This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

Copyright © 2022 by Jessamine Rue

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First Edition: August 2022

Rue, Jessamine

Pirates’ / by Jessamine Rue—First edition.

1

BEFORE YOU BEGIN…

Suicidal thoughts, murder, violence, somnophilia (with prior consent), BDSM, blood, knife-play, mention of cannibalism, threat of rape, self-harm, spanking, genital mutilation of a bad character

This book was distantly inspired by “Pirates of the Caribbean,” Peter Pan, and Treasure Island. It contains detailed sex scenes (MMM+F) involving one or more partners of various genders.

“Harder,” I whisper. “No, not harder—deeper—gods, yes!”

The sailor’s hand is under my knee, and he hitches my leg higher so he can shove himself into me, balls deep.

I chose him for the length of his cock, after watching a number of the sailors piss over the side of the king’s ship. This man is reasonably clean, halfway attractive, and the long, thick piece between his legs is just what I need.

We’re fucking in the brig, the slapping sounds of our coupling half-muffled by the creaking of the ship’s timbers and the clanking of the loose cell door as the vessel bobs on the waves.

It’s dark down here. There are probably pests, despite this ship being one of the king’s best galleons. The thought of what could be crawling in the dark bothers me. Still, I couldn’t risk bringing a lantern. Couldn’t risk being discovered. The king hates it when I have sex with anyone. Thinks it will dilute my loyalty to him. Ridiculous. As if I have any loyalty to him at all.

I’m nothing more than a slave. A powerful, magical slave with insatiable needs. And sometimes my own fingers just aren’t enough.

The collar around my throat shifts with each of the sailor’s thrusts. It’s a beautifully engraved band of silver wound with iron threads and set with slivers of moonstone. It prevents me from doing magic outside of the king’s bidding.

My spine grinds into the rough timbers. The sailor smells of coarse, grimy, salty man, and I inhale with wretched delight. Most of my secret trysts in the palace are with pristinely groomed, soft-handed men who smell heavily of floral perfume and don’t understand that I mean it when I tell them to be rough with me.

This man understands, more or less. But he’s been in me for less than ten seconds and he’s already gasping, tightening, reaching his peak.

No, no—just a little longer, please, please—

But he’s coming. He’s huffing against my hair, his cock jerking and pulsing inside me, his hips halting their movement as he enjoys his climax.

Fuck.

One more thrust from him. It’s no use—my climax is receding. I needed more—I always need more.

He pulls out, lowers my legs. Kisses my mouth clumsily.

“Sorry I couldn’t last longer, milady,” he says hoarsely. “The way you feel inside—gods. Never felt anyone shaped like that.”

“So I’ve been told.” I give him a forced smile.

Something about my insides is—misshapen? Different? There’s a ridge in my vagina, one I can feel when I insert my fingers, and apparently it puts the most delicious kind of pressure on a man’s penis. Which means most of my lovers come far too quickly.

I need at least the count of thirty to get myself to a climax. Preferably a full minute, or more.

I eye the sailor’s thick fingers, and I’m about to ask him to finish me off with those, when a bell begins to clang, shrill and insistent, somewhere up on deck.

“Shit. Oh, shit.” The sailor’s leathery face tightens, and he yanks up his pants.

“What is it?” I settle my skirts into place again.

“Attackers. Probably pirates.”

“But the sun’s still up.” I frown.

“Pirates will attack anytime, milady. They don’t need to wait for nightfall.”

“But why would they confront the king’s galleon? Surely we’re well-armed, not at any risk—”

“I don’t know. The helmsman doesn’t ring that bell unless there’s serious danger. I have to go.”

He lunges out of the cell and hurries down the corridor, out of sight.

Sighing, I hitch up one leg and prop my foot on the edge of the cot in the cell. I rarely wear panties in case I get a chance at a decent lay, so once I ruck up my ruffled skirts again, I’m completely exposed.

I trace a finger along the seam of my sex. Deliciously slick. Such a waste. I need another cock, preferably one belonging to a man with serious stamina.

The sailor’s cum is dripping out of me. I swirl my fingers through it. No chance of pregnancy, because I set a spell on myself a long time ago, before the collar was placed around my neck, and it neutralizes the sperm of any man I sleep with. They all swear they take herbs or tonics for protection, but I’m not such a fool as to believe them.

My pussy quivers at my own touch, and again I inwardly bemoan the fact that there’s no man here to appreciate how ready I am.

Ah, well. The least I can do is give myself a quick burst of pleasure before I go above-decks to see what “enemies” warrant the continuous clanging of the bell.

I’m not really worried, despite the sailor’s panic. The king brought plenty of armed guards along with us on this voyage. And if things go badly, he’ll release part of my magic so I can help defend the ship. With me aboard, there’s no chance of defeat.

I pat my wet clit with one finger, tilting my head back at the trickle of pleasure that results. My eyes close, and I keep rubbing that delicate bud, teasing myself closer to the peak.

Almost there—

And then—

Someone clears their throat. “Highwitch Quressa.”

My eyes flare open, and my head jerks up.

There’s a man standing in the corridor, getting a full view of my exposed pussy, slicked with cum, and my wet fingers toying with my own clit.

It’s Kylar—a big, rangy sailor with thick, glossy black hair. He’s not handsome, strictly speaking, but he has a striking face—bold cheekbones, a large hooked nose, and a heavy brow. There’s a hard edge to his jaw, and his strong throat features a prominent Adam’s apple. Something about the breadth of his shoulders, the fall of his hair, and the burning intensity of his eyes has attracted me from the moment I came aboard.

I would have selected him for my pleasure, except I’ve never had a chance to see his equipment, and I wasn’t about to risk my one shot at sex with a penis I hadn’t seen myself. I’ve had far too many disappointments in that regard. At the Doefin court, the men wear codpieces, which they often stuff to make themselves appear better endowed than they are. I hate the fashion and the deception it enables.

And now this sailor has caught me, freshly fucked, playing with myself.

I’m torn between dropping my skirts and yielding to embarrassment, or pushing past the awkwardness and inviting him to come have a turn.

But the bell above-decks is still ringing. And there’s a frightening lack of cannon fire from our ship. Something that should be present if we’re fighting off attackers.

So I lower my skirts and I put my fingers into my mouth, licking them clean while I hold Kylar’s gaze. A faint flush paints his cheekbones, and I smile. “What is it, sailor?”

“Pirates, Highwitch. There’s been a spy aboard—the cannons have been sabotaged, so we can’t fire at them. The king requests your presence. We need your magical aid to drive the pirates off.” He swallows. “Unless, of course, you’re busy.”

“It can wait.” I saunter out of the cell, making sure to brush my body against his on my way past him.

I’m heading toward the narrow stairway that leads up to the main deck, but Kylar grabs my wrist—warm, thick, calloused fingers, and my pulse kicks up.

“Not that way, Highwitch. Too dangerous,” he says. “We’ll go up the back way.”

He pulls me along the corridor toward the rear of the ship. There’s a ladder there, with a trapdoor at the top.

Kylar ascends first, giving me a view of his round, solid ass covered by tight leather breeches. A very smackable, bite-able ass. But my lascivious thoughts recede, because from what he said, it sounds as if we might actually be in danger.

He throws the trapdoor open, then turns to help me climb out. I pull myself up without touching his hand.

We’re on the rear deck, at the back of the officers’ cabins. From here, I can see men up on the quarterdeck and a few in the rigging. There’s a flurry of tense activity and strident shouts, occasionally shrilling into panic.

Someone falls from the rigging, his body arcing helplessly through air. I clap my hand over my mouth to stifle a scream.

Kylar heads for the narrow tunnel-like passage between the cabins, which will bring us out onto the main deck—but before we reach it, there’s a violent, cracking boom, and an explosion rolls through the timbers under our feet.

I sway, crashing against Kylar’s chest. His big hands close convulsively around my shoulders.

Another shattering boom, and we’re both thrown flat onto the deck. A grinding shudder passes through the ship. I’m no sailor, but even I know that can’t be good. The deck seems to be slanted now.

I’m lying on top of Kylar, the heat of him radiating through the black tunic he wears. It’s loose, parted at the neck, showing a chest lightly flecked with black hair.

“It’s too late,” he says. “They’re already boarding.”

“How can you tell?” I gasp, pushing myself off him.

“The bell stopped.”

“Shit. I need to find the king so he can release my magic.” I try to pull away, but Kylar stops me.

“By now the king’s guards will have him in a boat, on his way off the ship. That’s what I have to do with you. He commanded me. Said if I couldn’t get you to him, that I should get you somewhere safe.”

He’s walking toward a tiny skiff, loosening its ropes with swift, frantic jerks.

“What?” I back away, my lungs tightening. “No. I can’t leave the ship without the king. I belong to the king—he controls my collar. I can’t—if we’re separated I’ll never be able to use my magic again.”

“I’ll see that you get back to him.” Kylar swings the skiff out, over the side of the ship. “But if you stay here, you will die. Or you’ll fall into the pirates’ hands.”

I purse my lips, tilting my head. “What kind of pirates do you think they are?”

He stares at me, one hand extended. “Bad ones. Now come on.”

But I take a step back. “Suppose I could bargain with them?”

