The Pirate Fairy (8 page)

He was astonished when thirty minutes later, the guards scurried along the cells, unlocking each one and handing out bowls of porridge, pieces of fruit, more coffee and bread, and apologies.

Except for Denny.

“He wants to see you,” the guard said, looking petrified.

Denny followed him along the corridor. None of Denny’s shipmates looked up or said a word. They were too busy eating. The guard knocked on Christoph’s door and opened it without waiting for a response. He pushed Denny inside the office with a vicious shove then closed the door behind him.

Christoph spoke half an inch from Denny’s face. “I ought to kill you. I can’t stop thinking of you. You’ve made a mockery of my marriage. I can’t bear for her to touch me. I have to get drunk in order to pleasure her. I hate it when she touches me. Why couldn’t you be a woman?”

Denny almost laughed, except that he realized Christoph was in true anguish. Christoph kissed him with the kind of hunger born of carnal need. Their kisses grew heated and long, until Christoph pulled away.

“This may be our last time, so honor my desire. Fuck me. And fuck me hard. Though I want you to handcuff me, as though I am your prisoner. Cuff my hands and take me from behind.”

Denny felt such a flame of desire it seemed to burn him from within. He couldn’t speak. He grabbed Christoph and kissed him, as Christoph rubbed against him. The searing heat between their crushed bodies was almost more than Denny could handle.

Christoph dropped to his knees, fumbled with the buttons on Denny’s prison-issue pants and released his now rigid cock, letting his tongue capture it. He licked and sucked frantically, reaching to encircle and hold Denny’s balls. Christoph came off Denny’s cock and rasped, “Fuck me!” He stood, his own erection straining inside his trousers. Christoph reached into a desk drawer and extracted a pair of hand irons, or, as Denny knew them to be known, handcuffs. They were an old, solid pair that looked a little rusty but Christoph seemed so excited it ignited Denny’s own wicked desires. He leaned Christoph over his desk, whipped down his trousers and licked the man’s ass.

Christoph moaned, his strong, muscular thighs rippling as Denny tried to spread Christoph’s legs. Christoph kicked off his shoes, wearing only his long black socks, and spread his legs, allowing Denny closer access to his hole. Denny licked him some more. Christoph gripped the desk and panted. “I don’t want to come like this. I want you to bind me and fuck me hard.”

Denny took his tongue out of Christoph’s ass. “Believe me, I will.” He was so turned on he couldn’t think straight.

This was all so new for Denny, but he easily took command of the man bent before him. He resumed licking and Christoph uttered a guttural cry as he came all over his nice, shiny desk. Denny swept up the juices with his fingers and smeared Christoph’s ass with the hot liquid. Christoph jumped when Denny slapped his ass again, then pulled his arms behind his back.

“You sure this is what you want?” Denny asked, aware that this was a pivotal point from which he could never return.

“Yes, yes. I beg of you.” Christoph put his head to the table.

Denny cuffed his jailer’s hands and pointed his cock at Christoph’s hole.

“Fuck me hard!” Christoph begged.

Denny felt an astonishing fire soaring within him as he slid his cock inside Christoph’s tight, hot space. Nothing compared with being inside a man. Not a man’s mouth or hand, or even Denny’s own hand. He could feel everything going on inside Christoph’s body, the quivering pleasure he received from Denny’s incessant pounding. Denny came at the same moment Christoph let out a loud groan.

“Oh, joy. Don’t stop. Don’t stop. Oh. I’m coming! Denny, I am coming!”

Chapter Five

Merritt’s abilities sharpened in that cave as he held each bewitched object in his hands. He soon knew who owned what, including a small gold ring that belonged to Denny. Merritt would wear it until he saw Denny again. He slumped against the cave wall, remembering that his sister had said Denny would soon be here. She could only know that if he’d been arrested and would face trial for his crimes.

The trials on the island were often harrowing.

His sister was on probation with the court, forbidden from bewitching another soul. Instead of following the judge’s orders, she’d hexed her own cousin. How long had she been doing this to Gremma? Merritt would put a stop to it. He would find a way to stop all of it.

