Page 12 of Stalking Wendy Darling

I planned to put the fear of god into him more but the storm battered us with a sudden onslaught of hail. Wind gripped the mast, tilting us to and fro.

“Almost fixed, captain,” Rolando shouted over the sudden roar of thunder. “It’ll hold.”

It fucking better, because a storm like this was not the time for the ship to fall apart. The second a squall got hold of the sails, we were screwed. The wind had enough power that it would drag the Banshee onto her side, ripping apart the hull on the sharp rocks below water. Drowning most of us, probably.

“Tornado!” someone screamed, thready and raw, unfamiliar. I whipped around, my feet planted as the wind tore at the ship, and found the source of the voice. Wendell. The sneaky little newcomer. I could crush him like a gnat if he posed a serious problem, but for now I was plagued with a more irritating problem. His insurrection wasamusing.

“Where?” I demanded, stalking to the railing where the skinny lad had wound up when the wind got hold of us. He needed more meat and muscle on his bones if he was going to survive the Banshee, his shoulders delicate, the line of his jaw equally fine. The crew would eat him up. If he wasn’t a psychopath capable of defending himself, I supposed.

He was already pointing when I reached him, the black coat he wore drenched all the way through, a flash of lightning catching on bright gold buttons. Had he killed the previous owner? “There.”

I exhaled a rough breath, catching the vicious curse before I could speak it. But fuck, that wasn’t an ordinary tornado. Itwas fucking massive, and gathering both power and water as it whirled across the ocean. The last tornado we encountered we’d borne out in the docks of a shitty little town on Emerald Crescent. It was half the size of the one I glared at now and it still managed to snap the mizzenmast like a matchstick.

“On a scale of one to ten, exactly how fucked are we?” Wendell asked, leaning over the railing for a closer look. No fucking sense, no survival skills. I grabbed the back of his coat and wrenched him away.

“Nine,” I growled.

His eyes brightened, a rare shade of blue-grey. “Well, that’s positive!”

I exhaled hard through my nose. No, it wasn’t fuckingpositive.

“Because of the one,” he elaborated very seriously. “Nine isn’t ten.”

“Anton,” I yelled.

Wendell leaned away, a hand to his ear. “God, right in my ear, Hook.”

“Captain,” I corrected in a growl.

“Someone’s obsessed with their title,” he remarked, loudly enough to be heard over the sudden howl of wind.

I decided there and then that I would destroy this cocky little shit. I’d teach him true fear. I’d enjoy watching him break. There was no fear in his eyes when he looked at me, and I took that as a challenge.

It had been so long since I’d had a pet project.

Anton appeared, out of breath, a tightness around his eyes that showed how harried he was. I shouldn’t have enjoyed his suffering. “Captain?”

“Check on our cargo. Make sure it’s secure.”

“Aye, captain,” he panted, already running away.

“I can check on the cargo,” Wendell offered, suddenly closer as he peered up at me through long-lashed eyes. “Anton seems awfully busy.”

“You,” I growled, “can keep an eye on that tornado. Tell me when it’s—”

Wind slammed into the bow of the ship, lashing us so violently across the deck that I wound up against a mast, my teeth gritted against the crack of pain through my ribs. We weren’t in the direct path of the funnel, but it was furious enough that even sheltering behind rocks, it shook the Banshee like a snow globe.

“Fucking weather,” I snapped under my breath, not particularly appreciating the shouts of advice tohold on!No shit we needed to hold on. It was easier said than done with a damn hand missing.

“Hey, asshole,” a shrill voice cut through the rough murmur of my crew. With a sigh, I looked back to the railing, groaning when I saw Wendell had been thrown over the side of the ship, hanging on by golden fingers that would weaken with every lash of wind and rain. I could let the storm take him, but I couldn’t deny the dark compulsion swelling behind my ribs.

Make him break, make him scream, make him fear you.

Dead men were afraid of nothing. Dead men were dull.

With a growling sigh, I hurled myself at the railing, teeth gritted against the icy hail that drummed my head, scratching my face as I leaned over the side of the ship and grasped Wendell’s forearm.

He screamed when I pulled him back aboard, a sound that spoke of deep pain. When he collapsed against the deck, panting, tears streamed his face. My muscles strained, protesting to overuse, but I was used to pain. Wendell however…

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