“Highwitch, come with me. I’m under orders from the king—”

But as he’s speaking, three of the king’s guards charge through the tunnel between the cabins, coming from the main deck. “There she is!”

I step toward them, half-relieved that they’re here to take me to the king—and half-disappointed because the thought of changing cages for a while was appealing. Perhaps the pirates would have been interesting captors.

But the king’s guards lift their pistols, aiming at me.

I halt, stunned.

“What the fuck are you doing?” shouts Kylar.

“The witch must not be taken alive. King’s orders,” replies a guard, and fires.

I’m already moving, throwing myself aside. My shoulder slams into the deck, and the bullets whistle over my body.

Pistols are new in our kingdom—unreliable and inaccurate. Two of the guards fumble with reloading while the third draws a saber and advances.

Kylar jerks me up, pushes me toward the skiff. Whips out his own sword and clashes with the oncoming guard in a ringing of steel on steel. “Go!” he shouts. “Get in the boat!”

I hitch up my skirts and vault the railing, landing in the skiff. The little boat rocks in midair, clunking against the side of the ship. I can’t see any other ships from this vantage point—the pirates must be attacking on the starboard side.

Kylar is working the pulley with one hand, battling the guard with the other. My skiff is sinking lower, lower, and I clutch the side, terror pounding in my throat. Just minutes ago I was being railed in the brig, and now I’m swinging over dark waters that glimmer gold in the late afternoon sun.

Everything I know has been upended. My entire placid future exploded into chaos.

What is happening? Does the king want me safe, or is he trying to kill me?

Another cracking boom, and the ship rocks. The pulley screeches, and the rope slackens suddenly. With a stomach-dropping dive, my skiff freefalls to the surface.

The resulting smack is so bone-jarring I can’t breathe for a moment. But the boat landed upright, dipping and bobbing on the waves. I grip both sides of the skiff and crane my neck, looking up, hunting for some sign of Kylar.

He saved my life. I don’t want to leave him behind.

The crack of a pistol. Then another.

A broad-shouldered, black-haired figure staggers against the ship’s railing. And then he keels over, backward, falling, his long limbs loose and motionless.

He crashes into the sea.

I tug vainly at my collar, swearing. If I was free, I could make the waves push him back up, hold him at the surface, or even lift him and deposit him in the boat.

With the collar on, and no magic accessible to me, saving him is going to be far more difficult.

Kylar is struggling feebly. I jerk a small paddle from beneath the skiff seat and work my way toward him. The surf around the king’s galleon is roiling, churning—waves slap and spray until my dress is soaked and I can barely see Kylar through the misting seawater and my wet hair.

But I manage to shove the skiff alongside him, just as he’s sinking under the surface.

Reaching over, I grip his tunic’s collar and pull with all my might.

It’s not enough. I throw the paddle into the bottom of the skiff and grab him with both hands. The skiff tilts precariously.

“Come on, you big bastard,” I growl at him. “Help me save you.”

Kylar groans in response and throws one gleaming, muscled arm over the side of the skiff. Blood has soaked his black hair at the temple, and more blood is running along his jaw and neck.

Three more pistol shots from the king’s ship, but they spatter harmlessly into the waves.

Fuck. I had hoped the guards would forget about us.

Clumsily, with me hauling and him straining, Kylar tumbles into the boat. He nearly swamps it. We’ve taken on water, and we’re riding dangerously low.

I grip the paddle and start sweeping it through the waves, trying to push us as far from the ship as I can. I don’t look back. If I’m going to be shot, I don’t want to see the bullet coming.

My neck and chest are sweat-slick, my hair straggling dark and tangled over my shoulders. The muscles of my arms, unused to such labor, scream at me.

Kylar lies unconscious in the bottom of the skiff, a soaked, hulking mass, with crimson blooming across his chest and temple. Did they shoot him in the head? I think he’s going to die.

At least he’ll die knowing I tried to help him.

Finally I risk a look backward, over my shoulder.

We’ve gained a surprising amount of distance from the king’s ship.

And to my shock, the pirate ship isn’t alongside the galleon, as I’d thought it would be, for ease of boarding.

No, the two ships are quite a distance apart. In fact, it looks as if the pirate ship is sailing away. But the orange glory of the sunset is so painfully bright I can’t look too long, so I can’t tell exactly where the pirates are headed.

Strange.

Did they give up on boarding us? Where’s the king? In another skiff, or still aboard his galleon?

Maybe I should stop paddling and let his guards come get me. They’ll take me aboard, he’ll apologize for the kill order, and everything will go back to the way it was.

Or the guards will shoot me on sight. Or the galleon will sink—it’s been damaged, and it’s listing badly.

I’d rather not die.

So I keep paddling. On and on, until the sunset glow dims to purple dusk, and the rolling bellies of the waves have hidden me and my little skiff from the eyes of those aboard the king’s galleon. I can’t see it anymore, even when we crest a wave.

But I can still see the pirate ship, far off to the right. Almost as if it’s traveling parallel to me.

Now and then a wave curls and crashes near the skiff, sending a fresh influx of seawater over Kylar and filling the boat to a dangerous level. I wish I had something, anything to bail the water out with.

Again I glance at the pirate vessel, a sleek black ship with gray sails and streaming scarlet banners. It’s closer now.

Maybe I should head toward it. Either that, or I must resign myself to the skiff eventually sinking. In which case, Kylar and I will both drown.

Damn it. I think I need the pirates’ help.

The muscles of my upper arms are trembling with exhaustion. I’m not the beautiful, well-groomed Highwitch anymore—I’m a desperate, shivering rag of myself.

I’m the girl I used to be, before the king took me.

My parents left me in my aunt’s care when I was eleven. They never came back. So when my aunt married, there was no one to stop her new husband from putting me to work in his distillery. With my magic at his disposal, he could hire fewer laborers yet produce three times as much rum and whiskey as he used to.

When my aunt died, I became solely my uncle’s ward. He had never cared about me beyond the magic. I worked long days and then curled up on a pallet in an attic room of the building at night to catch a scant few hours’ sleep before he dragged me downstairs to work again.

At age sixteen, I encountered one of the other workers jerking off in a back courtyard behind the distillery. He saw me, and he kept going. And I kept watching.

He held my gaze as he came, jetting white cum over the cracked paving stones. I loved the sounds he made.

He was a year older than me. My first lay.

I started living for the moments when his cock was between my thighs. Every time, he lasted just a handful of seconds before he came hard inside me. He swore my pussy was magic. Said it was a pity not to let others try it out. So I began to let the other men at the distillery have me, too. All ages, all appearances. Everyone was welcome.

Eventually it came to the point where I left my underwear off while I was working. If one of the men wanted to fuck me, he simply walked up to me and squeezed my ass. If I nodded and bent over, that was consent for him to lift my skirts and nestle inside me. I’d keep working the machinery, wielding the liquid, while someone’s hot cock was plunging in and out of my folds.

Finally my uncle discovered what was happening. He beat me, called me a whore, fired all his laborers, and hired new workers.

I’m fairly sure one of the former laborers tipped off the king about me, as revenge on my uncle.

When the king’s men came for me, I was chained in the distillery, dressed in rags, half-starved. My uncle, as a final parting gift, warned the king’s men that I was a rabid slut, obsessed with fucking, apt to forget all bonds of family or loyalty as long as I had cock.

So when I was conscripted into the king’s service, he forbade me from having relationships or sexual congress with anyone. The king himself has no such interests; he is a eunuch, castrated during his captivity in an enemy kingdom years ago.

But he didn’t lock up my genitals, so I managed to find pleasure here and there.

Magic and sex are the only things that make me feel alive. But they’ve always been done in service to someone else. I’d hoped to be my own mistress someday, in every sense of the word—using my magic only for myself, enjoying sex with men of my choice, at my leisure, without having to stifle my cries or hurry through the act.

It doesn’t look as if I’ll get the chance to do those things. Not with the dark shape of the pirate ship offering my only chance of survival.

They’re going to know what the collar is. Collars like this are widely used throughout the kingdoms to restrain powerful people like me. No use lying about my powers.

Maybe I can offer to be the ship’s whore in exchange for safe passage. Although they could just force me, consenting or not.

We’re closer now. As if the pirate ship purposely angled toward us.

They’re lowering a boat of their own—a larger one than the half-sunken skiff in which Kylar and I are floating.

With shaking fingers I grip the paddle again and try to shove toward the approaching boat. But the paddle slips from my nerveless fingers and sinks down into the dark sea. I lean, trying to grab it—the gunnel of the skiff dips too low—

And water rushes in.

I scream as I’m dumped into the ocean.

Water closes over my head, a depthless gurgle.

I fight for the surface. Break out, screaming Kylar’s name.

He’s floating on his back while the skiff sinks under him. But there are waves—he’s going to be submerged.

Panic galvanizes my sore arms, and I propel myself toward him. I drag his arm across my shoulders—gods, he’s heavy. I can’t keep us both up.

He rouses a little and kicks, frantic, pushing me down, shoving my head underwater in his muddled desperation to stay afloat.

I didn’t get a good breath—

Air—I need air—

Pain stabs through my head—my lungs are going to explode out of my chest—

Kylar’s weight holds me down.

