Page 24 of The Last Lost Girl

The pirate’s fury turns molten.

The mermaid’s tone goes low; her words lengthen. Then a sultry laugh spews from the hole in her throat.

Hook is off the barrel in a second. At the rail, he looks out over the water and scans the endless blue waves until his eyes fix on something.

A shiver scuttles up my spine. I ease off my seat and limp over to see what he’s glaring at, then freeze. A dark tail breaches the water’s surface, slapping loudly against the surface before the sun’s glistening facets obscure our view of the mermaid who just breeched it.

The creature serving as Hook’s figurehead shrieks in delight.

Hook only smiles. “By all means, come and get her.”

ten

The giant man who so kindly inspected my ankle emerges from below deck with a wooden bucket of steaming water perched on his shoulder. Three more men follow him into the Captain’s quarters where they dump their buckets of water into a tub and exit through the open double doors.

“Can I help you inside, or would you prefer Smee’s assistance?” Hook asks.

His name is really Smee?

“I can make it on my own,” I tell him and start that way, gritting my teeth when I put weight on my ankle. I’m swooped up like a bride this time instead of a sack of potatoes, and the silver tip of his hook curls toward my kneecaps. “I told you I could make it!” I argue.

“The option to walk on your damaged foot wasn’t one I mentioned,” he challenges.

“I mentioned it.”

“Do you want to heal?” he asks, stopping and waiting until I look him in the eye. When I nod, he adds, “Then act like it and stop doing things that might make it worse instead of better, just because you’re stubborn!” With that mild chastisement, Hook carries me through the open double doors.

As he lowers my feet in front of a beautiful copper bathtub, I mutter my thanks, but don’t admit to him that he’s right. I need to get better as quickly as humanly possible, but I don’t want to depend on anyone else or become beholden to anyone because of some Neverland norm of which I’m blissfully ignorant.

The captain’s room is infinitely neater than I keep mine at home. It looks like all the items he keeps in his personal space are nostalgic and purposeful and have received his attention, if not his adoration. Everything in this space is beautiful and cherished. They are loved.

From the polished, carved wood stained in a warm hue that catches and uses the sunlight to its full advantage, to the soft-looking white pillows tucked into the corners of a lush banquette bed upholstered in fabric that matches the tidy bed’s linen. It’s comfortable and welcoming, like a home should feel. I guess I didn’t expect anything this cozy on a ship, let alone from someone like Hook.

There is a desk with broad, sturdy legs and a top that’s marred by coffee mug rings from coffee sipped on long nights at sea. A wooden chair is neatly tucked beneath it. Beside that desk is a keg that holds several rolled-up maps. He’s pinned a colorful, broad one to the wall just behind the chair. There are notes scrawled on it, though from here, I can’t make out what they say; only that whoever wrote them does not write like the cartographer. The note-maker has stronger, more elegant strokes. The sun has bleached parts of it, especially on the side nearest the windows.

A swing sways in the room’s darkest corner beside a simple bookshelf, the tomes encased in glass. I scan the spines and relax when I see no mention of Peter Pan in the gold-stamped text. The swing rocks toward me again. It’s just rope hanging from some iron rings in the ceiling, threaded through a wide plank, but… I didn’t expect to see a swing in the infamous captain’s room. Or for him to stride behind the tub to pull out a folding screen, which he unfolds as much as possible to allow me some privacy.

The room’s windows catch the sunlight and for a moment, wordless, I watch it dance across the worn boards. Until the ship creaks and the spell is broken, and I turn back to the pirate.

Hook’s dark green eyes meet mine between the slats of the screen. “Smee will find some clothes for you to borrow until yours are clean and dried, Lifeguard. You may have to alter them to fit,” he says, looking down at the formerly white lettering he loves to tease me with.

I nod, then walk over to the screen. He meets me at its end. Around him, I see steam curling from the water. At the sight, a long, weary sigh is wrung from my chest.

“I’ll make sure no one else intrudes. Call out if you need any assistance.” As flirtatious as he might seem, it sounds an awful lot like he’s just letting me know he’ll be close if I have trouble – or cause any.

The screen between us might obscure, but it will not obstruct should I do anything foolish. Message received, Captain.

Hook smirks, turns on his heel, and walks toward the doors. I lean against the tub’s edge and then fold to reach my feet, unlacing one shoe and then the other. After toeing them off and tugging on each of my soaked socks, I stand and turn toward the tub, stumbling when the ship tilts. I lose my balance trying to perch on one foot to get my shorts and panties off. I let out a brief shriek, taken aback by the motion and by the pain that shoots through my joint when I place my foot down to remain upright.

Thank the stars I only hooked my thumbs into the waistband, because I hear a sharp curse from the doorway. I quickly cover my chest with an arm and turn to look over my shoulder.

Hook stares at me through the glass doors. Oh, how I wish he hadn’t heard me yelp. His dark expression makes my heart stop, then race. “We’re having a talk when you’re through!” he snaps, his words warped and muffled like the panes that separate us. I hop back behind the screen and try to figure out what just set him off.

There’s nothing better than a steaming hot bath to melt dried blood off one’s skin and coax it from hair, it turns out. Nothing better for easing the aches and pains left in the wake of my abrupt introduction to Neverland. Not a single better way to allow me time to simultaneously breathe and panic in an attempt to figure out what Hook wants and why.

I scrub myself clean as quickly as I can, trying to think of how I might be able to find Belle or let her know where I am.

The soap is gritty, made with sand. It exfoliates my skin and despite my soreness and bruises, I scour Wraith’s blood from me.

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