“Eunuch, you mean.”
“And well you should remain, lest I make that condition a permanent one.”
“Aye, aye, Captain.”
Terrified by the thought of being alone with them and their crew, but too desperate to let her fear interfere with her need to find her brother, Cameron reached for her letter and medallion, praying with everything she had that this wasn’t a mistake.
Please God, protect me.
Swallowing in nervous apprehension, she nodded, tucked away her possessions, then followed the captain’s mate.
Devyl sat back to watch them leave. He cut his gaze toward his quartermaster. “What?” he snapped at Will.
“As I value me own testicles … not saying a single word, Captain. Just sitting here, nursing me rum.” He held it up pointedly before he took a swig.
Devyl snorted at him. “Hope you find more courage than that for the task we have ahead of us.”
“No fear there. Have more than me fair share. But you forget that I’ve seen you in a fight. And I’m neither fool nor drunk enough to think I can take you. Besides, you cheat and bite.”
Those words pulled a rare laugh from Devyl. It was one of the reasons why he’d chosen Will as his quartermaster. Unlike the rest of his crew, Will was unflappable and bolder than he should be. He maintained his composure, good nature, and calm rationale under even the most harrowing of events. And he did so with a biting sense of sarcasm and gallows humor.
More than that, Will was as courageous as stated. Courage mitigated only by a sound ability to reason and measure the merits of confrontation.
Aye, William Death was one of the best men Devyl had ever fought with. It would be an honor to die by his side instead of the way Devyl had been gutted before.…
“Permission to speak freely, Captain?”
Crossing his arms over his chest, he leaned back to pin a sinister glare on Will. “If you’ve the backbone for it. Go on.…”
“Just wondering what mind you have to be bringing a human on board our bewitched ship.”
“Did you get a look at what her brother sent her?”
“The meaningless bauble?”
Devyl scoffed. “And you’re the one who claims to be the faithful religious man between us.”
“Meaning?”
“That bauble, as you claim it, Mr. Death—”
“Deeth,” Will corrected under his breath. It was ever his pet peeve that they didn’t pronounce his name with a long e as opposed to the way it was spelled. Though why his ancestor had chosen to be so antagonistic with either the spelling or pronunciation was anyone’s guess.
“Death,” Devyl repeated incorrectly, as he was ever a cantankerous bastard, “is from the sword of St. Michael.”
“Which one?”
He reached to flip at the silver medallion that hung off a leather cord Will had wound about his left wrist. “That winged bastard creature you believe protects and watches over you.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Neither do I. But until I do, I thought it prudent to put her under our guard lest something foul decide to make her its next supper.”
“And if that something foul proves to be a member of our crew?”
Devyl allowed his eyes to flash to their natural red state. “They would have a bad day, indeed.… My mood, however, would be vastly improved by their act of blatant stupidity that would result in my natural retaliatory act of extreme and unholy violence.”
And speaking of …