I saved the bastard, and now he’s killing me.

Hands seize me. Dragging me roughly out of the sea.

A wooden edge across my back, a hard surface under my rear. Cold spray against my hand. I can’t breathe.

A blow to my breastbone.

Water spurts from my mouth. I choke, spluttering, gagging.

“So she’s alive.” A voice, deep and sonorous. “What about him?”

“Barely,” replies another voice.

“Leave the witch be, then, now that you’ve knocked the water out of her, and fucking row the boat.”

“What do you think I’m doing?”

I open my eyes a sliver, vaguely curious about the owners of the two male voices.

It’s dark. There’s a lantern hanging from the end of the rowboat I’m in, but my vision is blurry, and my head aches. I let my eyes fall shut again.

Maybe I faint, or maybe I’m in the strange slurry between sleep and waking, but the next thing I’m clearly conscious of is hanging like a sack of potatoes over a bulky shoulder, and then being dropped carelessly onto a wooden floor, with my skirts bunched around my thighs. Chilly sea air washes over my bare legs, arms, and upper chest.

Anxious male voices, and a scuffling sound. My eyes blink open once more, fixing on a network of black rigging and the expanse of a sail overhead. Dark gray clouds scud across a deep blue sky dotted with stars.

Shadowy figures are carrying a body with them. I think it’s Kylar.

“Wait,” I rasp. “Don’t hurt him—”

Someone sets down a lantern on the deck and crouches beside me. Sharply angled eyebrows over hard gray eyes. A mocking mouth full of straight white teeth. Sleek cheekbones and a sharp jaw with a light scruff of dark red beard. Red hair shaved up both sides of his head and braided along the crest of his skull. The braid curves around his ring-studded left ear and trails over his shoulder. He wears a coat hung with chains, fastened with brass toggles.

As he crouches, with his forearms propped on his knees, I notice that his hands are tattooed with skeleton finger-bones and strung with thick silver rings.

“Hello, witch,” he says.

“What are you doing with Kylar?” I ask. “Can you help him? Don’t kill him, please—he’s—” My mind races, trying to find a reason the pirates should keep him alive— “he’s of noble blood. Very rich family. They’ll pay well if you save his life.”

“Will they indeed?” He runs a hand up my thigh, curling his fingers into my skirts, and I tense. “And you? You’re from the royal galleon, yes? Scared off the ship by our little skirmish?

His hand travels up my body, over my breast, to the collar of interwoven silver, iron, and moonstone. “Is it possible you’re the king’s own Highwitch?”

“You already know the answer,” I whisper.

“I thought we’d lost our chance at you. Yet here you are.”

My eyebrows pull together. “Then you knew I was aboard. You were after me.”

“Yes.”

“A clumsy effort at kidnapping,” I scoff.

His smile falls. “One that ended with you exactly where I want you.”

“Is that so?” I push myself up onto my elbows, but my head spins, and pain crackles behind my eyes. “Gods,” I moan, sinking back down. “Just kill me now.”

“Whyever would I kill you?”

I touch my collar. “This is spelled. Only the King’s hands can remove it, and only his words can release my powers. So my magic is locked away, useless to you. Without that, I’m worthless, unless you plan to ransom me.”

“Perhaps I do.”

This is where I should begin bartering for my freedom. Because I never expected to have a chance like this—a chance of getting away from my country and its king, free and clear. A chance to travel. To be someone new.

I have nothing to bargain with except my body. And delightful as my vagina may be, the pleasure I could give these men won’t equal the fortune the king will pay for my return.

Boots clump across the deck. Two more men are staring down at me now.

One is stunningly, exquisitely gorgeous—perfect features carved in smooth ebony. Tiny gold rings line his eyebrows, and white geometric patterns snake up both his forearms. His bare chest is a study in muscled male perfection, from the swelling pectorals and tight nipples to the beautifully defined abdominals.

I’m getting wet just looking at him. My eyes drop to the front of his pants. What is he packing under there?

Another man speaks, drawing my attention from the ebony god. “One bullet to the chest, Captain, and the other grazed his temple. Iro is healing him now.”

“Good.” The red-haired man rises from his crouch at my side.

The voice of the man who gave the report is familiar—one of the men who brought us aboard. He’s shirtless under an open leather vest—huge and burly, with blond hair furring his pectorals and running down the center of his muscled stomach. My gaze travels up to shaggy golden locks, a neatly trimmed blond beard—and the brightest blue eyes I’ve ever seen.

I hold his gaze. This is the man who “knocked the water out” of me, according to what I overheard on the boat.

Slowly I sit up, maintaining my eye-lock with the burly, gold-bearded giant. “You saved my life,” I tell him softly. “Thank you.”

He shifts his weight from one boot to the other, still staring at me.

I let a smile creep across my face—a warm, friendly smile, just for him.

I’ve had plenty of practice subtly attracting and seducing men. And I’ve learned that sometimes a link can be established through the simplest of things. Sometimes all it takes is one look.

“Take her to the brig, Gabel,” says the Captain abruptly.

“Aye, Captain,” responds the ebony god.

But the golden giant cuts in. “Belay that. I’ll do it.”

The Captain frowns, cold gray eyes flashing. “What’s that now, Theo?”

“I said I’ll do it. If it’s all the same to you, Captain.”

After a moment, the Captain shrugs and steps back. Theo moves in, scooping me into his enormous arms. He lifts me as if I weigh no more than a pillow.

Casually I let my hand rest against his pectoral. My fingers look so small and slim against the curve of his chest.

With heavy, purposeful steps, he carries me along the deck and descends a narrow stairway into the area below.

“Don’t seem right, putting you in the brig,” he mumbles. “Not after all that.”

I move my fingers a little, not exactly stroking, but definitely shifting along the heated skin of his chest, through the swirls of golden hair.

His arms tighten around me almost imperceptibly, and I have to stifle a smile. Oh yes, this big man is the soft one on board. Which means, if I want a chance of getting out of this and not being sold back to the king, I should start solidifying my hold over him.

Below-decks, the ship smells a little stale and bilge-y, but not too bad. There’s a savory scent, too, like stew or roasted meat.

“I’m hungry,” I whisper. “I was rowing for so long.” With a sigh, I sink against him, pressing my cheek to his huge collarbone, with my head tucked under his chin. “And I’m so wet, too. Can you feel how wet I am?”

The giant clears his throat. “I—I suppose those clothes are a bit damp.”

“And slippery,” I murmur. “Slick and wet and slippery. I should take the clothes off. Well, there’s just the dress, really. Nothing underneath.”

“I s’pose we can find you somethin’ else to wear,” he says hoarsely.

“Could you? Oh, that would be lovely. And a pillow, too, if you don’t mind, if there isn’t one already in the cell.”

He grunts, continuing along the corridor. Finally he deposits me in the cell. Its back wall is the side of the ship, and there’s one other wall of wood to my left. Across the front of the cell and along its right side are bars, set almost wide enough for me to slip through, if it weren’t for the width of my hips.

The giant Theo closes the barred door and latches it. “I’ll fetch you somethin’ to wear. And that pillow.”

“You’re so kind. Thank you.”

The moment he’s out of sight, I strip myself naked. He probably expects me to wait until he’s brought dry clothes, but I have other plans under way, and they start with the seduction of a pirate who can bear witness to the others about the wondrous pleasurable effects of my magical vagina.

I’m still shaky from exertion; my stomach is hollow with hunger, and the headache is still hovering behind my eyes—at bay for now, but threatening to sharpen at any moment. I could use a good orgasm to stave it off. Maybe I’ll get lucky and Theo will have a decent cock.

With my fingers I rake some of the tangles from my hair. When I sniff my armpits, I wince. Not great. But maybe a coarse pirate like him won’t notice or care that I’m not exquisitely floral-scented.

I drag some ringlets of my dark hair down over one breast. Unbound, my hair is long enough to reach my waist.

At first I pose myself artfully leaning against the bars, but I’m too weak and weary for that, so I opt for lounging on the cot instead. It’s a simple wooden frame with canvas stretched across it and a blanket roll at one end.

I tuck the blanket roll under my head. I can be comfortable and still look seductive.

At least it’s not freezing cold belowdecks.

At least I didn’t drown, or get shot. At least Kylar is being healed. The pirates have a healer, which is odd. Most healers live and work on land, usually for kings or nobles.

At least I haven’t been raped or beaten.

At least there’s one man aboard who seems somewhat compassionate.

At least…

Why are my eyelids so damn heavy?

No harm in closing them for a minute, just until I hear Theo coming back.

At least…

2

When I return with my own pillow and some simple clothes, the girl is asleep. And she is naked.

I stare at the heavy swells of her breasts, the curve of her side down to her waist, and the rise of her hips. The triangle between her thighs is shaved, allowing me to see the two lips of her sex, pressed together, with a tempting groove between them.

Long legs, beautiful, one arranged over the other. Delicate feet. Small toes, slightly crooked. I want to suck on them.

The little Highwitch stripped off her clothes and fell asleep in the brig of a pirate ship. She is either an idiot, a slut, or something else. Something I haven’t encountered yet.

