Chapter 11 #3
“No, not that shadow. That’s true by the way—it’s how he took me from my dorm room. I’m talking about the shadow children I saw when Hook came for me at Peter’s hideout.”
“Shadow children?” She full-on shudders. “Regular children are awful enough, don’t you think? With all the crying and the needing attention and just … Yick.”
I can’t suppress a smile. “Maybe you’d like them if you had one of your own.”
She pulls a face, a completely disgusted face. “May I never meet such a fate.”
“So you’ve never seen a shadow child with freaky red eyes?”
“No.” She sidesteps me.
“Wait!”
“I said one more, and you asked one more, and now I’m going to go investigate what’s cooking down in the kitchen.
” She inhales sharply, and though I can’t smell anything in particular, she says, “He’s got some fresh rosemary boiling in some sort of oil.
Could be olive. Flavoring it. Wonder what that’s for.
” She scoots between me and the door and strides to the stairs.
“After supper, you need to get to bed. We have to keep working on your fighting in the morning.” She pauses.
“Though this place has no morning—but you know what I mean.” She hops down the stairs with nimble steps.
A laugh behind me has me spinning.
“Sally?”
The bird hops into the open window, her gaze raking over my room.
“How’d you follow us?” I walk over to her. “I hope you didn’t go near the whirlpool. That was nuts.”
She lets out a deep squawk and turns to look out the window. I follow her line of sight to where Starkey and Bill Jukes are having a wrestling match on a small patch of greenery in front of one of the cottages.
“Get him in the gut!” one of the pirates yells.
“But not too hard,” adds Skylights who stands to the side with his arms crossed. There are stacks of crates and chests behind him. It looks like the pirates brought all their booty up to their hideout and then got violent for fun. Typical.
I lean out and wince when Starkey lands a hard shot to Bill’s left cheek. But Bill only spits a wad of blood and lashes out with his own vicious right hook. Just watching them makes me wonder how in the hell I’ll ever have a chance against Bill—or anyone, for that matter.
Starkey howls, then backs away, his fists still up. “You going easy on me, big guy?” He thumbs the blood from his lip and circles the giant. “I barely felt that.”
I’m beginning to suspect my self-defense instructor was right. Maybe I should back away from this training thing. Then again, I refuse to be an easy target ever again. Calico Jack was more than enough to show me that. My stomach sours at the thought of the man. The dead man. Thanks to Hook.
“Room for one more?”
I still when I hear Hook’s voice boom across the courtyard. Then I see him striding from the back porch below me and stripping his shirt off as he goes. I swallow hard, my tongue suddenly stuck to the roof of my mouth as he tosses his shirt aside and steps up to Bill Jukes.
Starkey backs up, one hand at his side. “I, ah, I have him at my mercy, Captain, but if you’d like to step in—”
“Take a breather.” Hook shakes out his arms.
“Are you certain, Captain?” Bill is already smiling.
“Why? Are you scared?” Hook taunts and circles him.
When I get a look at his face, at the way he’s got the focus of a fighter—not to mention the absolutely rippling muscles all over him—I grip the window frame a little tighter.
“Scared that Skylights won’t be able to heal you up in time for our voyage north?” Bill grins even bigger.
“Don’t you worry about me, Bill. Take my head off, if you can.” Hook feints forward, then leans backwards like a reed to avoid Bill’s long grasp. When he shoots forward again, he strikes Bill in the side and dances away.
Bill makes an oof sound, the grin falling off his face.
Dappled moonlight paints the fighters as they work.
Hook is clever, waiting and striking whenever he sees an advantage.
Bill is more openly combative, taking more shots and seemingly using an ‘any hit is a good hit’ tactic.
I can’t fault him, not when he rings Hook’s bell on one lucky hit.
“You done?” Bill asks.
“Not until you’re on the ground.” Hook circles the larger man, the moonlight painting him in strokes of silver and gray. His black hair falls on his forehead, and he wears a pair of leather pants better than any man should.
I’m glued to the match, to the clear artistry in the lithe way Hook moves and strikes.
The spell he weaves with his body grips parts of me that have never even been glimpsed by anyone else.
Maybe it’s a death wish or maybe it’s me finally feeling alive after going so long without it.
I don’t know. But I do know I can’t take my eyes off him. Not for a second.
Still, if he simply pressed his lips to mine, what would I do? No. I can’t let my thoughts go there. Not when I know he’s a liar and a killer. But they stray there anyway, giving me brief fantasies that can never come true.
Someone clears their throat behind me, and I whirl as my door clicks shut and the man blocking it gives me a withering glare.