s wives? The fourteen?”

“Is that so hard to believe?” I reply far too quickly .

His lips quirk, not quite a smile, more an observation. “Hmmm.”

He thinks I’m lying.

For some reason, the falsehood doesn’t sit well; I shift my weight, jaw tightening. I am many things, but a liar is not one of them.

“Fine,” I mutter. “I’m not one of his wives.”

His green eyes hold mine, unwavering, unreadable. The corner of his mouth lifts into something almost smug. “I’m glad.”

Moonlight reflects off the shine of his hair.

Moonlight on his hair? Seven hells and sirens. I’m as bad as Samson.

“Is this really happening? Or am I dreaming?” he asks.

I’m asking myself the same question. I’m letting some strange man talk to me, stand too close to me, lingering outside a tavern.

“I should go,” I say slowly. “I have plans.” And you cannot be part of them. Nor do you want to be.

“Perhaps I won’t let you slip away.”

“I distinctly told you that I’m not interested.”

“I’m a poor listener. Tell me again.”

A younger me would have laughed. Anne would have been charmed, dazzled by his handsome face. Like a fool, she would throw herself into his muscular arms, fawning. Soft and weak. Then, like all men, he’d rip her heart out.

But I am no longer that girl. This stranger, handsome as he is, is wasting my time. I have supplies to buy and men to kill, and no desire to spend an evening with him.

“You alright?” A voice calls out. Prudence and Domino are waiting in the light of the doorway, standing guard. Watching .

“I’m good. I was just leaving.” I step back and lower my knife. “And he was just wishing we had never met. Weren’t you?”

He doesn’t take the hint. “I could never do that.”

He will, though, eventually. In time, he will forget the pirate with dark hair and hazel eyes. He will be here, and we’ll be traveling north. The Flying Rose sails at night and docks during the day. Unless he searches every ship at sea, he’d never find me.

“Have a good evening, sir,” I turn back toward my crew, tucking my dagger into my belt.

“It was nice meeting you,” the stranger calls out as I walk away, boots clacking along the cobblestones.

“Persistent bastard, isn’t he?” Holly clicks her tongue. “Handsome too.”

“Did he touch you?” Prudence asks.

“He…” I clear my throat. “Very nearly.”

“And you didn’t kill him? Well done.” Holly jostles me. “That gives me hope.”

Up ahead, Domino is walking alongside a sailor.

He says something, and she laughs, looks up at him adoringly.

He must be married. She waits for them to approach, for them to pressure her into having sex with them.

By morning, he, whoever he is, will be carved up like a turkey.

Left on a doorstep for his wife to find.

That’s her form of healing.

I doubt I’ll ever seek men as Domino and Prudence do, but as we walk away, I do feel a tiny spark of hope.

It is true. The handsome stranger was very close to me, and I didn’t panic, I didn’t shut down, and I didn’t react with immediate violence.

It’s not much, but perhaps it is a small sign that I’m healing.

That maybe one day, once my nightmares fade, I’ll have some chance of normalcy.