I don’t care about women, or about men besides the ones in this crew. People frustrate me, always weeping and shouting and wanting, always feeling and fussing and consuming.

Most of them I could kill easily and sleep well afterward. I do not like people.

But when I struck this girl’s chest, she choked out the seawater at once. Like she’d been trying to live, and just needed a push.

And then, the way she looked at me on deck—she knew I’d saved her. She was grateful to me. People are not usually grateful.

When I carried her, she pressed her hand and cheek against my body. As if she trusts me, for no reason at all.

No one has ever trusted me that quickly. With every man on this ship, I had to earn their trust, and they had to gain mine.

Perhaps the witch-girl is stupid. But I do not think so.

I open the cell and move inside. The sight of the witch-girl’s body has made me hard.

Her knees are bent a little, and when I walk around to the end of the cot, I can see her slit between her ass cheeks. It is pink and gleaming. Wet, like she said.

I want to push my cock inside her and quietly fill her up with cum while she sleeps. Maybe one day I will. But I should ask first.

Walking back around the cot, I lift her head and switch the blanket roll for the pillow I brought. Then I spread the blanket over her and lay the dry clothes on top of it.

As I’m leaving the cell I hear footsteps, light and quiet. I know who it is before he appears—Jim, our cabin boy. Barely seventeen when he joined us on that fateful voyage, and he turned twenty last week. He’s slim and pale, with a tumble of black curls and a pair of pretty dark eyes. He has a papery roll of smoking herbs tucked between his lips, as usual—a cigarette, he calls it. Popular with the nobility of his nation.

His black, blousy shirt is open. On his left breast he bears the tattoo of a snake, its open mouth bracketing his nipple and its coils continuing down his ribs and along his belly. The tail of the serpent continues along his cock, ending at the tip.

I should know. I’ve seen his cock often enough. Usually it’s pinned between his belly and mine while I lift his legs and rut into his ass. Sometimes his cock is sliding between Iro’s lips, or Gabel’s.

When you’re at sea, it’s any port in a storm. And there are a lot of eager ports on this ship, ready for a storm of cum.

I step out of the witch-girl’s cell and latch it. Jim halts at my elbow.

“She’s pretty,” he says.

I grunt in answer.

He takes a pull of the cigarette and nods toward her. “Is she naked under there?”

“Yes.”

“Did you fuck her?”

“No.”

“Good. Because the Captain wouldn’t like it, you know. We’ve got to keep our heads clear. Focus on breaking the curse.”

“Hm.”

“You’re hard, though.” He slides his free hand across the front of my pants. “So hard, Theo. Gods.” He rakes his nails over the fabric, and a groan rumbles through my chest. My dick swells, hotter and tighter.

“I’ll suck you off when I finish this.” Jim takes a pull of his cigarette. “We’ve still got time before midnight.”

Midnight. The hour all of us dread more than any other.

“Can I come in your mouth?” I ask.

Jim smirks. “Is there any other way?”

3

When I open my eyes, early morning light is streaming through the porthole in my cell, and there’s a stranger watching me.

He’s beautiful. Narrow dark eyes, slightly tilted parallel to his sloped cheekbones. His hair is pure white, shaved around the sides and falling in a snowy cascade from the crown of his skull over his forehead. He inspects me, his thin lips pressed together as if he doesn’t quite like what he’s seeing.

Personally I like what I’m seeing very much. Like most of the men on this ship, he seems to have an aversion to shirts, and he’s wearing only a pair of loose white pants. The entire right half of his naked, tanned torso is covered in an intricate pattern of black swirling vines and flowers—the most gorgeous tattoo I’ve ever seen.

He extends a slender hand and unlatches my cell door. “You’re awake.”

“Yes.” And apparently someone covered me up as I lay naked on the cot. My money’s on Theo.

I stay motionless, eyeing the tall white-haired man as he enters my cell.

“I am Iro,” he says. “I’m the healer for this crew.”

His voice is as lovely as his face—smooth, light, young, male. More musical than the other masculine voices I’ve heard lately.

I push myself up, clutching the blanket to stay covered. “You’re the healer? How’s my friend Kylar? You healed him, right? I suppose you’ll be bringing him down to a cell, too? Please tell me he’s still a prisoner and not—not dead—”

“Calm yourself, witch,” says Iro. “He’s alive. And yes—I suppose he’ll be joining you soon. But first, I’ve come to check you for any injuries that might need attending.”

He clamps his mouth shut again, a slight frown puckering his forehead, as if the task is supremely distasteful to him.

I’ve been examined by a healer before, at the palace. A regular requirement of the king’s. But that healer was female. I’ve never been inspected by a male healer.

Since I wasn’t able to stay awake long enough to complete my seduction of Theo, maybe I should work on this pirate. Though he looks less like a pirate and more like a prince.

“I do feel rather sore.” I take the clothes lying on top of my blanket and drop them onto the floor. “My shoulder hurts. And there’s some pain in my belly.”

He frowns deeper. “You might have internal injuries. If I may?”

“Do pirates need to ask permission of their captives?” I turn from my side onto my back and tuck my arms behind my head, under the pillow.

“No. We don’t need permission.” He takes the top of the blanket and draws it down. Cool air skims my breasts as he uncovers them. The blanket’s edge curls lower, until my entire torso is bare, down to my hips.

Iro touches my shoulder first, the one that was bruised when I threw myself out of the line of fire. I wince, and he nods. “I’ll take care of that in a moment. First I need to see if there are any more serious injuries.”

His fingertips press along my belly, and he tilts his head, almost as if he’s listening to my body. Warmth soaks from his fingers into my abdomen, and a melting, softening sensation travels to the space between my legs. My nipples pebble in the chilly air.

“My ribs are a little sore,” I whisper.

Iro’s hand skims higher, testing along each rib, all the way up to the underside of my breast.

“Ow,” I say.

His eyes skip up to mine. “That hurts? Right there?”

“A little higher.”

He looks down at his fingers, right beneath my breast. “Higher?”

“Yes.”

His mouth compresses, and his throat moves as he swallows. His palm cups the heavy swell of my breast, and I suck in a sharp breath, because it feels wonderful.

“Does that hurt?” he murmurs.

“Yes,” I lie.

He splays his hand over my whole breast. “And this?”

I let out a tiny moan, arching my spine, urging into the touch. “Yes.”

Again he looks at me, surprise and wonder in his eyes, the faintest smile playing over his mouth. If he’s shocked that I’m letting him fondle my breasts, he’s got another thing coming. He has no idea what a slut I can be.

“Oh!” I cry out, frowning. “I’m having the strangest kind of discomfort, healer. Right here.” I touch my lower belly, right between my hipbones, just above my mound.

He keeps his right hand on my breast and reaches to place a palm in the spot I indicated.

“A little lower,” I whisper.

“Hmm. Discomfort, you say? Could this discomfort be centered between your legs?”

“Yes, healer. I fear something is wrong down there. Could you examine me? Please?”

His face remains impassive, except for the barest twitch at the corner of his mouth. “It is my duty to help those in pain. I will see what I can do to provide you with some relief.”

Iro walks around to the end of the cot.

“Arch your knees for me,” he says, low.

Obediently I arch my knees and spread my thighs. I’m quivering with anticipation. It’s not as if I haven’t let complete strangers touch me and fuck me before—I have, often. I enjoy the titillating risk, the unknown factor of it all. But this is my first time tempting a pirate and a healer, both, in one man.

At least, if I’m to be sold back to the king, I will get my fill of cock from these gorgeous men first. I hope so.

“You’re all so clean here,” I say, as Iro pushes the blanket off my legs, exposing my spread thighs and my sex to his view. “I thought pirates had nasty rotten teeth and grimy skin.”

“We know how to get filthy,” he replies, with a slight smile. “But I have an obsession with cleanliness. It promotes health and it makes my job easier, so I insist on a certain level of personal and dental hygiene aboard ship. And Captain Varrow is wise enough to enforce it.”

“Captain Varrow,” I breathe, while Iro’s tattooed fingers glide along my inner thigh, toward my center. My skin is on fire. I can feel my pussy seeping liquid arousal. “He’s the one with the red hair, and the skeleton tattoos on his hands?"

"The very same. I’m going to examine you now. At first glance, this area appears to be healthy. No sign of inflammation.” His fingers pry delicately, pushing the lips of my sex apart. “I’m seeing a lot of liquid from your vagina, more so than is normal for someone in your precarious situation.” He traces a finger up my slit, and I whimper.

“You’re very tender here, aren’t you?” Iro murmurs. “Very sensitive.” His fingertip probes the little bud of nerves at the top of my sex, and my thighs jerk in response to the keen thrills circling through my abdomen.

“Interesting reaction.” Iro’s voice is hoarser now, his eyes fixed on my pussy. He licks his lips, then rubs his thumb over my clit in a slow circle.

I whine compulsively—I don’t try to keep the sound in. It feels wonderful to let myself make sounds. Usually I have to be so quiet.

“I have a recommendation.” Iro’s dark eyes meet mine. “Something to soothe you, and to alleviate the sensitivity you’re experiencing. Did you know that healers can pass their restorative magic through their genitals as well as through their hands?”

“I’ve heard something of the kind,” I breathe.

