Sea of Roses (Pirate Romance Duology #1)

Chapter 1

Beautiful clear skies, tranquil rolling waves, and strong steady winds to fill his sails – what a perfect day to get completely fucked over. Not that Captain Alister Paine, one of the most notorious pirates on the seven seas of Old Gaia, knew treachery was on the horizon.

No, instead, he lowered his nautical telescope from his good eye with a confident, beaming grin. He closed its bronze, tapering layers with a deep chuckle, his gaze narrowing on the horizon to focus in on what was approaching.

Placing his telescope in the fixed wooden box on the navigation table next to the helm of his ship, he felt the familiar rumble of excitement and lust for death rising in his chest.

“Raise the Jolly Roger, lads!” he yelled with mirth, palming one of the eight handles of the steering wheel in front of him.

His men sprinted at his command, immediately doing as they were told with cruel smirks. They already knew exactly what was coming.

Within moments, a black flag, with a white skull and two long swords crossing underneath it, rose through the worn and patchy cream-coloured sails of his ship.

He knew, the entire crew knew, that it would be seen by the ship they were coming into range of – like an angel of death preparing to clutch at their souls. If they didn’t surrender, they would greet Davy Jones’ locker at the bottom of the sea.

If they did, they might spare their lives.

After watching it fill out and flap in the steady wind with a twinkle of glee in his good eye, Alister lowered his gaze to narrow it back on the ship sailing towards them.

He raised one of his brows when it didn’t change its course to run away, nor raise its own flag in communication.

They aren’t running, he thought.

“Pierre!” he shouted to his first mate. His was one of the very few pirate ships that had one.

“Yes, Captain?” Pierre answered, his lean frame sprinting up the steps to the quarterdeck two at a time.

Although the crew often called him by his name when merely sailing, they called him ‘captain’ when he was in charge of a takeover.

The man, only halfway through his twenties, grabbed the corner of the railing to swing himself forward with his own grand smile, yet there was a serious glint to his features.

His green eyes were filled with the same brightness as Alister’s.

His long blond hair swished around his shoulders and would have been in his face if he didn’t keep it tied back in a high, messy ponytail.

His skin was heavily tanned – many days at sea did that to most riding these waves – but he still managed to keep some hint of his paler complexion.

“Get Derek to man the wheel.” Derek was his quartermaster and third in charge of the ship. Alister moved his gaze from Pierre, his grin widening as he watched the enemy ship sailing closer. “This is not going to be a chase.”

“They plan to fight?”

Alister nodded. “Oh aye, lad. They plan to fight.”

“Do they not recognise our figurehead?” Pierre’s eyes widened as his face turned from Alister to the oncoming ship.

“Does it matter?” he said with a chuckle. “Whether they do or not makes no difference to us.”

“If they want to feed the fish...” Pierre trailed off, his look of concern fading to something more malicious.

“Then we feed ’em,” Alister finished for him.

With a nod, Pierre swung himself back around the corner of the railing to sprint down the stairs, shouting for Derek to man the wheel.

It didn’t matter if the enemy knew his ship or not; they were knowingly heading towards pirates.

They’re either mad... or they thought they could best them, which was a hilarious notion to him.

They didn’t know Alister had a large crew of sixty-six good men, all of them seasoned sailors. Most of them had been ruthless pirates for a minimum of a decade – himself included.

His quartermaster came bounding up the steps, peg leg thudding against the distressed timber.

Somehow, even though the man had one normal leg and another made of wood, it never hindered his speed nor made him any less formidable than the rest of them.

His leg had been cut off just below the knee. It wasn’t completely useless, since it wasn’t stiff, and he could still bend it at the knee. He often liked to kick people with it, something Alister witnessed regularly with humour.

Derek was a short, older man with boundless energy. It was hard to tell if he was frowning or grinning with his long, scraggly brown beard, but his eyelids often crinkled at the sides, making his hazel eyes almost twinkle.

They were meant to be laugh lines, but Alister often thought they made him appear conniving.

“Aye, Cap’n?” He wiggled his long-haired eyebrows up and down, not seeming to notice a few hairs trying to poke him in the eye. “They lookin’ for a fight, are they?”

