On his knees, Hawk implored, “Please,” and Nathaniel found he couldn’t deny him. He nodded, and Hawk rose, giving him a crooked smile. “I bet you can make it back before I reach their ship.”
“Their ship? But… There are too many of them.”
“Yes, but they’re gathering on the beach, which means only a skeleton crew remaining aboard.” He bent and tugged off his boots. “Good night for a little swim. Now go.”
There were so many things Nathaniel wanted to say—too many things. Instead, he pulled his hands from Hawk’s grasp and pressed the bloody dagger into Hawk’s palm.
Then he ran.
His mind spun with what Hawk would do in the meantime, praying he’d wait for reinforcements and knowing he wouldn’t. Nathaniel flew down the beach, denying himself the lunatic urge to return to Hawk, as if Nathaniel could somehow protect him from the hordes of men arriving from the other ship.
He shouted for Mr. Snell as he approached, and the men jumped into action, casting their cups of rum aside and gathering their weapons. They seemed to forget about Nathaniel as they stormed down the beach, Mr. Snell sending contingents into the trees as well. It was simple for Nathaniel to follow, staying close to the foliage, protected by the shadows, sand forgiving under his battered feet.
The explosion rocked the night as he neared the end of the island, almost knocking him back on his arse. Ears ringing, he rushed onward, ducking into the forest, ignoring the rough twigs, roots, and rocks under his soles, nearing the men Mr. Snell had sent into the trees, following their lead.
At the edge of the jungle he stopped, taking in the fire-illuminated scene below. The unprotected Javelin burned, orange flames licking up the mainmast they hadn’t fully repaired, men screaming as the gun deck was engulfed. The flint of gunpowder was thick in the air even at a distance, thick plumes of black smoke rising.
Hawk! Where was he? Had he been able to swim away fast enough after presumably lighting a fuse? Nathaniel stood on the precipice above the beach, scanning it desperately, calculating the quickest path to the water as the Manta crew streamed forward from two sides.
They cornered the pirates of the Javelin, who were apparently taken by surprise, fumbling and flustered, stunned to see their ship burning. Then—there.
Hawk emerged from the water, outlined by the orange glow behind as he grabbed the closest man and snapped his neck, taking up the man’s cutlass as he joined the fight, clashing steel echoing.
The other crew fought with deadly fervor of their own once the shock had subsided, and Nathaniel held his breath in his battered lungs, his ribs aching. The terror that he would see Hawk struck down gripped him, but he was rooted to the spot by his promise to stay safe—and his own fear of joining such a fray.
Shouts and screams of agony filled the night, clawing at him. He’d killed a man, and now death was everywhere. Metal clashed and gunshots exploded. Nathaniel had never witnessed such brutality; had not been able to fathom it.
He should have been horrified, yet all that mattered was that Hawk survived. Hate for the other pirates boiled in Nathaniel, and he wished them all dead so Hawk could live.
The one-eyed captain ran at Hawk with a battle cry, tumbling him to the sand. They bared their teeth as they grappled. Each turn and shove lasted a lifetime to Nathaniel as he willed the upper hand to Hawk with all of his soul.
Hawk used the dagger to kill the other captain. How strange to think that Mr. Chisholm had gifted it to Nathaniel what seemed like a lifetime ago, and now it was an ocean away in a pirate’s grasp. Nathaniel cheered the pouring blood as Hawk carved the man hollow, victorious.
One-Eyed Alfred’s men were broken, the remaining crew surrendering, but Nathaniel couldn’t draw a full breath until Hawk shouted orders and left the smoldering carnage to climb over the rocks, determination in his stride.
Returning to me.
Nathaniel retreated through the trees, beating him to the other side, waiting farther down the empty beach. In the distance around the tip of the island, shouts echoed in the aftermath of battle.
Yet here, it was only the two of them. When Hawk spotted him, he skidded to a stop, his chest heaving and feet still bare. They stared at each other as a bird shrieked above, waves breaking on the shore, fiery destruction in the distance, and smoke on the wind.
Hawk started toward him, and Nathaniel couldn’t stay rooted, racing to meet him. Face streaked in red, Hawk took a breath to speak, but Nathaniel dragged down his head and silenced him, kissing him the way he’d dreamed of for weeks—yet not how he’d imagined it at all.
Crushing their lips together, rubbing against the wet burn of Hawk’s beard, Nathaniel drank him in fiercely, plundering with his tongue when Hawk gasped for breath, tasting sweat and gunpowder and metallic blood—their own or that of the men they’d killed, he couldn’t say.