step or two ahead. Sometimes, I think he knows me better than I know myself.
Why would these circumstances be any different?
“So you’re saying you no longer think I’ll blindly defend Peter to the death and that I’m fully capable of making him pay?”
I take small satisfaction at the sheepish expression on Hook’s face. “Maybe that’s who you were before, yes, but only a fool wouldn’t see the change in you now.”
“I’ll give you two some space,” Tigerlily murmurs, making way to step around us.
I reach for her before she takes a single step, shaking my head. “Stay. Nothing we’re speaking of is meant to be private. So, how are we going to do this?” I turn back to Callan. “He could be anywhere.”
“He could, but I have no doubt he went back to the only other place he knows. We still need to locate him, though, meaning it won’t just be us. We’ll need help, eyes and ears everywhere. The boys will follow us through.”
Tigerlily’s puzzled gaze bounces between us as I lift my chin surely, the Fae within all but purring in delight. “When do we leave?”
“Tomorrow. That said, come with me, I have something for you that you’re going to need.” Callan holds out his hand for me, blue eyes cutting to the Chief’s daughter the moment my palm slips in his. “And you, don’t leave without saying goodbye, okay?”
Tigerlily nods wordlessly and then we’re off, boarding the Lost Soul sheer minutes later.
An ill-shiver racks down my spine the moment my feet touch the deck. The last time I was here, I never thought I’d see its majestic expanse ever again. Looks exactly as I remember it; dark and dreary, a grim vessel of stolen treasures and the lost souls of those taken throughout its voyages.
Wasn’t that long ago, yet it feels like a lifetime has passed since then. And perhaps it has; I’m not that same girl anymore.
We head straight to the bow of the ship, passing spar after spar along the way, each one upholding a crow’s nest and grand, weathered ivory sails. The foremast, though—that’s the true focal point, where an ebony, tattered sail hangs proudly in the night. Emblazoned on it is the very symbol that encompasses the captain at my side.
A skull and crossbones.
I’m staring up at it, how it billows almost villainously with the light wind, when we come to an abrupt stop.
Before me stands the wooden wheel, it’s handles encased in solid gold. Mesmerized and intrigued by its beauty, my hand reaches out to feel the alloyed metal, until I see it—this small, black box, topped with a satiny scarlet bow sitting in the very center of the wheel’s pedestal.
I feel Callan’s grin long before I see it. “For you,” he states, grabbing the box with a quick hand and snapping it open.
I’m gasping when its contents meet my sights. “It’s...beautiful.”
The very same symbol displayed on the sail rippling above us reflects back at me, only in a tinier, more glimmering version; encrusted in diamonds, rubies set in place of hollowed eyes.
“I hoped you’d think that. The rubies house your daylight spell.”
Finally.
Excitement swiftly whirls within me. I’ve missed the sun. “How does it work?”
“You just wear it.” He shrugs, gently pulling the pendant free, piquing my interest all the more at its short length.
“Is that even going to fit? It looks too tiny to be a necklace.”
Hook smiles softly, demanding I spin around with a twirl of his finger. “It’s a choker, lays right across your throat. You have to wear it at all times.”
“Like a collar?” I quiz, inhaling another sharp breath at the current that rips through me the second the skull touches my skin.
Humming, he secures it around my throat. “Reduces the chance someone will rip it off.”
“Also screams ‘I belong to Captain Callan Hook.’”
“Do you?” The question ghosts the shell of my ear as his hands glide down the slopes of my figure, pulling me back flush against his hard planes.
“I think you know the answer to that,” I breathe, shivering in his grip.
“I do, but I need to hear you say it, Tinksley.”
“Yes…”
“Yes, what?” His fingers dig into my pelvis for a split-second before I’m spun around.
Pushed up against the wheel.
The look in his eyes is so ardent, pleading almost, yet ever so patient.
“Yes,” I vow, hands fisting the front of his obsidian dress shirt. “I’m yours. I belong to you.”