A heavy rain fell from the sky and he huddled against the chill. He was hungrier than ever now. Oh, the sandwich! It hadn’t been poisoned so he could eat it. He glanced at his hands. His previously cursed, blackened fingertips were their normal color once more. He had to wash them, though, after all that negative magic had moved through them.

He had a plan but a clear mind would help him execute it.

Why had Cillian died if the apple hadn’t been poisoned? What had killed him? He’d seen his sister cutting his shoulder, but Cillian had had no wound when Merritt had found him in the stables. Wait. Avery was from the elf community and their magic cured animals’ wounds. Merritt would ask him, but suspected that Avery must have found the cut and assumed that Cillian had injured himself on a tree branch and had healed him.

Merritt stepped outside and let the rain wash over him. He’d danced in the rain on the deck of the
La-Di-Da
with Denny. They’d laughed and sung songs, until Fortunata had appeared, furious, and the dancing had stopped.

Soaked now, he moved back into the cave, feeling refreshed. Thankful for his hiding place, he dropped to the floor and opened the package containing the sandwich. He ate fast. Perfect. He slumped against the wall again, trying to ignore the rumbles of hunger still scratching at him from within.

Just a little bit of rest and he’d set out at dawn and confront Gremma. He’d restore her natural beauty and force her to no longer hex people. He knew how he would do it, too. He’d threaten her with an unbreakable hex she could never lift. That nobody could lift.

He’d turn her into a Scylla, a six-headed, twelve-footed sea monster, destined to spend her days alone in the ocean hunting for food and being hunted by those who desired to kill such beasts. Merritt grinned at his own creativity. It was an especially cunning idea, considering Gremma was deathly afraid of the sea.

Merritt tried to settle into sleep, dozing on and off. Denny’s face was there, smiling and laughing. “My love.” Merritt reached out to him from his dreams.

* * * *

Denny awakened from his sleep late in the afternoon when
Barthelmass
returned with a jug of mulled cider. His dream of Christoph seemed so real he looked across the room expecting to see his former shipmates’ cells from the bars of his own, but they weren’t there. A strange emotion tugged at him. Merritt had hovered over the edge of the dream and it devastated him.
Why do I feel as though I cheated on him when I didn’t even know him then?

Without him, Denny felt as though life was imprisonment. Denny’s father, who’d had little education, was fond of quoting some old French philosopher who’d apparently said, ‘Man is free but is everywhere in chains.’ True enough. The heat from the fireplace in Christoph’s office no longer warmed him. Back to reality, he remembered returning to his cold cell. This was a different cell in another time and place. He wasn’t free. He was everywhere in chains.

Barthelmass’ voice invaded his thoughts. “It’s non-alcoholic, so drink up.” He’d also brought a hearty bowl of fish stew and a thick hunk of fresh, hot, crusty bed.

Denny sat at the little table and ate with gusto. He wondered if Ebba had made this. She’d certainly prepared him many a good meal during her time with him until she had left the ship. He was certain she’d been asked to be set free in Tenerife. He was convinced things had been good between them. How had he not known of her curse?

He nibbled at his bread.
Maybe she asked me before we were both cursed and I forgot about it. She got off my ship, though. In one piece.
He suddenly remembered her reference to having two husbands. He couldn’t help asking
Barthelmass, who chuckled. “Yes, she was married twice. Dead unlucky she was. Both drowned at sea. Left her quite rich.”

Denny listened, wondering if she’d offed her husbands for their wealth. As though Barthelmass could read his thoughts he said, “Doesn’t matter how rich a woman is, if she is cursed, no amount of money can shift it.”

“And the prince won’t allow you to marry?”

“Some people are destined for sadness.” Barthelmass sighed, looking so unhappy Denny felt miserable for the poor fellow.

Denny stared at him. What a strange thing for Barthelmass to say. It was not the first time Denny had heard these words. A twinge of angst hit him between the eyes and made his wings twitch.

“Excellent!” Barthelmass seemed pleased, forgetting his own concerns as he touched Denny’s feathers.

