Possibly the best three days of his life.
Storms loomed on the horizon, that crocodile Blackbeard couldn’t be far behind, and they had only the witch’s vague clues as their guide to finding Leviathan’s scale. Even so…
Hook grinned as he spied Tink working with his crew on deck, showing them how to use the new device she’d conjured to bring in the sails with ease. Bloody hell, he could have stabbed a man when he was awakened from his delicious dream those nights ago. But there she was, nearly naked, more delightful and bewitching than any dream. It had taken everything to sit there and watch her, to wait and see what she’d do.Worth it. So damn worth it.
She wantedhim. She called him James, that name he’d buried so long ago. She still used it when they were alone. Somethingshifted in his chest. James had died and been reborn for her. Only her.
He glanced at Tink out of the corner of his eye. Sunlight gleamed on her hair, against her wings. She hadn’t bound them since they’d left port, had even flown a bit to the delight of everyone. She was free, happy as she should be. She caught him looking and gave a cheerful wave. He grinned in return. His lustful pixie.
The more he had her, the more he craved her. It had been that way from the start, from her very first pixie dust-laden kiss. She’d been the only face he’d seen, all he wanted. He’d thought it a curse then. Maybe it was, but this one he had no interest in breaking. Last night he’d restrained himself, only fucking her once, even when she’d whimpered and asked for more. They had to sleep sometime before they reached the Shrouded Isles. Wouldn’t do any of them good if they were asleep on their feet. He looked away, out to the ship idling many lengths away, as he adjusted his breeches. It was one of the few merchant ships they’d spotted, one smart enough to give them wide berth. Not a concern.
They were close to the Shrouded Isles—he could feel it. They needed to come ashore before they were knocked off course by the looming storms, or worse. Even with all the risks, his crew had woken at dawn in the drizzly end of the storm the morning after they returned to Coconut Cove. To the last man and woman, they were with him. Pride swelled in his chest. They could have stayed behind. He’d offered. Though it would have been damn hard to captain theJolly Rogerwithout them.
That ship… He neared the railing, watching as the merchant ship sailed toward the dark clouds building to the west. Why would they…?
A sharp whistle slipped down to him from the crow’s nest. Boots thumped on the deck. Hook reached for his spyglass andtook aim at the oncoming clouds to the east.No. He stiffened. Fog. And they were coming upon it quick. It had to be the Isles. That was the reason the merchant ship braved the incoming storms.
The second star to the left had led them straight here.
“Let out the sails!” Hook ordered. They needed to slow. Thick fog was more dangerous than a pit viper.
The wheel fought against him as he shifted course. The bitch liked to give him hell at times, but he always won.
Tink raced up the stairs toward him. “The Isles?”
“It must be.” He could taste it in the air: a wrongness. He’d known the sea all his life, from living on its shores to fishing skiffs and on to bigger vessels. But this… He’d avoided this place all his life for good reason. The wheel fought against his grip. She didn’t want to sail these waters.
The sails fluttered, spilling wind and slowing their pace. The fog seemed to rush toward them, faster than should be possible. It’d been a league away, but now it stretched toward them like a crone’s hand.
Tink visibly shuddered. “No wonder the merfolk don’t like it. This is…wrong.”
He wasn’t the only one who felt it then. The crew weren’t as lively either—hesitant glances, no bawdy jokes.
“The bearded man guides you in,” Tink recited the line from the witch’s vision. “Can’t be a real man, can it?”
That was the problem. He grimaced. No one lived on the Isles, at least that they knew of. “Any ideas?”
He’d put his crew to task coming up with possible solutions to the clues she’d given them. The stars were easy. Every sailor knew which to follow to reach the Isles—to avoid that path if nothing else. The rest… Best be ready for anything. This one seemed obvious: a bearded man. But finding him would be the trick. They wouldn’t find a mountain in this bloody fog.
The temperature dropped as they slid into the mist, sending a chill down his spine.
“Keep an eye out.” His voice sounded unnaturally loud, carrying through the sudden quiet. Hitting a rock or reef out here could be deadly. Help wouldn’t be coming for them, and Blackbeard certainly would.
They held their collective breaths. Crew members leaned over the railing, looking for anything other than the grey that consumed them. Light drizzle spotted the deck, clinging to Hook’s clothing.
“Land!” The call came from above.
Hook squinted at the horizon. As if someone had pulled back a curtain, the fogbank broke, spitting them out near a large island. Forested mountain peaks stretched toward the sky, cloaked in their own veils of fog. The sound of waves crashing onto the rocky shoreline beckoned them near. A few larger rocks thrust from the ocean swells close to shore.
Hazardous, to be sure. They’d need to stay well away, take the rowboats in. But first, they needed a bearded man.
“Keep distance. Look for the bearded man, or any sign of life.” He grabbed the wheel. No piers jutted from the shore, no buildings, no obvious trails, though it was hard to tell given their vantage.
He’d never ventured near the Shrouded Isles—no reason to risk it—but it lived up to reputation. More rock than sand lined the shore. The seas, typically clear and blue in the shallows, were dark and shadowed, as if someone had spilled a massive pot of ink that never faded. Even the trees were strange, almost muted in color rather than the vibrant greens, browns, and tans he was used to. Thick moss, or something like it, clung to trunks and branches alike, trying to drag them down into the rocks and sand. Beyond the shore, however, the peaks rising into the fog were green, lush—the opposite of the land near the water.
It was too much to expect to find the bearded man right away. But after an hour of drifting around the isle, the crew had grown antsy, Hook most of all. He paced back and forth, alternating between his spyglass and natural sight, searching for something, anything that might answer the witch’s clue.
Tink slid next to him, placing her hand over his. All at once, he relaxed. He almost smiled just looking at her. She’d been less seasick this time. Perhaps she was finally getting used to theJolly Roger. “They’re called the Shrouded Isles, right?” she asked. “As in, more than one?”