“I propose a thorough, invasive treatment.” His hands move to his waist, pulling his pants lower. “A deep cleansing of your body. And a dose of healing serum, delivered internally.”

He tugs the pants lower, and his cock springs out—a long, sleek shaft, paler than the rest of his tanned body. It’s not thick, but it looks delicious. I want it.

“If that’s what you recommend, healer.” I give him a slow, sultry grin, and he half-smiles in return. Ah, these men are so weak. Gullible prey, the lot of them.

Men are simple. Easy to lure and to fool. Sometimes I wish I could meet one with more depth and complexity to him—but all the ones I’ve known have been ruled by their dicks and their insatiable lust—except for the King, who is ruled by a desire for power.

I suppose I shouldn’t despise men for their lust, though. After all, I’m rather insatiable myself. I like sex, not only because it gives pleasure, but because it makes me feel wanted, appreciated, and powerful. Right now I am not a helpless captive being prodded and healed, at the mercy of men, waiting to be sold. I’m a siren, a treasure, a desirable thing. I’m in control, even though Iro might think he is.

He steps to the cell door, his cock swinging, and peers down the corridor.

“You don’t want anyone to know you’re about to fuck the king’s Highwitch?” I murmur as he comes back to me.

“The Captain has certain principles,” he says, swirling two fingers through my slickness and then tucking them inside me. His head tilts again, and he frowns slightly. The friction of those questing fingers in my channel makes my hips lift right off the cot, questing for movement, for pressure.

“Interesting.” He presses his fingers deeper. “You’re uniquely shaped inside, did you know that?”

“I’m famous for it, in fact,” I say dryly.

He lays his other hand on my belly, pushing carefully against the place where his other fingers are, inside my womb. A sweet spiral of heated pleasure rolls through my belly. This is torture. I’m leaking copiously around his fingers, trembling. Maybe I’m not the one in control after all.

“Heal me,” I whisper. “Come inside me.”

The healer pulls his fingers out and inhales my scent from them, closing his eyes briefly as if he enjoys the fragrance. He lines himself up at my entrance. Pushes my thighs wider apart.

The tip of his cock head slips against my wet flesh. Yes, yes—

Booted feet in the corridor, coming our way.

Quickly Iro retreats, tucks himself back into his pants, and tosses the blanket over my body. He steps to my side and lays a palm on my bruised shoulder, just as Captain Varrow appears.

“Well?” asks the Captain, his cold gray eyes appraising me. “How is she?”

“Bruised, but well enough,” Iro replies. Even as he speaks, I can feel the soreness receding from my shoulder. The bruise on my back, from the edge of the rowboat seat, is feeling better too. Now there’s just the humiliating lake of lust between my thighs, and the heated flush over my body.

Unsatisfied, again. I want to cry, to swear, to scream. The gods must be conspiring to ensure that I will never be fully sated.

Iro finishes healing me, then leaves the cell and latches the door. “We should bring the other prisoner down here now that he’s feeling better, Captain.”

Captain Varrow stares at him blankly for a moment. Then understanding wakes in his eyes. “Ah yes, the other prisoner. Of course. I’ll have Theo bring him right down. He can have the cell next to hers.”

The Captain and the healer leave together. Angrily I throw off the blanket. I’m tempted to fuck myself with my fingers, but Theo will be back with Kylar in a moment, and I rather be focused on the sailor—my one friend aboard this ship, the man who saved me from the king’s guards.

Last night, Theo brought me clothes—a pair of pants and a simple homespun tunic. The tunic is enormous on me. Even with the neckline laced, a triangular swath of my breasts and stomach are exposed between the crisscrossed leather strings. The tunic hangs down to my knees, so I don’t bother with the pants. I roll up the blousy sleeves past my elbows. I probably look like a ragged waif. Hopefully a fuckable ragged waif.

I relieve myself in the pail in the corner, covering it with the lid afterward. There’s a basin of water nearby, and a sliver of soap. The healer wasn’t joking about his obsession with cleanliness, if he expects the prisoners in the brig to wash their hands after pissing.

I’ve just finished cleaning my hands when I hear Iro’s voice again, and Theo’s rumbling tones. I move to the cell door, wrapping my fingers around the bars.

Kylar is shirtless, his hair hanging in damp tendrils around his face. The big blond pirate throws open the door of the cell next to mine and shoves him inside.

“Get in there, sailor,” Theo growls. He gives Kylar’s ass a smack. “The little witch swears you’re of noble blood, worth a ransom, but I think you’re just a grubby, ass-licking seaman.”

Iro chokes and covers his mouth with his hand, almost as if he’s trying not to laugh.

Kylar stumbles over to the cot and sits down as Theo slams the cell door and latches it. I’m not sure why they don’t lock us in more securely. I’m fairly sure I could reach out through the bars and angle my arm to reach the latch. Maybe they assume we know there’s nowhere we can run. We’re in the middle of the ocean. No escape.

“The king is going to look for me, you know,” I tell Iro as he passes me, heading back up the corridor.

“His ship is damaged. By the time he reaches a port or crosses paths with another ship of his fleet, we’ll be beyond his reach.”

Beyond his reach? That doesn’t sound like someone who wants to ransom me. Or maybe they plan to reach some pirate safe haven first, and then send the king a message about their demands.

This is the strangest pirate ship I’ve ever encountered. My first one, of course, so I don’t have much to go by. But so far, nothing is what I expected.

Theo comes to the door of my cell, and I hold his gaze like I did last night. “Thank you for the clothes and the pillow. And for covering me.”

“I wanted to fuck you while you were sleeping,” he says bluntly.

The admission shocks me, sending a flush to my face. “Oh. Why didn’t you?”

“I don’t fuck women without asking first.”

“Can I tell you a secret?” I beckon him closer, and he bends. “I’ve always wanted to be fucked while I’m asleep. Next time, you have my consent to do it. Unless, of course, your captain sells me back to the king before you have a chance.”

Theo grunts, and after a final stare, he follows Iro back up the corridor.

I lunge to the bars separating me and Kylar. “Are you all right?”

“They healed me up.” He rises from the cot. “I’m fine. They tell me you saved my life.”

“You saved mine first.”

He approaches me, and the sheer height and breadth of him sends my pulse into a frenzy. My belly quivers, and several tiny flutters travel along the seam of my sex.

Kylar looks down at me, his dark eyes fiercely penetrating. I can’t look away from his strong features and his full, crooked mouth. His paneled chest is just beyond the bars. Touchably close.

“What do they want from us?” he whispers.

“I think they want ransom money,” I reply. “As the big golden one said, I told them you have noble blood, that you’re worth keeping alive.”

“I suspected as much when they kept asking me about my family last night. I had to invent an identity.”

“But I’m not sure that money is all they want.” I touch the collar around my neck. “I told them only the king can remove this or allow me access to my powers, but the Captain didn’t seem to believe me.”

“And that’s true?” Kylar’s fingers slip between the bars, stroking along my neck. “You can’t use your power at all while you’re wearing that?”

“Not at all. Certain spells stay in place—like the one I set on myself before the king took me, to prevent pregnancy.” Kylar’s eyebrows lift, but I continue without further explanation. “But I can only perform magic at the king’s command, within the parameters he specifies. Otherwise I can’t access any of it—not my intrinsic power or my universal abilities.”

His dark brows contract further. “What does that mean?”

“I’m what’s called a harlequin witch. I have dual abilities. One side of my power is the universal kind of magic that most witches practice, which requires herbs, incense, bones, teeth, chanting, charms—that sort of thing. Curses, spells, and such. But I have an intrinsic side to my power as well, a natural ability to interact with certain elements. My elemental connections are with water and earth.”

“Incredible.” His thumb strokes my collarbone. “That seems like a rare gift. Inherited?”

“It is. My parents were both witches, too. They left when I was young—my aunt said someone was hunting them. I like to think they left to draw their pursuers away, to keep me safe. To keep me free.” I rest my forehead against the bars. “I ended up in cages anyway—one after another. And here I am, caged again.” I give him a tremulous smile.

He reaches his other hand through the bars and cups my face. “Listen to me, Highwitch—Highwitch Que—Qurella? Is that right?” His cheeks crease with his broad grin, charming and lopsided. “Sorry, I only overheard your name once, distantly.”

“Quressa,” I reply. “Quressa Escovar.”

“Quressa Escovar.” His calloused fingers caress my skin. “I swear to you, I will get us off this ship. And I will help you find a way to free your magic. There must be a spell that can do it.”

“There’s one thing that might work.” I curl my hands around his wrists, moving his hands from my face. “But it’s not even worth mentioning. Not until we find a way off this ship.”

I stalk away from him, seething with frustration.

I overheard a few things in the palace, from the king and his chief advisors, and I pieced together what I might need for my freedom. But like I told Kylar, it’s an impossibility while I’m stuck on this ship. And it remains an impossibility for a woman like me, with no resources and nothing to my name except a borrowed tunic.

“You seem angry,” Kylar says.

“Clever boy.”

“They haven’t locked us in properly, you know. We could get out of these cells and try to catch them off guard. Kill them. I don’t think there are many men aboard.”

