Page 35 of Scourge of the Shores

The Double Cross

Danna loaded harpoons into the swing cannon—a short-barreled gun bolted to the ship on a pivot rail and suspended by rigging.

Smoke and the stench of death choked her lungs, but she grabbed the attached matches and, with the roll of the ship, swung the cannon around to aim at Cain.

But he was nowhere to be found. Survivors climbed aboard floating ships.

A few brave sailors ventured out in rowboats, trying to pull the injured to safety.

The dead floated on their bellies or not at all.

Debris floated in the water before plunging below the churn.

A gulp of waves preceded the eruption of Cain between Robert and Danna once more.

The wave hit hard and threw her ship back.

The damaged rigging securing the cannon’s base faltered, and the side of the mount cracked under force.

The whole gun slewed sideways and the iron breech smashed into her belly as she fell, driving the wind from her lungs.

She screamed, clutching her side where the iron had struck, matches still in hand.

Cain turned his good eye toward her and snorted steam.

Her breath came in ragged gasps. He’d knocked her to her knees.

The taste of salt filled her mouth, and she could feel the sting of other wounds she hadn’t noticed in the heat of battle.

If the heavy cannon fell on her, she was as good as dead.

She eyed the fraying rope and the still-secured side of the mount, straining to hold, creaking more with each passing moment.

Her gaze shifted back to the plague that had tormented her life for the last thirteen years.

Cannon fire from the Pirate Kings bounced off its scales, causing its snaked tongue to shrill in an ear-splitting shriek, but nothing would deter Cain from its primary target.

The dark circles under her eyes were as black as the waves. Her belly trembled with trauma as she placed a hand on the swing cannon to aim it. This would be her last stand. Either Cain would take her life, or she would take his.

His unhinged jaw stretched wide as he slung his head back and forth, enduring the cannon fire. His war cry twisted into a guttural death knell from Tophet. He lunged—vaulted—toward Danna, arching in a death strike.

As the dark tunnel behind Cain’s fangs readied for its morsel, the scent of salt and blood blurred with a memory—her father’s laughter at the bow, her mother’s scream, Robert’s whisper at her ear. The sea demon always took what it wanted. But this time, she refused its hunger.

“Die, ye cursed beast!” Danna roared back in raw survival. She lit the fuse, still on her knees. The cannon exploded, knocking her arm and sending her flat on her back with her legs taken out from under her.

The harpoons shot clean through his open maw, whisking past the broken chains and embedding deep into the flesh of his throat.

Cain tottered. His massive neck crashed into the ship’s side, and his snout caught in the main mast’s rigging. The galleon groaned beneath the weight.

For a moment, she thought he might still live. But then—his movements slowed. His long, spiny tail gave a single, shuddering twitch. His blinded eye was an arm’s reach away from Danna as the scaled lid blinked.

In one last attempt to kill her, its snaked tongue whipped the frayed rope, knocking the swing cannon loose. Its heavy metal frame soared over Danna’s head from the force; its landing just missing the target. The crack of wood reverberated in her ears from the thick thunk of cannon meeting deck.

Her breaths shook her belly. Her heart pounded against the agony in her ribs. Her arm throbbed.

Danna rolled out from underneath its head and crawled closer to the stern over buckled planks, suppressing the pain out of sheer survival. She flipped onto her back to see harpoons stuck through its mouth and emerging from the back of its head. The whole ship leaned sideways from Cain’s weight.

Her belly pulsed in agony, and her knees were weak. Hot tears filled her eyes as she gasped for air. Her fingers dug into her aching side.

The great sea dragon exhaled a final burst of steam. His long tongue lay in a loose pattern on the deck.

A hollow stillness settled over the battlefield.

And then, the mast broke. Cain’s head pummeled the deck before slipping off into a watery grave.

Its monstrous mane whipped in the wind one last time before disappearing into the black depths.

The sea accepted him without a sound, just the quiet pull of the deep, as if the DeepMother had been waiting all along to reclaim the child born of her magic.

