Page 4 of Freeing Hook

Charlie just offers me a wink. “Nah. He likes me better than you. At least, at the moment he does, now that he’s fuming at you for almost getting yourself killed.”

Again, I throw my body weight into lunging at her, but it’s little use. I’m weak, and I can’t use my left hand because of the shackle anyway.

“I bet you get a kick out of torturing women who are prettier than you, don’t you?” I ask, the aching in my temple throbbing.

It’s not true, of course. Charlie is much prettier than me. Her face is round and soft, a perfect set of dimples framing her parchment-colored cheeks. Her deep brown eyes tilt upward at the edges. Shiny black hair frames her face. When she first visited me, it cascaded in straight locks down to her waist, but she’s gotten wise and started braiding it behind her back so I can’t get a grip on it.

Charlie must know she’s breathtaking, because she offers me a deceptively kind, closed-lipped smile as she continues to blot the sweat from my brow. “You are quite pretty,” she says, though there’s a hint of amusement in her voice.

“He wants me, you know,” I say, every word feeling as if it’s scraping against my throat. “He might frequent your bed because you’re the only woman onboard, but don’t think he’ll look twice at you now that I’m here.”

I wait for the words to land, but Charlie seems unfazed. “I imagine that’s more true than you know. Except the part about the captain frequenting my bed.” She snorts, and the way her expression softens when she speaks of the captain makes my head feel as if it’s going to explode.

“I’m so thirsty,” I say, the words coming out in a subtle whine. I sound like the beagle puppy my mother adopted when I was a child.

Charlie rolls her eyes, then offers me a chalice. When it hits my mouth, I gag at the metallic taste, the bile sting of the liquid within. “You’re poisoning me,” I choke.

“If you’re intolerant of water, then I suppose I am.”

Did I mention that I hate Charlie?

Before I can tell her as much again, the door bursts open and in strides the captain. He surveys me, from the tip of my toes to my forehead. It’s the type of glance that makes me feel naked, though I’m buried underneath a bundle of clothes and wrapped in a wool blanket.

“What are you looking at?” I snap.

“I see we’re making progress,” the captain drawls, as if he’s bored by my presence.

“I seem to remember telling you that this process tends to go more smoothly if we progressively wean the patient off the dust,” says Charlie.

I wait for the cruel captain to strike her for her brazen statement, but he doesn’t. “You also said it wouldn’t kill her if we did it this way. That faerie dust withdrawal isn’t lethal. And that it would be faster this way.”

Charlie flashes the captain her set of pearly teeth, the first hint of annoyance I’ve detected from her slipping through them. “Yes, well, had I known you were going to assign me to sit with her all hours of the day, I might have kept that tidbit of knowledge to myself.”

Captain Astor punches Charlie in the shoulder lightly, the sight of which has my ribcage twisting in on itself in knots.

“Really, Captain. I have duties on this ship, you know. I would have reconsidered taking this job had I known you’d have me attending to addicts.”

Astor actually frowns apologetically at that, then lowers his voice. “I know, and I’m sorry. But I already told you why I can’t have any of the others watch after her.”

Charlie lets out a little sigh, then shrugs. “Those heartstrings of yours are going to get you in trouble one day, you know. You might just find yourself in need of a new gunner.”

The captain clutches his chest, groaning. “You wound me so.”

Charlie awards him with the most stunning smile I’ve ever seen, and because my position prevents me from punching her in the mouth, I say, “You might enjoy being his little whore now, but just give me a few days and he won’t look at you twice.”

The captain spins toward me slowly, mouth slightly agape. As if he’s just now remembered that I’m still in the room. “My, aren’t we pleasant today? I promise you,” he says, turning to Charlie, “Darling’s exceptionally more timid when she’s in her right mind.”

I chuck my chalice full of bile at the captain, but he catches it in one hand without even sparing me a glance. Water sloshes over the side and onto his hand, dripping over his ruined Mating Mark.

Something cruel and wonderful slithers from my heart and up my throat. “What would your wife think, knowing you’re lusting after me? Think she can hear your thoughts from the grave?”

The chalice in the captain’s hand bursts, shards of clay shattering across the floor.

I grin.

When I dream,it’s of a glass window carved into the wall of the cabin. Outside, the waves lap against the window, begging to be let in. Water drips in through the cracks between the window and the sill, saltwater turning black as ink as it spills down thewall and into the floor. At first, I think it’s Peter, and I gasp in delight, tears streaming down my cheeks at the realization that he’s come for me.

But the ink never dissipates into shadow, nor does it coalesce to form the figure of my Mate. Instead, it coats the floor, burying the rug in inky sludge. Thick tar bubbles up from the floorboards, and as the water level rises, it creeps over the edge of the bed, coming from underneath the sheets.

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