Page 62 of Of Magic and Rum
Nøkk slithers into the light, a dark wooden violin at his shoulder. He grins at me, a flash of dagger teeth catching the still blazing fire. “Look who’s awake. I think it was due to my particular aptness with a good set of strings.”
The music swirls through my mind like liquid metal, waiting to harden, toimprintitself there. I pinch my eyes together so tightly that I see stars in the blackness behind my lids. “You mean—” I pause, swallowing what little saliva I have left to coat my gravelly throat “—that tune that sounds like a cat’s tail being run over by a chariot?”
Nøkk chuckles, but his tone is noncommittal and distant at best. “Soon, you won’t have the strength to speak above a whisper, and that’s what you chose to say?” He edges closer, his hands moving with more flourish, his playing elbow propped skyward.
It’s a bizarre feeling to be lured by music when Sirens do little to affect me. But as he changes the tune to something far more ancient and primal, my limbs relax, and my chin lifts in his direction.
“Do you enjoy my playing, Nymph?” Nøkk’s voice echoes in my skull like we’re both ensconced in a glass bottle.
No. And I could care less if his fiddle-playing rivals muses, bards, and demons.
But no matter how often I replay these thoughts to convince myself it’s how I feel, my eyes lazily open and my cracked lips part to say, “Yes.”
Nøkk’s smile widens, and he stands above me now, his body swaying with the melody. “There’s nothing quite like a perfectly tuned instrument. And I’ve made it a permanent staple of mine.” He slowly sinks until he’s squatting in front of me, still playing and grinning like a fox who finally cornered the rabbit they’ve been chasing.
I say nothing, partly because my throat cannot handle it, and I can’t tear my eyes away from his fingers nimbly working the strings.
Find. Me. Jack.
“Now, Rhode, my dear, all you have to do is say one little word. Your suffering will end, and you can listen to this music for the rest of eternity,” Nøkk whispers and lowers his face to mine, his serpent-like eyes fixed on me. “Will you be mymate?”
My throat bobs, but nothing happens save for a burning pain and a strained breath. I chew on some of the dead skin falling from my bottom lip before opening my mouth to speak. Nøkk’s face has blurred, the violin now in sharp focus, sea mist floating from the strings as he plays.
“Like fucking hell, she will,” a voice roars from the cave entrance.
No, not just a voice.Hisvoice. Jack Rackham.MyJack.
My ragged breaths strangle me at the sight of Anne on her knees, paler than usual, with dark circles under her eyes and lips so dry they’re cracking. All I want to do is pull her toward me, drown her with affection, and douse her with water, but this vile creature needs topay.
Anne falls to her hands, my name barely escaping her throat and coming out as a scratched wheeze, which only adds oil to the fire raging in my chest.
“Back the hell away from her,” I threaten, storming forward to run my blade through his throat despite not knowing if it’d kill him.
He raises the violin and bow he’s playing in surrender. But the wry smile contorting his lips tells me he has no intention of making any of this easy. With a flick of his wrist, that samedamn impenetrable water wall keeps me from nearing him and separates me and Anne.
“Goddammit,” I roar, punching the wall with my sword’s hilt.
Ragnar and Mary flank me with their weapons drawn and stare dumbfoundedly at the suspended water they’d yet to witness.
Anne lifts her chin, her forehead wrinkling, once she spots Mary. It’s as if she wants to cry but can’t find the tears. Nøkk slides in front of her, blocking her view of us, and I slam my fist into the wall, making it splash against my knuckles.
“It’s going to be alright, Annie,” I reassure her but keep my focus on the walking dead man.
The man waves a finger at me,stillfucking smiling. “I understand pirates are known for deceptions and lies, but why lie toher?”
Moving to the wall, I stand close enough that the tip of my nose almost touches it. “We’re partners, she and I. No lies between us. And considering Anne and I have just found one another, I know neither of us will let a shriveling shrimp come between us simply because you don’t know your way around women.”
He chuckles, crouching near Anne now and stroking strands of her red hair away from her forehead. The way his fingertips lightly graze her skin has me pounding my fists against the watery prison this wall has become. “You’ll never get past my power, mortals. I can be just and let you walk away with your lives, but you cannot win this one.”
“Why,” Mary grunts between repeated kicks against the water. “Does this feel like concrete?”
Ragnar remains unusually quiet, the skin beneath one eye twitching as he studies Anne’s captor. He folds his arms and edges closer to the water. “Who are you?”
Despite barely having the strength to lift her chin, Anne tears away from the water man’s touch. It’s agonizing seeing her in such pain. And worse that I can’t do a damn thing about it but watch her suffer from the other side of an impenetrable barrier. I chew a hole in the inside of my cheek.
“What use is my name to you?” The man stares curiously at Ragnar.
Whydidhe ask his name?
