Page 13 of Scourge of the Shores
He recovered, though, rubbing his throat. He glanced at Lucas and Jim, tipping his hat, before returning his attention to Danna. “I’ll be back tomorrow, alone and weaponless per your contract. And I’ll hope you honor your word and not shoot me dead.”
“Stay on yer side of the island, Captain Jaymes,” she warned. “Talkin’ ain’t reason for trespassin’.”
He took a few more steps backward into the brush. “You can call me Robert,” he said, his voice velvet in the dark. “And I never break a promise.” The shadows hid his face before his white shirt faded from sight.
Lucas’s heavy steps thudded behind her, breath coming in spurts. “I thought ye were hurt. I should’ve been here with ye. Yer mother would’ve kicked the bucket from under me legs had something happened to ye.”
Danna squared her shoulders to him. “I can handle meself. Protect our village. That’s what I am asking ye to do.”
Lucas’s jaw tensed, and the shadows played with his patchy, short blonde beard. If Jim hadn’t been there, he might have rebutted her.
“Aye, Captain,” he finally forced out. His eyes slid toward the spot where Jaymes disappeared before he and Jim left. Jim would probably give Lucas an earful about her decision to let the pirate live.
Danna took a deep breath once she was alone again. Had she killed Jaymes, the pirates could have had a reason to kill them all. If she let him live, the pirates could see them as weak and kill them all. Either way, neither decision had a good outcome, just as with her decisions with Cain. The islanders were going to die one way or another. At least they could die fighting for their home.
Maybe that was what Lucas was trying to tell her earlier that evening.
She hated sea dragons, those cursed, prophetic relics of the DeepMother’s soul. Born saturated in her magic, they were creatures of habit—choosing a single hunting ground and haunting it until death or desolation claimed it. The one now circling their waters had chosen their island, and it would not leave unless forced. But the islanders would not flee, either. It was either the dragon or the island. One had to die.
She slipped the unused flintlock into her belt, then reloaded the used one with a prepackaged charge and holstered it at her hip.
Her eyes scanned the surroundings one last time, then stooped and cupped a moonflower blossom in her palm. Its aroma replaced Jaymes’ scent, and she shook off the electric feeling his closeness had spurred in her. Robert Jaymes was just another cocky pirate, thinking she’d be an easy wench.
He’d learn otherwise.
She crawled back into her hiding spot in the centuries-old tree and closed her eyes, cherishing the last hour of the night and hoping for no more interruptions. Still, Jaymes’s steely eyes, chiseled cheeks, and broad, stubbled jaw haunted her mind. Somewhere between exhaustion and defiance, sleep stole her, and with it, an image: his lips, warm and firm, pressed to hers.
Danna jolted awake to birdsong and dawn’s first light. Jaymes’s voice coiled in her thoughts like sea fog. She scowled, drained her waterskin in one greedy gulp, and swiped a hand over her face.
“No more of that lousy brute.”
CHAPTER 4
The Pirate Kings
After his midnight encounter with Danna, he crawled back into his cot with a broad smile tugging at his lips. He’d debated going to the village for hours—whether it was madness or instinct, he couldn’t say. But something in her voice had made him test her fire up close and alone. The scent of moonflowers and the way she never even flinched stayed with him. She lived in his mind now. He’d chosen well, he thought as sleep reclaimed him.
He woke again before the sun rose, rolled off his cot, pulled oil over his teeth to clean them, washed his face, and ran his fingers through his chestnut waves, slicking them back into a low, short ponytail. He tied his scarf over his head and grabbed his hat before leaving his tent.
Frank stood like a sentinel, hands on his hips. “Already woke the crew, Captain.”
Robert patted his back in appreciation. “Hope they got their beauty sleep, for today we shall be lumberjacks.”
Both men chuckled and shook their heads in unison.
“Ye best be workin’ that island wench, Captain, before we rot on this cursed rock.” Frank scanned the horizon. “Else we’ll be choppin’ wood ‘til our bones snap.”
Robert sighed and shook his head. “I doubt she will change her mind. She seemed very stubborn.”
“Then make her unstubborn,” Frank advised. “Yer father ain’t one to let a stubborn woman stand in his way of the sea, and I should know. Yer mother was stubborn all the way to Tophet.”
“Perhaps.” Robert narrowed his eyes, wishing Frank would not keep comparing him to his father, although Robert did the same to himself. It only meant he had a lot more to prove until the comparisons fell by the wayside.
“Fine,” Robert pulled out his flintlocks and handed them both to Frank; took off his vest and threw it over Frank’s shoulder. With arms spread out wide to showcase his dingy white shirt, Robert asked, “Do I look like a threat where I will not be shot on sight?”
Frank pursed his lips as he peered down at Robert. “Never have ye looked like a threat, mate.”
Robert chuckled at the jab. “Not every man can be a lumbering giant.” Frank’s shadow in the dawn sky fell over him.