Derek was only eighteen years older than Alister’s twenty-nine, but with the short life span of pirates, it meant he was the wisest of them all. It didn’t make him any less deadly with a weapon, though.

He was one of his best men, and Alister trusted him explicitly.

“Aye, you old sea dog.” Alister moved out of the way so Derek could take the helm in his wrinkled, calloused old hands. It often looked as though they were dried with salt from the ocean. “And if you let any of ’em take my ship, I’ll gut you myself.”

“Oh ho!” Derek exclaimed. “I’d like to see ye try.”

With a laugh, Alister patted him on the shoulder.

Then, he calmly made his way to the front of the quarterdeck, the level he was on, to stand between the railing and the helm.

His type of frigate warship was one of the largest, the sturdiest, and, proudly, the fastest on the seven seas.

He’d commandeered it from pirate hunters with an artistry he hoped was a popular tale on land.

He wanted to instil fear into all who heard about the roaring grim reaper – the figurehead at the bow.

He and his crew never had to run from another ship.

It was made of cedar wood, giving it a deep reddish colour when compared to ships made of oak. It was bleached by the sun and dirtied to look a dark brown by waves that often slammed the hull.

His beloved ship had seen better, cleaner days, but she was in perfect working condition.

Below him was the main deck, where he could see his crew manning the many sails and rigs. Two tall, thick beams stood before him – the main mast and the foremast. Each had three white sails bowing forwards, leading them steadfastly to battle.

There was a third, smaller mast, called the mizzenmast, behind him on the poop deck, the highest deck of this ship. It sat behind the quarterdeck on which he currently stood.

Underneath the poop deck was the navigation room; it was also where Alister slept. It gave way for his first mate and quartermaster to share the large room beneath the quarterdeck. On a ship like this, they tried to share the few cabins available, so the crew could sleep more comfortably.

A crowded crew would lead to disease and sickness.

Although he was captain, and therefore spoilt, he tried to be as little an inconvenience to his crew as possible, who could rise up and mutiny against him. He’d gotten into his position through an overwhelming vote, and he could find himself walking the plank with another one.

He doubted his loyal crew would ever commit such a heinous act against him, but that was because he made concessions like this. They also knew he wouldn’t go down without a fight, and they feared that.

“All hands on deck!” He threw his right arm forward and swiped it to the side, like a blade cutting through air. “I don’t want to see a single man standing still!”

The wind cut through his loose clothing and long black hair as they approached their target, exhilarating him with its cold energy.

“Aye captain!” some of them yelled, telling him he’d been heard.

“Gunmen!” He pointed to the right of the ship. “I want those gun ports open on the starboard side, and the cannons filled with powder. The rest of you, prepare to board. They want a fight? Let’s give ’em a fight!”

Not moments later, the figureheads of both ships came into near colliding range. If it wasn’t for them being steered to come side by side with each other, they would have collided.

The enemy’s ship was much smaller, and from what he could gauge, it only had eight cannon ports. None of them were open like his were in preparation.

The sound of cannon fire boomed. Eighteen balls were released at the same time, since this was a thirty-six-cannon ship. Half smashed into the smaller ship’s side, and the rest created explosions of rain when they hit the ocean’s glittering surface.

Splintering wood flew in every direction as the enemy ship caved in from the weighted cannonballs and tilted away momentarily. The thunder of the iron spheres hitting the timber was enough to understand just how damaging they were.

There was no return fire.

No, and instead of Alister and his crew boarding the ship, men swung from ropes to theirs.

His gaze found Pierre’s wide-eyed stare as Alister made his way down the steps to assist.

“Captain!” one of his men shouted, pointing at the skies.

A heavy gust of wind seemed to resonate with the heavy emotion swelling in his chest. It blew his long hair back as he unsheathed his cutlass sword from the scabbard attached to his hip.

A curved weapon was perfect for slashing, going with the swing of an attack from above, rather than the embedding swing of a straight blade. It’s why Alister had chosen this kind of sword.

They’re trying to take over my ship!

He watched a man knock into one of his crew, landing on top to stab him in the chest. Brutus!

Another landed on top of the crew mate next to him, slicing his throat from ear to ear. Hammond!

There were grappling hooks attaching to the railing, allowing his enemies to swing across from below and climb the side of the hull.