Unhooked (12 page)

“Go with God, lad,” the Captain murmurs, giving the boy a small salute.

The boy's legs go out from under him at the words, and a wet stain spreads on the front of his pants, but still Will and Gareth drag him to the rail of the ship.

“No!” I'm moving before I think better of it, jerking away from the two boys who are supposed to be guarding me before they even know what's happening. “You can't do this.” I grab the Captain's arm.

He turns on me, his eyes narrowed, vicious. “Can't I?”

I realize my mistake instantly. Of course he can. This is his ship, his world, and he's the commander of it. “But he's changed his mind,” I say, hearing just how weak the words are.

“Has he?” The Captain's dark eyes travel down to where I'm holding his arm. He doesn't shake me free, though. “I wonder. Desperate people do tend to say most anything now, don't they, lass?”

“Please. You can give him another chance. You can show mercy.”

“Mercy,” he scoffs, his expression strangely calm. “Was mercy what he showed when he came to my ship to kill me and my lads? Was that this
mercy
you speak of?” he asks, shaking his head as though he's already denying the words. “I gave him his chance. I gave him three, in fact, and he'd not take them.” He does shake me off then. “Now the others will.”

“And if he can't swim?”

“What is it that your stories tell you? Something about death being a great adventure?” Stepping away from me, the Captain gives a sharp nod, and the two holding him dump the boy in.

“No!” I lunge toward the railing, but the Captain's arms are around me before I can leap. The heat of his body surrounds me, and I am trapped against his lean form. He may not be a giant of a man, but he is also no soft boy. Every inch of him is pressed to every inch of me, and every inch of him is unyielding muscle honed by who knows how long at sea.

“What is it you were thinking to do, Gwendolyn?” His voice is soft, rough in my ear. His breath warm against my neck. “Do you think you can save him? He, so much bigger than the wee slip of a girl that you are?”

I should struggle. I should pull away from him and make it clear just how distasteful I find him. But I can't. His voice curls about my brain, and the warmth of him, the solidness of his body against mine, is suddenly too real. Too immediate for me to even process. He laughs then, softly, as though he knows just how weak I am, and the sound of it rumbles up out of his chest and across every one of my nerve endings.

And I hate myself for how weak I am. Because the truth is, the Captain's right—I never would've been able to pull the boy's bulky form to safety.

“He changed his mind,” I say again, wishing that were enough to spare his life. Knowing it isn't.

“He made his choice, lass. Long before he set foot on my ship.”

With a sputtering noise, the boy comes to the surface, and I almost go limp with relief.

“Ah, so it seems he can swim,” the Captain croons in my ear. “Not that it'll help.” His voice is so empty, so devoid of any feeling, that I whip my head around to look at him. The features of his face are hardened—his jaw with its dusting of dark stubble is tight, his mouth a line as flat and uncompromising as the horizon. And his eyes are still steady on the water.

“What do you mea—” But the sound of churning water draws my attention back to the sea and to the boy. All around him, the sea is bubbling. “What is that?”

“The Sisters.” I can feel the Captain's eyes on me. “Sea Hags,” he says as I meet his steady gaze. “They're a bit like mermaids.”

“Mermaids?” I can't tell if he's serious.

“Just a bit,” he says, but his attention is already back on the water.

Confused, I look as well. The boy is gone, but the water hasn't stopped churning. As I watch, the surface turns a lurid, rusty pink.

“In your world there are tales of people capturing mermaids for the wishes they're believed to grant. But in this world, the Sisters don't take kindly to those who invade their home.” The Captain's usual detachment is gone, his voice strained, and I get the feeling he is not as indifferent as his flinty expression would suggest.

“Wishes,” I repeat stupidly.

“Aye. The desires of the heart. Though human desire is such a weak thing, Gwendolyn.” His lips are so close to me now, I swear I can feel the heat of them against my neck.

“It is?” I whisper, swallowing hard, forcing myself to hold completely still.

