Kidnapped by the Pirate

The kiss had been an invasion, Nathaniel demanding entrance, his fingers digging into Hawk’s scalp, claiming victory before Hawk could mount a defense.

He’d been utterly conquered in that moment, but it was a glorious surrender. Hawk had happily gone down with the ship, finally tasting Nathaniel—the bitter tang of blood and battle unable to erase a sweetness all his own.

After, their kisses had flowed with a gentle fervor he could only name adoration, neither of them able to get enough, their bodies bruised and battered and entwined as one.

But there was no time as the dawn raced toward them mercilessly, not caring that they’d only careened a portion of the ship, not caring that they must sail the final miles to Primrose Isle and not delay. The possible attention drawn by the explosion was too dangerous to wait another day.

This would be the day he must give up Nathaniel, and Hawk wished the night would never end.

There had been so much blood. In the pale starlight, it had appeared dark and deadly, masking Nathaniel’s face like a funeral shroud. In that instant as his heart seized and shattered, Hawk had been certain Nathaniel was doomed—that he’d witness the final moments, hear Nathaniel’s final gasp of breath and see those eyes go glassy, feel his body grow cold.

His grief at the thought still haunted Hawk, and he marveled that he ever could have casually—thoughtlessly—threatened to end Nathaniel’s life. Now he would protect it with every inch of his being, no matter the cost.

As dawn neared, he yearned to hold Nathaniel close to be sure he wasn’t a phantom but still flesh and bone. They all splashed into the water, the crew and prisoners dragging the ship, almost deep enough, their muscles burning, heels digging into the sandy bottom.

Nathaniel groaned, and Hawk wanted to order him to retreat to solid ground and rest his battered body. Selfishly, he kept Nathaniel at his side, knowing Nathaniel would protest anyway.

Knowing his selfishness would soon be at an end.

That Nathaniel still lived was a miracle, and it was one Hawk would not take for granted. He’d glimpsed the scout’s body down between the boulders. In his mind’s eye, it was Nathaniel crumpled there, his throat torn asunder. Hidden unless one knew where to look.

Hawk might have searched the island in vain for days, only discovering him thanks to the birds circling. He imagined Nathaniel rotting and half-eaten, honey eyes pecked out.

Breath shuddering, an iron band squeezing, Hawk staggered, and might have crashed into the surf if not for Nathaniel holding his arm.

“All right?” Nathaniel asked, breathing hard.

Hawk could only nod, and God, there it was in the distance: the first fingers of dawn reaching over the horizon. He gently took hold of Nathaniel’s hand and peeled it away, giving him a little smile that seemed to put Nathaniel’s mind at ease as they hauled into deeper water, almost there, almost there…

By the end of the dawning day, Hawk would deliver Nathaniel to the colony—to his family. He would see him leave The Damned Manta behind and sleep in a proper bed, eat proper food. Reunite with his sister and make his plans for a new life away from his father.

Away from Hawk. Safe.

Nathaniel deserved a life in a place where he knew no need for a dagger, where he wouldn’t be forced to kill and be corrupted any further.

When the ship floated, a cheer rang up, Nathaniel grinning along with the men, even Alfred’s crew celebrating. These were the men who hadn’t insisted on fighting to the death, the men who cared more for survival than loyalty to a dead captain.

Although Hawk motioned to Snell and ordered them locked in the hold now that the ship was upright, they might make valued replacements for the Manta men they’d lost in the battle. Time would tell.

They had to get under way, and Hawk had to keep his wits about him. He said to Nathaniel, “Can you gather the blankets and whatnot from o—the tent?” As soon as the question was out, he sensed the side glances from nearby crew members, and barked, “Now!”

Nathaniel’s lips twitched, but he held back the smile and headed back across the sand. Fuck. How had Hawk allowed himself to get this lost in their… God, it was a courtship, wasn’t it? He couldn’t deny it.

Trying to empty his mind of anything but the task at hand, he conferred with Snell and gave more orders for readying to leave, the stacks of supplies needing to be reloaded onto the ship.

Glancing at the tent, he froze, spotting a blaze of red hair ducking into it in the murky light of dawn. Leaving the men to their duties, Hawk strode across the sand. Tully’s rough voice carried beyond the canvas as Hawk neared.

“Don’t think we don’t know what you’ve been up to. You’d better not try to fuck things up fer us.”