“I’m not a fighter,” I say desperately. “I perform magic for the king—I don’t use weapons. I curse his enemies from a distance, irrigate and improve his gardens, sustain parts of his armament factories. Once I opened a path through a mountain so his troops could sneak in and surprise the enemy.”

Kylar’s eyes narrow with interest. “So you went out to war with him?”

“Only the one time, last year. He doesn’t like taking me beyond the palace grounds. He’s afraid someone will steal me or assassinate me.”

“But he took you aboard his galleon.”

“Yes,” I sigh. “Because he’s planning to conquer Wilfjir, and he wanted me to generate a tsunami to wipe out their fleet before the invasion.”

“You can create something that large?” Kylar’s black brows shoot up.

“I haven’t tried. But I managed to cut the pass through the mountain—shifted massive amounts of earth and rock aside. Sounds simple, but I was in a recovery trance for a week afterward. The palace healer said I almost died. But I had no choice in the matter—it was the king’s command.”

“And the king was willing to risk your life again?”

“For the chance to secure his hold over a wealthy island nation like Wilfjir? Yes.” I vent a shallow laugh. “Our galleon was supposed to get close enough, accomplish the fleet’s destruction, and then withdraw out of harm’s way before the full-force invasion next week. He wanted the people of Wilfjir to have time to come down from their initial panic, to assume that the tsunami was a natural disaster and that the worst was over. Then the impact of the fleet’s attack would be all the greater.”

“Seems cruel,” says Kylar.

“Yeah, he’s a fucking bastard.” I kick the leg of the cot with my bare foot, and then I yelp. “Why couldn’t I get captured while wearing shoes?”

“It’s your own fault for not wearing shoes to your tryst in the galleon’s brig.”

I wince. “I should have. There could have been anything crawling around in that straw. But sometimes I don’t think clearly when I… when I fuck.”

I’m even more conscious of his intense gaze now—like the searing rays of the sun on my skin. “You think I’m a whore, don’t you? After what you saw me doing on the royal galleon, and after what I said to that blond pirate Theo...”

“I think you’re exactly what you want to be,” Kylar says, prowling along the bars between our cells. “And yes—you’re a beautiful little whore.”

A jolt of pleasure zings through my clit when he says it. My eyes glaze over, watching his tall figure stalk me, catlike, his fingers trailing over the bars.

“Say that again,” I whisper, while my fingers scrunch up the hem of the tunic.

“You’re a little whore, Quressa.” Kylar stops, gripping the bars. “A pretty whore who wants to touch herself while I watch. I saw you hesitate, when I came below-decks and found you in that cell. You thought about pleasuring yourself right in front of me. You wanted me to see your pretty slit quiver as you came.”

My fingers are already under the tunic, pushing, pumping through the sucking slickness of my insides. It’s not enough.

I slink closer to the bars. “Why watch when you can join in?” Pulling the tunic up around my waist, I bend over and back up to his cell, until my vagina and ass are centered in the open space between two bars. “Who knows how long we’ll be stuck down here? We might as well enjoy the hours.”

“Gods, you’re so fucking wet,” he says, low. “Shit. I didn’t sign up for this.”

Chuckling, I sway my ass in front of him. “You didn’t sign up for this? Don’t most sailors enjoy a nice pussy when they can get it?”

I’m teasing, but inwardly I’m starting to panic. Like I told him, I don’t fight. I fuck, and I do magic. I fell asleep before I could seduce Theo. Then Iro and I were interrupted. If I end up unsatisfied here, too, I might just walk out of my cell, up the steps, and jump into the sea.

I’ve wondered sometimes if my magical energy is connected to my libido. At times, the urgency of my need for sex seems to go far beyond what’s normal for women. And the more danger I’m in, the hornier I get, as if my body is trying to store up magical energy for a big escape attempt.

The night before I opened the mountain pass for the king, after he told me what I’d have to do, I nearly went crazy with lust. I “accidentally” set fire to my tent so the camp would be in a temporary uproar, and during the chaos I fucked two of my guards behind the cooking tent. One of them actually lasted long enough for me to come on his dick.

And now I have my ass in the air, and I’m nearly begging one of the king’s sailors to put his cock inside me. At least when I worked in my uncle’s distillery, I didn’t have to beg. There was always a man eager to slip his dick between my folds.

Just as I’m about to give up, and straighten, and try to reclaim a little dignity, Kylar says, “Fuck it,” and I hear the buttons of his pants being ripped from their holes.

Thank the gods.

“I don’t do gentle,” he warns me.

“Thank the gods,” I repeat, aloud this time.

He reaches through the bars, places a broad hand on my spine. “Hold still.”

Then his blunt cock head is nosing into me, and his length follows, huge and thick.

He’s enormous. Biggest cock I’ve had, I think.

“You like cock, Highwitch?” he asks hoarsely.

“Yes,” I groan. “I love cock. I love your cock.”

“You like my fat cock stretching out your hole, witch,” he gasps, pulling back and slamming into me hard. I brace my palms against the floor, nearly crying with the bliss of being finally, thoroughly filled.

“Fuck,” he says, thrusting again, “you feel so good. Better than any woman I’ve had. Godsfucking shit.”

My hair tugs suddenly; he’s grasping it, using it for leverage as he rams his cock into me, hard, hard, hard.

Yes, yes—this is what I need.

I lift one hand from the floor and massage my needy clit. I’ve been on the edge for so long that the pleasure crests almost immediately, and when Kylar pumps through me again, I shatter. I scream, faintly, because I don’t want the pirates to hear—tears leak from my eyes as Kylar keeps thrusting. He groans raggedly and jets hot cum through my belly. It feels so good, so good—so damn good.

He lets go of my hair. Rams himself balls-deep into me one more time. “Fuck.” He strokes my ass with a shaking hand. “Damn, you’re incredible. If I hadn’t already promised to set your magic free, I’d swear it again. Wish I knew how. Gods.”

My mind is pleasantly dazed, swirling with the aftereffects of my orgasm. I never want him to pull out of me.

“If you could find a harlequin witch with an intrinsic connection to earth and fire, maybe,” I murmur. “Someone like that might be able to melt the metal and unravel the magic at the same time, without killing me, or at least weaken it long enough to reassign control to someone else. But harlequin witches are rare, and dual elemental connections are even rarer.”

“Oh, believe me, I know.” Kylar slides his cock out of me. His voice is darkly triumphant. “We’ve been looking for just the right harlequin witch for a long, long time. A harlequin witch of the Escovar line, with an intrinsic connection to water and earth. And now we know how to get control over you.” He smacks my dripping sex, and I gasp. “Thank you, Quressa. This was easier than I expected. You’d make a terrible spy. I, on the other hand…”

I straighten, letting the tunic fall into place, staring at Kylar while a terrible understanding wakens in my heart. He gives me a savage, unrepentant grin as he tucks his cock away and buttons his pants.

He reaches outside his cell door, unlatches it, and swings it open. Then he takes a lock and key from a cabinet bolted to the wall. Hooking the lock around the latch of my cell door, he clicks it into place.

Then he leans close to the bars. “Thanks for the use of your cunt. Just so you know, you’re not just a whore to me.” He pauses. “You’re also a fool.”

With a grin, he tosses the key, catches it, and strides away. Free.

Because he’s one of them.

He’s a pirate.

He must have infiltrated the crew of the royal galleon somehow. He sabotaged the cannons so the galleon couldn’t fire back at the pirate ship. Then he tried to sneak me off the galleon and take me to his dastardly crew. But then he got shot—and I, like a fool, saved him, and rowed us both into the waiting trap.

These pirates want me, specifically. They want control over my powers. Like I told Kylar, I’ve only exchanged one cage for another.

I will never be free.

4

The look of betrayal on the little witch’s tearstained face clings to my mind as I stride down the corridor.

I pocket the key and lean against the wall by the stairs that lead above-decks.

The hand I smacked her pussy with is shaking, and I hate it. I hate that she got to me.

There was a desperation in the way she asked to be fucked. Her pussy lips were so swollen and shining—I couldn’t not plunge my cock inside her. And then—it was like her body drew me in, welcomed me. An odd ridge inside her rolled along my shaft, stimulating every nerve until I could barely hold off my climax for more than a handful of seconds.

She cried when I made her come. Sounded so relieved, so grateful—and then she gave me the information I was supposed to get. Like a reward. No—more like she decided to fully trust me.

I usually love turning the tables on my marks. Every time, it’s like a taste of revenge for the one great betrayal of my life.

I enjoyed this. Yes. I liked it. I liked fucking the witch and then watching her face as she fell apart inside.

Angrily I thrust my shaking hand into my pocket and grip the key to her cell, crushing its shape into the meat of my palm.

I climb the stairs to the main deck.

My crew waits for me in the clear light of late morning. A beautiful day at sea—a cloudless sky, a swift breeze that bellies the sails.

On this kind of day, it’s easy to forget what we really are.

“Well?” Varrow’s gray eyes meet mine. Demanding answers.

“We have to find a harlequin witch with earth and fire powers,” I say. “Someone like that can weaken the collar enough to reassign control of the witch to another person. And yes—our girl’s an Escovar witch—probably the last of her line. Harlequin powers, water and earth. She’s the one we need.”

“And how did you get all this helpful information?” asks Iro. When I meet the healer’s eyes, I see that he already suspects the truth.

