Page 25 of Crossbones
CASPIAN
Instinct jolts me awake. The cold press of steel against my neck wakes me up even further, chasing away any lingering grogginess. The room is dark except for a lantern burning on a hook near the door. My eyes find the man holding me at knifepoint—it isn’t Blackwell like I expect. It’s a crew member I don’t recognize.
“Seems to me it’s mighty convenient Raul died right next to you,” he growls.
Before I can answer, he digs his fist into my hair and pulls me up, shoving the knife against me so I fall back against the wall. The blade bites into my skin; the sting sends adrenaline firing through my veins.
“Cap’t is going too easy on ye,” he growls. “Should cut off some fingers until you tell ‘em what he wants to ‘ear.”
“And what is it you think he wants to hear?” I ask.
He pushes the blade deeper and my eyes shutter at the pain. I could fight him off, but the blade against my throat is familiar—the inevitable hurt, a consequence of failing someone—my punishment—so I hesitate.
“Why yer flyin’ the Black fer one,” he grumbles.
The knife moves down my neck. The blood tickles as it runs over my collarbone.
“—but maybe I should just kill ya.” His words cause spit to fly in my face. He mistakes my wince for a reaction to his words. “Cap’t might even reward me fer gettin’ rid of a De’Vero.”
“Allegedly,” I say.
He looks at me blankly and I sigh. “I’m allegedlya De’Vero.”
He still doesn’t seem to get it and it’s his stupidity that irritates me into action. At least if you come to kill me, have some brains. I’ve given him plenty of openings and he’s fucking around. I knee him hard in the balls. He staggers back but recovers quickly and lunges for me. I decide I don’t want him killing me after all, or even coming close to me with that blade again, just as the door flies open and a shadow sweeps in.
I have time to see it’s Blackwell before my attention shifts to the blade coming in for a killing blow. Except it never lands. The man is yanked backwards and he stumbles to his knees. He doesn’t even have time to notice it’s his Captain behind him before a harsh yank of Blackwell’s dagger across the pirate’s neck has blood pouring across the floor.
I look up at Blackwell, his eyes radiate fury more intense than anything I’ve seen thus far. His hair is loose from the tie usually holding it back and I follow his hand as it runs through the strands.
He looks even more devilish with his hair down.
His lip curls as he looks down at the corpse. When he looks back up his eyes catch on the cut on my neck. He steps towards me but stops himself, his hand flexes around the hilt of the dagger, like it’s the only thing stopping him from doing something else.
“Perfect timing, Captain,” I say.
He doesn’t say anything but grabs my arm and drags me out the door. Another few paces and I’m being shoved into none other than his own cabin. I regain my balance and look around at the clean and surprisingly cozy room. Lanterns are burning around the space, creating a golden glow that illuminates a desk and a table, both with maps and papers strewn heavily across their surfaces. A bookshelf stands near a bed and the soft rattle of rum bottles compliments the constant creaking of the ship and lapping of waves.
I look over at Blackwell who’s still standing near the door, looking like he might turn around and run back out at any moment and like he might be regretting bringing me in here.
“Why didn’t you fight back?”
The question dispels any lingering adrenaline. “What do you mean?”
“You obviously have training of some kind,” Blackwell states. “You could have easily taken care of him.”
I wave a hand dismissively. “Seeing as my life is threatened frequently around here, I’m probably becoming desensitized,” I muse while I walk over to the bookshelf and peer at the titles.
“Poetry?” I glance at him out of the corner of my eye. “So beneath all thatscowling, you enjoy the classics?”
Blackwell grunts and strides over to the side bar where he pours himself a shot of rum. He throws it back and immediately pours another. I can tell he’s still brimming with anger but he’s doing a better job at masking it now. I try not to stare at the blood on his hands or the disheveled look of his unbound hair. If I look too hard I might start feeling something entirely inappropriate.
“Is this your attempt at balancing all the murder?”
I’m rewarded by a tic in his jaw as I watch his profile, his knuckles whitening around his glass. Those dark eyes jump to mine briefly before he moves over to his desk. While his gaze is focused on the maps, I can tell his attention is still on me. Seeing I’m not getting the rise from him that I’m poking around for, I sigh and sit down on the cushioned bench along the large window. I watch him swirl the rum in his glass.
“Why’d you do it?” Blackwell still won’t look at me.
I dab at the cut on my neck, pulling my fingers away bloody, but not concerningly so. I lean back and cross an ankle over my knee.
