“That is a long story.”
“I think we have time.” She glanced toward the cave entrance where rain still poured and the occasional boom of thunder rumbled.
“Aye.” His forehead pressed against hers. “We do.”
Chapter 29
Hook
His hook.
Now that was a story he hadn’t thought about in years. One he’d never fully told.Figures she’d ask about it eventually. He’d taken it as his name, after all.
He sighed and lay his head on the stone, staring up at the stalactites above. With Tink’s soft warmth curled against him and contentment from their coupling still flowing through his veins, it was as good a time as any to face those old memories.
“Ah, where to begin.” He slid his fingers through her hair. “My ma got sick. Salt fever. It dries out the body slowly, over weeks, until a person is a husk of themselves and lets go. Lots of people got it that year, and the doctor’s stores of violet root had run out. It was the only cure for the slow disease that ate away at her. I was still on the edge of a boy, scraping by with what I could make working the fishing boats. It took everything I had and then some—my first steps into piracy—to get the witch to use her spells and direct me to violet root. It grew on anotherisland, a few days’ journey by boat. Didn’t have my own ship then. Thought to steal one, but captaining it on my own during the storm season was a fool’s mission. Couldn’t help Ma from the bottom of the sea.”
Tink propped herself up on one elbow. “I thought you and Smee were friends since childhood.”
“Aye, we were. But he was watching after Ma for me, along with his own family. One of us had to. His ma was pregnant, and his da, well, he’d been older when they settled down. Could barely get around back then and passed not too long after. Smee, as the oldest, always had a lot to do. Even then he was happy to help. Loyal. Always optimistic.”
His lips pulled into a grin at the thought of his first mate, his first friend, and really his brother if ever he had one. They’d gotten into such trouble as boys before obligation to family encouraged them to straighten up…and before they sought any means they could to provide for those they loved. Hook shook his head, his smile vanishing. “Anyhow, I heard of a ship going toward the island where the violet root grew.”
A soft gasp whispered across his skin. “TheKraken?”
Hook nodded. “I begged that bastard, begged him on my knees, to let me join him just until they reached my destination. I still remember how he grinned at me, one golden tooth gleaming through his thick, bushy beard. Then he clapped me on the shoulder with his beefy hand and proclaimed me one of his crew. It shouldn’t have been so easy, but I was too relieved to be wary. Too young and dumb.
“It’d be a lie to say he didn’t scare me. And his crew… In so many ways they reminded me of the worn, rugged fishermen I knew. Hard workers. Bodies worn by the elements. Always singing a bawdy tune. But there was a dark edge to them, a look in their eyes that said they wouldn’t hesitate to slit my throat and throw me over the side if I stepped out of line. So I worked hard.Scrubbing the deck, cleaning the cabins. All the chores no one wanted.” A phantom burn heated his skin, a memory from when the sun had blistered his skin from days at sea in shabby clothes. Fishermen were done by noon, selling their catch in the shade. Not Captain Blackbeard.
“We finally reached the island, and I followed the witch’s directions to find the violet root. She was more direct that time. It was easy to find the field where they grew. Things were finally looking up. I picked extra to sell in the port, planning to buy passage on the next ship home.” His missing hand tingled, yearning to close into a fist though a hook now took its place. “I didn’t get the chance. Blackbeard’s men found me and dragged me back onto the ship.”
He could still see it, the grain of the wood that they tossed him down on in front of Blackbeard. The faint scent of jasmine. Blackbeard’s polished boots thumping into his line of sight. “Thought ta sneak off, boy?” Blackbeard had jerked him to his feet by his shirt, ripping it in the process. “A little rat, scurrying away.”
Hook’s cheek stung at the memory of the backhanded slap that came next. “Y’all leave when I say ya can.”
Something soft and warm brought him back to the moment. Tink cupped his cheek. Firelight flickered across her face and caught in her wings. “You don’t have to tell it.”
No, he didn’t—but for the first time, he wanted to. “I haven’t answered your question yet.” He covered her hand with his before tucking her closer into his side.
“You don’t—”
“I know. Even Smee doesn’t know the whole story.”
She jolted against him. “What?”
The hint of a grin pulled at his lips. “That’s right, so listen close, because I may never tell it again. Where was I?” he asked, for dramatic effect. “Ah, yes. Captain Blackbeard was furiousthat I tried to leave, even though we’d only agreed on me joining them for that one leg. He thought to teach me a lesson.” He glanced at his hook, a lump in his throat. “He cut off my hand.”
It was a mercy he did it quick. He’d barely understood what was about to happen before one of the crew stretched out his arm, and Blackbeard swung the blade—a cutlass—he’d pulled from a crocodile skin sheath.
Tink kissed his cheek. The soothing motion of her hands over his bare skin kept him grounded. Without her…Gods, without her, I’d be lost.
“He threw me in a cell. Left me there to clean and stitch my own wound in that filth-ridden place. Most of it is a blur.”
A lie. He’d never forget those days, hovering on the brink, laying in his own mess. Every moment was etched in the darkest part of his soul—the part that vowed vengeance. It had festered there, a disease of sorts that no amount of time healed. If anything, it only grew worse until all he could focus on was revenge. At least, that had been the case until he met a certain pixie in a bar.
He brushed a hand through her hair again. “But one day, Blackbeard arrived at my cell. He threw a polished metal hook in with me. A way to end myself if I wanted.”
Those cold, uncaring eyes still haunted his nightmares. “Fisher boy,” he’d said. The man wouldn’t even use his name, though he knew it. “Gut yerself or git yerself together.”