“I fucked it out of her,” I say carelessly.

Jim whistles, and Gabel gives my shoulder a congratulatory punch. But Theo turns an angry beet-red under his blond beard.

“Shit,” says Iro, shaking his head and turning away.

Varrow walks up to me, and I tense. His tattooed fingers stroke my throat. “Did you rape her, Kylar?”

“You know I wouldn’t. That’s not something we do.”

“Just checking.” His hand slides up, grasping my throat just beneath my jaw. “Sometimes you don’t follow the rules, love.”

“You’re never going to let me live that down,” I growl.

“No. Because your failure to follow rules got us into this mess.” He gives my cheek a gentle smack and starts to walk away.

But I’ve held the words in for too long, and I can’t stop them from escaping me now. “You got us into this mess.”

Jim freezes with a cigarette halfway to his lips. Gabel and Theo tense, and Iro says softly, “He didn’t mean it, Captain.”

Before I can draw a breath, Varrow spins and sets the muzzle of a pistol to my forehead. “The fuck he didn’t.”

“We’re all under pressure here,” Iro says, hands outstretched in placation. “Let’s take a step back—”

But I cut him off, looking Varrow straight in the eyes. “Is that what you want?” I say, low. “You want my brains splattered on the deck?”

“Take it back,” he hisses.

“I won’t. Because it’s true. You did this to us.”

“We all did this to ourselves,” Gabel interrupts, moving in on Varrow’s left. His dark face is tense with worry. “None of us are innocent. Captain, don’t hurt him. We’ve lost so many already.”

He’s right. This ship used to have a full crew. The six of us have survived by forming a sexual and emotional bond that keeps us anchored in the physical plane. To put it bluntly—we love each other hard, and we fuck each other hard, so we’ve been able to hold off the inevitable result of our curse.

But we’re running out of time.

Varrow’s head is tilted, his nostrils flared, his teeth bared. His temper is as fiery as his hair, but he’s a good man. A good captain. He’s under more stress than all of us.

And I made it worse. I always make things worse.

I reach up, push the muzzle of the gun aside, and walk toward him. He’s my height—maybe a couple fingers shorter, though he’d never admit it. I place a hand on his shoulder.

“Do you think Ymarra could do it?” I ask quietly. “She’s a harlequin witch, with earth and fire connections.”

His chest heaves, and he holsters the gun. “She could. The question is, will she?”

“We’ll convince her.”

He grabs the nape of my neck, a furious grip. Drags me against him. “You bastard,” he breathes into my mouth. “Don’t ever lay the blame of the curse on me again.”

“I won’t, I swear.”

He kisses me hard. I throw one arm around him, crushing his body to mine. His teeth tear at my lips, his tongue thrusts unmercifully into my mouth. He’s loving and punishing me at once. But though he’s the Captain of the ship, in the torment of sex and survival we are all equals. I bite him back until I taste his blood.

We don’t bother staggering into his cabin. There are only the six of us out here, in the open ocean, and we’ve all seen each other’s bodies countless times. So when Varrow and I begin tearing off each other’s clothes, the others only grin and return to their duties—except for Jim, who still has a teenager’s unlimited sex drive. He takes his dick out of his pants and begins to stroke it, watching as I rub my cock against Varrow’s while we kiss wildly, furiously.

I’m not very hard, since I just took the witch’s pussy, so I let Varrow shove me down onto the deck. Once I’m braced on all fours, he takes a dollop of lube from the tin he carries, pries apart my ass cheeks, and smears the gel around and inside my asshole before shoving himself into me.

“Well done, Ky,” he says hoarsely. “You got what we needed. And in record time, too.”

“She wanted a friend.” My voice jerks with each of his fierce thrusts. “And she wanted to be fucked. The way she feels inside, Varrow—I’ve never had a woman like her.”

“I haven’t ever had a woman at all,” Jim pouts around his cigarette. “Just you fuckers.”

“Come here, kid.” I nod to him. “Put your dick in my mouth.”

“Gabel gives better head. But all right.” He approaches and pushes his cock between my lips with a sigh of contentment.

I groan around Jim’s length as Varrow grinds against the tender spot in my channel. The stimulation is nearly unbearable, and I’m soon rock-hard again.

Jim pumps into my mouth while he smokes, the fragrant scent mingling with the sea air. I can feel Varrow’s rising joy in the power of his thrusts—he’s forgetting what I said to him, refocusing on the triumph we’ve achieved.

I open my throat and take Jim to the hilt, while Varrow yells out and his hot cum flows into my ass. My own cock jumps, racing with dazzling pleasure and sprinkling the deck with my release. Jim gasps and tenses. His cum pools on my tongue.

We have the witch. She has the magic we need. And we know how to access it.

When Jim pulls out, I swallow his cum, and it tastes like freedom.

5

I’ve spent my tears, and I’m sitting calmly on my cot when Theo comes to me with food.

I nearly leap up and throw myself against the bars in my eagerness. I’m fucking starving. Haven’t eaten in—I don’t even know how many hours it’s been.

Theo unlocks the door and comes in with the wooden tray. Stew, biscuits clumsily spread with preserves, a cup of water, and—gods, are those fishbones and gullfeathers, stuck into an empty spice jar? It looks like Theo was trying to make a tiny bouquet, without access to any real flowers.

I want to cry again.

“Got the key from that fucker Kylar,” Theo mumbles.

So he knows what happened between me and Kylar. They all know.

Shame surges inside me—not for having sex with Kylar, but for spilling my secrets. For being fooled—by a man. If there’s anything I hate in the world, it’s feeling like a complete idiot.

“I’ll get him back for it,” I say without thinking—and then I realize that I mean it. I will get him back, somehow, if it takes every last ounce of my effort and mental power. I will have revenge on Kylar.

Theo crosses his massive arms and watches me eat.

“What’s your story?” I ask, chewing on a biscuit. “You obviously want my magic for something. What is it? Disabling ships so you can take their cargo?”

“No.”

“Oh.” I frown. That was really the only guess I had. “What then?”

“Can’t tell you.”

I shrug and continue eating until every morsel of food is gone. I’m drinking water when the ebony god from last night approaches my cell door.

“Captain needs us on deck, Theo,” he says. “Got to change course and head for Ymarra.”

“Ymarra?” I ask. “What’s that?”

“Not what. Who.” Theo takes my tray and hands it to Gabel. Then he lifts me in his great hands and lays me out on the cot, drawing the blanket over me with a studious frown. “Rest,” he growls. His face dips nearer to my hair, and he inhales deeply. “Hm.”

“I probably need a bath,” I whisper. “I’m sure I smell terrible.”

“You smell good.” He straightens and stalks out of the cell, taking the tray from Gabel and handing him the key. “I’ll carry this to the galley. You lock up.”

I’m sorry to see the gold-bearded giant go. He makes me feel strangely safe.

Gabel doesn’t close my cell door right away. He’s staring at me, his gold-studded brows raised. “By the powers, you must have another kind of magic. I’ve never seen Theo act like this with anyone.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean he’s a stone-cold killer with more blood on his hands than any man aboard this ship. But you’ve done a work on him, lass. Bottles and bilge—I don’t know what he and Iro see in you. Far’s I can tell, you’ve got the same parts as any female. Nothing worth shouting from the crow’s nest.” He smirks, a flash of white teeth.

My gaze drops to the long, black fingers playing along a series of belts around his waist and hips. The belts bear an interesting collection of accessories—loops of chain, small mechanical devices, tiny boxes crafted of metal, wooden cubes made of interlocking pieces, clockwork insects, and buckles featuring complicated sets of miniscule gears.

The nervous play of his fingers over those items belies his casual smirk. He’s touching each one absently, as if he’s checking to ensure that they’re all still in place.

I’ve encountered people with anxious habits before. One of the king’s chambermaids has to repeat tasks multiple times and triple-check everything in the suite before she can move on to other work. The habit enables her to meet the king’s exacting standards, but it seems to distress her as well. I’ve often wished I could help her somehow.

This pirate has a different type of habit, but I suspected its root is similar—anxiety, and an inner restlessness. Something is wrong aboard this pirate ship, and it affects him deeply, every day.

“Those are beautiful.” I nod to the puzzles and mechanical objects. “Did you make them?”

His eyes light up with pleasure. “Yes.” He unhooks a small clockwork beetle and holds it out on his palm. “Press the right eye.”

I push the round eye of the beetle with my fingertip, then jump back as it whirs to life. Its wings lift and open, and its tiny jointed legs move jerkily as it walks across his palm.

“Oh my gods.” I lean over his hand. “You’re a genius.”

“You’d be the only one who thinks so.”

I look up into his dark eyes framed with thick, inky lashes. The perfect symmetry of his face is almost more beauty than I can handle. “Why are all of you pirates so pretty?”

A rich laugh rolls from him. “Good luck, I suppose.”

“My luck,” I say softly. Because it occurs to me that the pirates have all the information they need from me now. Any fucking they do with me will be for pleasure alone, not to steal my secrets. And suppose I take revenge on Kylar by fucking everyone else on the ship, over and over, and not touching him again—not once, not even when he begs for it. I want to see him beg.