The old tales spoke of sea dragons rising again only when the prophecy tied to their relic neared fulfillment.

But there had been no relics. Everything from Cain—his spikes, teeth, and spines—went to the deep. He’d never rise again.

And Danna’s eyes burned with unshed tears of joy at the thought.

A lifetime of fighting and surviving. A lifetime of fear. And all it took was a single cannon shot through the beast’s head. She didn’t care. He was gone. If her stomach would let her, she’d breathe easy.

“Cain’s been gutted!” Danna shouted to the detriment of her own belly. Afraid the words weren’t real, she rested her forehead on the broken deck, feeling the cracks on her fingertips. Her vision swam. Her stomach twisted with exhaustion and pain.

“Cain’s dead,” she whispered again, but her voice broke on the last word. Her body trembled. Her fingers shook against the wood. A quiver latched onto her bottom lip that rose at the corners.

Her heart raced, and the shouts of victory rang in her ears.

A low laugh bubbled up from her belly, raw and unhinged, not knowing what else to do.

Her stomach wrenched in a guttural plea to stop moving.

Laughter turned to a choked sob as the beast’s death didn’t fill the hole he left, and she curled in on herself.

Her hands pressed hard against the agony in her core as she struggled to breathe.

Hands grabbed her—pulled her upright. Scotty and Jim. Strong and familiar arms wrapped around her, holding her when she couldn’t stand on her own. Stiff fingers rubbed her shoulders and pushed her hat back and forth on her head.

“Ye did it, Danna,” Jim said with a prideful gleam in his eyes. “Ye did it.”

She closed her eyes—just for a moment to let the relief wash in—when the world exploded again.

Danna flinched as the thunder of cannon fire ripped through the victory cries. A geyser of seawater erupted past the port bow. Its force threw her off balance. She sank to her knees, unable to stand on her own.

For a second, she couldn’t comprehend what had just happened. They had won. Cain was dead.

The sound of cannon fire thundered. For a moment, Danna thought the nightmare wasn’t over.

Scotty and Jim each took a firm hand under her arms, as her ancestor’s ship rocked from the impact, taking in water from the hole Cain left.

“What in Tophet’s name was that?” Jim yelled.

She saw it before they did.

The black sails. The open gun ports. The smug figure on the ship’s deck that had fired the shot.

Rosa.

Danna’s cheeks boiled red. She should’ve known it was the greedy, bloodthirsty Rosa.

Her head whipped around to see Lucas’s ship riddled with holes and taking in water. She knew it. The no-good, cowardly, manipulative, lying, thieving pirate!

“Ready all cannons,” she yelled in agony-laced bursts, still gripping her belly. Every movement sent fire through her core, but she gritted her teeth and forced herself upright. There wasn’t time to collapse.

But Storm Rider sailed between Rosa’s ship and Danna’s. The red flag rose above the white sail with the golden “J,” signaling war with no mercy, no quarter, and Storm Rider ran a shot across Rosa’s bow.

The cannon fire splash inundated Rosa’s forecastle deck.

Hagen’s ship raised a red flag and shot a warning across Rosa’s bow as well.

The fleets of Adams, Garrick, Holcomb, Cooper, and Vance all raised red flags.

Finally, Blackwood also raised a red flag.

Rosa’s ships’ gun ports closed and the sails unfurled, signaling his surrender.

Robert caught her gaze at the helm.

“Throw the lines,” she told Jim and Scotty through clenched teeth. “Fer Ervin’s ship.” The pain only allowed phrases to exit her mouth.

They left Danna clinging to the gunwale, watching Robert’s magnificent Storm Rider sway in the black waters.

Robert turned to face her. His gaze spoke words she’d never hear again. He removed his hat, swung it low, and gave a slight bow. His coat whipped in the breeze.

“We shall part ways now, Captain Chadwick.” His voice carried across the waves, though it dimmed with the slow separating distance. “May your island be prosperous; one day, I will see you again.”