“It is,” he rasps, his voice as rough as the waves. “Oh, it may burn and it may chafe, but it rarely devours a person. Not completely. In this world, though, desire is a bit more dangerous. In this world, lass, more often than not”—his lips do touch my neck then, softly, like a prayer— “it consumes,” he whispers against my skin.

I close my eyes, trying to block out his words, the heat of his body, the spice of the cloves on his breath, but it doesn't work. He is too close, too
much
for me to ignore.

But then the moment is over. The Captain adjusts me in his arms, allowing some space between us as he gives a small salute to the waves. When I look in the direction of his salute, my legs feel like I've just finished a ten-mile run. The torsos of three figures with skin the color of a bloated corpse are rising out of the pinkish water. The hair clumped to their large heads reminds me of tangled algae. With great yellow eyes and rows of daggerlike teeth that flash from wide-set mouths, they are perhaps the most horrible things I've ever seen.

They're gone as quickly as they appeared, and I can almost convince myself they hadn't been there at all. Except for the bits I won't let myself identify floating in the pinkish water.

Without warning, I'm free. The Captain's arms are gone, and only the cold cut of the sea wind is there to meet me when I stumble in surprise at his absence.

“Now then,” the Captain says, making his way once again to the head of the steps. Hands on his hips, his silhouette is stark against the setting sun. He takes his time looking over the prisoners, who are waiting, slack-mouthed, below. “Which of you will be joining your friend?” he shouts, pausing for a long, uncomfortable moment while the implication of his words settles over the decks. Down below, the boys' eyes grow wide with fear. “And which of you will be joining
me
?”

The captives erupt—all of them clamoring to be the first to sign on as crew for the ship. All of them already shouting their allegiance.

“That's what I thought,” the Captain murmurs, tossing a glance back at me. He smiles then, a wicked grin that somehow transforms the severity of his face. His smile falters a bit, though, when I don't respond in kind.

He starts to turn away, dismissing me again, and something snaps.

Memories bubble up to the surface of my mind. The details are indistinct, but the emotions behind them are potent. My whole life, I've felt like this—trapped, powerless. I moved because my mom said we had to, I held our lives together when she was falling apart, because the alternative—telling someone, getting help—meant risking everything. But my mom's a world away now. That life is gone. Even now I can barely bring up the details of it, and I don't feel like there's much left to lose.

“What about me?” I demand, drawing his attention back. I don't know if it's the cut of the wind or what I just witnessed, if it was the way my blood hummed at his nearness before, or the cold calculation in his eyes now, but I can't seem to stop shaking.

He raises his brow slightly, mocking me. “What about you, lass?”

“Do you need my allegiance too? Or will you toss me to those monsters?”

The Captain's eyes go dark, his face an emotionless mask. He takes my measure from where he stands, just a few yards away, his mechanical hand balling itself into a gloved fist. “No, Gwendolyn,” he says softly, his voice rough and filled a desolation that makes my whole body go still. “It's not your allegiance I want.”

For weeks the boy careened through the days, trying to understand the strange new world he found himself in. He'd long since realized that it was not the grand adventure he'd expected. He did not find his brother. Instead, he found an endless supply of mud and lice and men with eyes like old knives—just sharp enough to be dangerous. . . .

T
HE CAPTAIN'S VOICE ECHOES IN my ears as I struggle against Devin and another boy who helps to grab me. I kick and writhe, but it's no use. They easily outmuscle me, and in a matter of moments, I'm being carried across the deck and down into the belly of the ship. The Captain never looks back. The wind lifts his hair, but he looks as immovable as a statue against the darkening sky and the perilous sea beyond.

Once the boys have me belowdecks, I can't stop them from tying my hands together behind my back or from dropping me unceremoniously onto the cabin floor.

“Captain's orders,” Devin says coldly, and then he closes the door behind him with a violent snap of the latch.

With no real windows in the cell-like cabin, the small space is dark and closed in. I struggle to get to my feet, which is no easy task with my hands bound so tightly behind me. Once I'm up, I try the door. It's locked again, but I throw my shoulder against it and shout for someone to let me out anyway.