Denny was lost in thought, still shaky from his dream. He’d never seen Christoph again after Piggins had procured the crew’s release. Christoph had stayed in his office when Denny and the others had left their cells. Whatever had occurred between him and Denny remained their secret. The other crewmembers had treated Denny kindly after that, believing Denny had given of himself to save all their asses. It was partly true, but he’d enjoyed his time with Christoph. His incarceration had allowed him to explore his own sexuality and he found he wanted, and deeply desired, men.

Denny never said so, but other men who were so inclined drifted toward him once he took over the ship and renamed her. Freedom came with piracy, and he had a lot more success than some. He had often dreamed of returning to the port in Tarragona, and had done one time, about three years after his imprisonment. Christoph had no longer worked at the jail but when he’d asked a few locals in one of the tavernas, the innkeeper had remembered him.

“He was a sad one. They say he was married but was in love with another.” He dropped his voice. “They say it was a man. One of his prisoners. He left the island long ago. Hasn’t been seen since.”

Denny might never know if he himself had been the prisoner Christoph had loved, but when he was honest with himself he realized he probably wasn’t. They’d shared an intense physical connection but their contact had been brief. Denny had learned over the years that sensuality did not mean love. Men could share the highest form of intimacy and not have genuine love feelings for one another. Denny had found lovers who pleased him, and he them, but until he’d met Merritt, love had eluded him.

Barthelmass
urged Denny to work his wings again, but this time wouldn’t touch Denny to help him. Denny tried hard and managed to get some action, and he did until his still-sore wing smacked the wall and sent spirals of pain shooting through his back and shoulder.

“You’re getting there. Wait until you can fly. You won’t regret your curse then.”

“How do you know? You don’t have wings, do you?”

“Well,”
Barthelmass demurred, “my ladylove says my cock flies her to the moon.”

Denny winced. “I could have lived without knowing that.”

Barthelmass shrugged. “You asked.”

True enough. Denny finished every last bite of food and drink then finally plucked up enough courage to look at his face in the mirror above his desk. He looked horrible.

“We’ll send somebody to give you a shave later,” Barthelmass promised. “And we need to take care of your straggly hair.”

Straggly?
Denny touched his sparse hair that had once been long and luxurious. He looked an old man. An old man with wings.
Cripes. I’m never gonna get laid again
. What the hell had happened to him?

“You haven’t been sipping nectar,” Barthelmass told him. “You’re a fairy. You’re supposed to drink flower nectar and honey. Don’t worry. We can make you look okay. You know what? Frogmorten can help you.”

“Who?”

“The humanized bumblebee. He pollinates flowers all the time. If you ask him nicely, I bet he can accommodate you.”

“Can you ask him to come and see me?”

“Sure thing.” He glanced at Denny. “He’ll expect repayment.”

“I’m sure he will.” Denny didn’t mind. Thanks to Barthelmass’ interference with his person, Denny was gagging for some cock. But the bee man didn’t turn up for a couple of hours, during which time Denny fell into the trap of letting memories from his past come back to haunt him.

He plunged back to the time he, his father and Polly had been forced to enter a spike, or workhouse, because his father was behind on his payments for basic things like rent. Denny’s mum was gone. But that was another story.

Denny was ten years old and the New Poor Law had been passed. Adults as well as children could be admitted and forced to work as a way to pay off debts. Denny, and Polly, who was eight, spent the eleven months the family was confined in the workhouse picking oakum, which would later be used to fill the hulls and working joints of ships.

“You are helping your country,” their overseer would say, his voice booming as he paced between rows of virtual slaves bent to their tasks.

Denny hated the work, which involved picking apart old cords and rope with a metal spike—hence the nickname for the workhouse—and rolling the coarse threads into balls. Polly cried a lot but managed to get some work done. Their father had the worst job. He had to crush human bones to use for fertilizer. Though the work was easy, the new law meant lots of people kept coming to the workhouse and food was scarce. His father admitted to Denny one night that some of the starving men fought over the bones so they could suck out the marrow before crushing them.