Her voice caught in her throat from the huge lump that forced its way down to her belly. His words cut like a blade. He was actually leaving. A small part of her wished somehow he could have stayed.

The lump in her throat grew unbearable. She fought to force words past it. The waves pushed the two ships apart. Dominion over her voice finally returned.

“Fair winds, Captain Jaymes,” she called out, short, clipped, due to the pain in her belly.

But by the time she managed to speak, the breeze carried her words away before she could hear if he gave a reply.

The waves pushed their ships apart, widening the space between them. She saw him—stepping up to the stern’s gunwale, watching her, but too far to reach, too far to call back. She lifted her chin, willing herself to stay strong, but her hands clenched into fists on the ship’s railing.

“Be seein’ ye, Robert,” she whispered. The Pirate Kings were already sailing away in the opposite direction from the island.

The sun dipped lower, casting long shadows across the deck, but she remained by the place of Cain’s death, unable to tear her eyes away from Storm Rider .

She blinked a few times to chase away any tears before collapsing onto the main deck.

She sniffed and felt the breeze by her ear.

The hole on the starboard didn’t seem to be of the sinking kind, and hopefully, the crew was patching it as best they could for the journey home.

She rolled onto her back and let the fresh air sweep through her lungs.

She focused on the setting sun, its descent mirroring the sinking feeling deep in her heart.

“All crew accounted for,” Lucas’s voice rang out a while later. His heavy boots drew near over the bent and buckled main deck.

His whisper was inaudible to Danna. “Ye well, Danna?”

Danna swallowed hard, the lump in her throat making it difficult to speak.

“Fine,” she whispered.

Lucas lifted her shirt to inspect the damage, worry etched deep in his brow, a grimace on his lips—but Danna thrust her hand to pull it back down.

She craned her neck to face Ethan at the helm.

“Sail. Home!” she ordered, but he didn’t hear her weak, clipped cry, so Lucas repeated, “Get us home, Ethan!”

Without the main mast, the journey home would be slow-going, but at least with Lucas’s crew aboard, there were plenty of hands.

“Tonight, we celebrate!” Lucas yelled to the crew.

He threw a hand in the air, and the shout of victory again reigned supreme.

The crew roared and sang, their joy echoing across the waves. But Danna only heard the hush—the quiet after a storm, when all that’s left is destruction and despair.

Ethan gave a robust “Aye, Captain!” and spun the wheel to return to their island. The remaining ships followed suit.

Lucas wrapped his strong, wet arms around her and lifted her into the air. His lips pressed against her temple and cheek. “Ye did it, Danna. Cain’s dead. Our island’s safe. And Jaymes’s good for somethin’, too.”

“Aye, we did,” she said with a forced smile and a deliberate breath. But her gaze drifted to the departing ships. Storm Rider ’s sails disappeared into the setting sun, swallowed by the endless sea.

And still, the ache did not leave her. The lead lump in her stomach sank deeper, as if the weight of an anchor had lodged itself there.

Robert was gone. And somehow, she knew—the wound he left behind would never truly heal.

A single thought seared itself into her mind:

That was the last time she would see him. If he ever returned, it wouldn’t be soon—likely not until the end of his career. Still, she hoped.

Lucas carried her to the captain’s quarters and put her in bed. He ran a heavy hand over her brow. He dipped a wet cloth in what was left of the basin and dabbed her forehead.

“Sleep, Danna. Heal. I’ll get ye home,” he whispered.

She swallowed the coppery taste on her tongue and arched her back to lessen the deep, stabbing agony that thundered in her torso. He walked to the door and looked back at her before disappearing to the helm. She blinked back tears. At least, Lucas hadn’t left her as she thought he would.

The sea had always taken what it wanted. And this time, it had taken Robert and a life on the waves. Night fell, heavy and hollow. And for the first time, the sea felt empty and quiet as if the DeepMother grieved. For her and Robert, or for Cain—Danna didn’t know.