No one comes. No one answers. And after a while, my side aches and I'm panting with frustration and fear. Because I don't know what the Captain could possibly want from me.

I settle myself onto the bed, trying to adjust, but it's impossible to find a comfortable way to sit or lie with my arms tied like they are. All I can do is wait, my ears sharp and alert for the sound of footsteps outside the door. For a warning that someone is coming for me.

But the waiting is endless and even with the ache in my arms, my eyes eventually start to grow heavy. And the slow rocking of a boat bound for the open sea coaxes me into a dreamless sleep.

•  •  •

I wake from a sharp pain in my arm. It throbs with every heartbeat, a steady stabbing pulse that aches from shoulder to wrist. My cabin is now completely dark, and my head is fuzzy from sleep. The whole ship is quiet, so I know it must be very, very late.

I try to sit up, but I can't quite find enough leverage at first. It takes a few tries of rocking back and forth, but finally I manage to get myself upright. Which might have been a mistake, because now my head is swimming.

The ship creaks as it lists in the choppy waves of the open sea, and I'm so groggy from my unintended nap that I almost miss the soft
thunk
outside my door. I don't miss the slightly louder moan that follows it, though, or the sound of a body sliding to the floor. Trying to get myself ready for whatever is about to happen, I scoot back, away from where the danger might come.

The door creaks open slowly, and a wavering light just bright enough to obscure my vision precedes its bearer. “Will?” I squint my eyes, trying to make out who just entered, but the strange glow is blinding after the pitch-dark night. “Captain?”

“Neither, I'm afraid.” The voice is unfamiliar—a deep, rich tenor that sends a shiver up my spine as it comes to me through the darkness.

When the light comes toward me, I realize it's no lamp. The glow is coming from small orbs that hover in the air, circling around the intruder like tiny planets, their wavering light throwing shadows across his face. With his face half concealed in darkness, I can't tell if I've ever seen him among the Captain's crew.

“Come on then, and be quick about it,” he whispers as he cuts my bindings. When he pulls me to my feet, his hold on my wrist is gentle, but I have the distinct impression I wouldn't be able to break away if I tried.

“Wait,” I say as I do try to wrangle free from his grip, but I can't. “Who are you?”

He catches one of the bright orbs and lifts it up near his face as he gives me a wickedly charming grin. His eyes are so pale, their irises practically glow in the light of the orb he's holding. They're set above a straight nose and a wide, soft mouth and strong, square chin. I still don't know who he is, but he's definitely not one of the Captain's crew. I would have noticed him.

From the amusement I see shimmering in those eyes, I know he's aware I'm admiring him. And from the smile teasing at his lips, I can tell he likes it.

“I'm the one here to save you, Gwendolyn,” he whispers softly, his voice warm and tempting.

“But who
are
you? And how do you know my name?”

His eyes narrow just a bit, giving away his irritation. But the soft, pleasant smile playing on his lips never falters. “I am Pan,” he tells me simply, as though that single word explains everything.

Pan,
the one who attacked the ship. The reason so many boys are dead.

Instinctively, I struggle harder to break his grip, but it's like he doesn't even feel me.

“I'm here to take you to Olivia,” he tells me.

“Olivia?” I stop struggling against his grasp at the sound of her name, and the moment I do, he takes advantage and scoops me into his arms.

“I had no idea the Dark Ones had stolen two from your world,” Pan cuts in. “When I discovered it, I sent some of my lads to retrieve you from the Captain, but they failed.” His jaw hardens and he glances away, his face shadowed.

“The attack on the ship was a rescue attempt?” I ask, peering through the darkness as I try to read the truth in his response.

“I'm sorry it was not more successful, Gwendolyn.” I can't make out his features, but his voice is filled with remorse. “She's waiting for you,” he whispers. His pale eyes never leave mine, but he doesn't move. It's as though he's giving me a chance to decide. “If you're ready?”

But I'm not sure.