Page 89 of Crossbones
“You’re about to choke on one if you keep talking.”
“There are worse ways to go,” I chuckle.
The kiss gets heated—he always takes over my senses so completely. I’m about to push him over to the bed when there’s a knock. I growl against his lips and lean my head back against the wood.
“Damn it all to hell,” I grumble. “Everyone always needs something on this damn ship.”
He gives me a ghost of a smile, yanks me into him for one more searing kiss, then hauls open the door. It’s of course, Harrison. The bane of my existence. I’m starting to think he interrupts on purpose.
“We’ve sighted one three hundred yards off the bow and closing fast.”
That gets us moving. We rush up to the deck and Van thrusts a spyglass into my hands as I come up alongside him on the rail.
“Due east,” he says.
But it’s unnecessary, as I can see the wrinkle of water as it swims towards us.
“Dump the rum!” Blackwell barks.
Harrison repeats the order and a barrel of rum is tipped open over the edge. The amber liquid splashes into the surf and once the barrel is empty, the entire thing is tossed in. I put the spyglass back to my eye to see the creature’s wake cutting across the still surface.
“Trim the sails!” Blackwell shouts. “Get us out of the area!”
The deck bursts into a flurry of activity and the ship lurches as we catch a breeze and sail away from where the rum was dumped.
“Current?” Blackwell asks.
He’s standing next to me again, spyglass in hand.
“Southwest, Captain,” Van answers.
“Depth?” He calls out.
Two of his crew are hanging over the railing near the bow with sounding lines dropping down into the surf.
“Twelve fathoms!”
The sea roils as the rum attracts more Kraken and I catch a glimpse of shiny scales and iridescent skin. A loud crack rents the air as a tentacle wraps around the rum barrel and crushes it into tinder. I can feel the heaviness of the crew as the reality of our situation takes hold.
“Storm clouds on the horizon!” A shout from the rigging has us all turning to regard the looming mass of ominous grey.
“Rapidly losing depth, Captain!”
Van quickly takes up a position near the depth finders, within shouting distance to the man at the helm to help us navigate, and we soon sail out of sight of the writhing mass of creatures.
“Off the stern!” Another barrel of rum is offloaded.
“I hope we have enough rum,” I mutter.
A shout comes from the other side of the ship and I turn to see a massive tentacle easing over the rail. It’s huge, easily as thick as the mast of the ship and an iridescent dark blue that shifts into purple as it twists in the sunlight. A multitude of suction cups line the underside, helping it latch onto us.
“Fuck—they’re curious today—” Blackwell growls.
He runs down the quarterdeck steps, shouting for Harrison.
“Harrison, spears!”
Harrison tosses him a spear and they race towards the Kraken rapidly extending itself as it curiously pokes around the ship. Wood groans and creaks as it puts weight on our starboard side. Harrison and Blackwell move together, stabbing the tentacle until it retreats—only to have to dodge the onslaught of several more. One catches Blackwell across the stomach and he crashes against the mast. The tentacle pins him there while another snakes up onto the deck towards Harrison.