“I think you’re beautiful,” I murmur to Gabel. “And I think you’re the smartest man on this ship. In my kingdom, this kind of genius is lauded—and rewarded by enslavement to the king, who thinks he must own and control all good things. But we must take the praise with the penance, mustn’t we?” I give him a sly half-smile.

He laughs again. “You’re not far off the mark, lass. I joined this crew to escape being used for my mechanical skills—crafting things I don’t want to make, for people who are never satisfied. That’s not my idea of a life. Here at sea, I have some tools and supplies, so I make what I want. I improve the ship. Varrow lets me live as I like. He and the others don’t mind my oddities. I contribute. And I can take all of Theo’s cock without gagging.”

He says the last bit proudly, and I try to stifle my shock. I don’t succeed entirely.

“You—you take Theo’s cock?”

“I’m the best aboard when it comes to giving head. And I can do wonders on a woman, too.” He winks at me.

My heart is racing with excitement. “So you—all of you—you—”

“We fuck each other.”

“Oh gods.” My knees weaken and I clutch the cell door.

Frowning, Gabel closes up the clockwork beetle and hooks it back onto his belt. “I suppose it’s shockingly immoral to some. But we find comfort in it. There’s a love between us, you see—not just cock.”

“No, I—I don’t care about the immorality of it,” I gasp.

Inwardly I’m thrilled—and jealous. I have always wanted to be part of something like this—to abandon myself to pleasure. To enjoy free sex in a group of loving partners. The closest I ever got was being the available pussy at my uncle’s distillery.

“I’m going to lock you in now, lass.” Gabel sounds a little disappointed about it.

I catch his sleeve. “Could I trouble you for some water to wash up? Or maybe a bath? Iro said he’s obsessed with cleanliness—surely there’s a tub somewhere aboard.”

A strange, secretive, hungry look passes over Gabel’s face. “There is.”

“Might I use it?”

“I’ll ask the captain.” He pushes me back into the cell, firmly but not roughly. After locking the door, he leaves.

Why did he have that reaction about my bath request?

I suppose I’ll find out soon enough.

6

When Theo comes to the galley, he hands off the Highwitch’s tray and dishes to me. I roll my eyes at him. “Now I have to wash the little shit’s dishes as well as cleaning up after you fuckers?”

Theo steps behind me and grabs the back of my neck, forcing me to bend low over the soapy dishwater. My bottom bumps against the front of his pants. The feel of his massive hand grasping my nape sends a tingle to my cock, even though I just came in Kylar’s mouth less than an hour ago.

“You gonna fuck me right here, Theo?” I rasp around the cigarette clenched in my teeth.

Theo’s other hand rubs over my ass, taking a generous feel. “Not now. I’m saving my spunk.”

“For the witch?” A flicker of jealousy chases through my heart.

“She said I could fuck her while she’s sleeping. I plan to do it.”

“Can I watch?”

He grips my nape harder and grinds his growing erection against my rear. “If you get your chores done, you scalawag. I’ve got to help on deck.”

“Fuck you,” I say as he leaves.

I drop the witch’s empty dish into the water, staring at the break it makes in the film of suds.

How did I get here? Here, in this galley, washing the greasy bowl of the woman who will save and ruin me?

After a long pull, I lay my cigarette aside and keep scrubbing.

The others seem hopeful. Captain Varrow wore such a vivid, triumphant look when he was fucking Kylar’s ass on deck in the morning sunlight—like nothing in the world can stop us from breaking the curse now.

It broke my heart.

Once the curse ends—if it ends—our crew will divide and part ways. I’ve tried to make myself useful, desirable, indispensable—but who am I kidding? I’m more disposable than anyone else. Youngest, weakest, newest. They treat me like I’m still the seventeen-year-old stowaway who begged to be cabin boy to get away from—

I snatch my cigarette with soapy fingers and inhale. Warmth, spreading through my lungs, calming me.

Smoking is like fucking. Takes my mind off things.

Before I came aboard this ship, I was ready to die. I’d planned it. Almost tried it once.

When Captain Varrow agreed to make me cabin boy instead of chum for the sharks, I was almost disappointed.

But after a while, I decided I liked it aboard the Emberwatch.

Whenever I find something good, it goes sour. That’s a curse I’ll never be able to shake. And once I decided I liked the ship and the crew, then came the one wrong heist, the one bad job that left us all cursed.

Which means I have to hope the witch can help us, because if she can’t, we’ll all be gone soon. Nonexistent.

And if she does help us, the curse will break, and none of these men will have a reason to stay with me. They’ll be free to go on land again, to take pleasure elsewhere, or to leave the sea behind entirely. My lovers, my brothers-before-the-mast—they’ll be gone.

And I’ll end my life. Because I can’t start over again. I can’t.

I spin away from the wash-bucket and lunge into the corridor, heading for the brig with quick steps.

Maybe I can’t stop the curse, or prevent us from needing the witch. But I can warn her to stay away from my lovers. I can scare her.

When I skid to a furious stop in front of her cell, she’s lying on her back, staring at the ceiling. She turns her head to look at me, and my heart seizes up.

Neatly arched brows. Lashes that droop in a sultry fringe over her large, deep-blue eyes. A waterfall of dark brown hair. A neat nose, and lips plumper and fuller than those of any man aboard ship, including Gabel.

Those lips were made for sliding along cock.

My pulse increases, fury coiling in my belly.

The Highwitch sits up, narrowing her beautiful eyes slightly. The gorgeously crafted collar around her neck looks out of place with the enormous tunic she’s wearing—Theo’s tunic, if I had to guess. I hate her for wearing his clothes.

Seething, I grip the bars of her cell, unable to speak.

“Aren’t you pretty?” murmurs the witch.

“Don’t even try it,” I snarl. “I take cock, not pussy.”

“Something we have in common already.” She’s slinking closer.

That’s it, little witch. Come on.

“I like your tattoo,” she says. “Does it go all the way down?”

“The tip of the tail ends at my cock slit, if that’s what you’re asking.” She’s almost within my reach.

“I’m Quressa. What’s your name?”

“Jim. Cabin boy.”

“Jim, cabin boy, why do you look as if you hate my guts?” She slips elegant, tapered fingers between the bars, reaching for my chest.

My hand shoots out and wraps around her neck. I clutch her just under the jaw, grinning as her eyes widen and her lips pop open. “You’re right. I hate you.”

With the force of my grip on her neck, I jerk the Highwitch against the bars. Her skull smacks into them with a hollow, ringing sound. Music to my ears.

“Stop seducing my men,” I hiss into her face. She looks frightened now. I love it.

My fingers tighten, compressing her airway.

She reaches for me, and at first I’m sure she’s going to try to claw my eyes out—but her palm strokes my cheek instead, and her finger runs along my jawbone.

Snarling, I thrust her backward and then yank her against the bars once more. Her forehead strikes them, and she whimpers a little.

“Quit playing the slut, or I’ll disengage your guts from your belly cavity and trail them out your porthole window for the sharks and creepers to chew on,” I tell her. “The others might seem soft, but Varrow and I are not. You won’t touch him, or Kylar, or any of them. I’ll let Theo fuck you once you’re asleep, but only while I’m watching, and I’ll be the one kissing him and licking his cock clean after he plows your slit.”

I release my hold, and she staggers back, her throat and forehead bruised from my fingers and the bars.

“You love them,” the Highwitch says. “I think that’s beautiful.”

“Don’t think about us at all,” I snap.

“Difficult not to, when I’m your captive.” She gives me a faint smile.

She’s smiling at me?

“You addle-pated bitch. You got ears full of seaweed? I’m threatening you.”

“Oh, I understand, trust me,” she says. “You’ve got a good thing here, with them. Lots of sex, and they make you feel safe. Loved. Accepted. Distracted from the—from the shadow.”

Breath hitches in my lungs. “What did you say?”

“The shadow. The shadow of everything—of reality, of death—I suppose it’s strange to think about death when you’re young, but I do.” She sits down on her cot, gingerly touching the long column of her delicate throat. “I watched my aunt die, you know. Slowly. Day after day, night after night of rattling breaths so shallow, so far apart I thought for sure she was gone. I was a child, but her husband couldn’t be bothered to sit with her, so it was all me. I dragged the soiled clothes out from under her hips and replaced them. I rinsed out her shit and piss, heated water to launder the cloths, hung them to dry, brought them back inside to exchange for more soiled cloths. I bathed her lips with water. I held a bucket when she couldn’t keep down anything, not even broth. I watched her shrivel into a papery husk of herself.”

I’m clinging to the bars—not rage this time, just holding myself up.

How did she know?

Her enormous eyes meet mine. “Who did you lose?”

I stumble back, dragging heavy breaths through my reluctant lungs. “Stop it. Stop reading my mind.”

“I’m not.” She touches her collar. “I can’t perform any magic with this on. And even if it was off, I couldn’t mind-read without supplies and incantations—and your cooperation.”

She moves toward me again. “No, Jim the cabin boy, I’m not reading your mind. I’m reading your face, your eyes.”

“Demon,” I gasp. “Monster.”

She quirks a delicate eyebrow. “Monster? I’ve had worse names. ‘Addle-pated bitch’ is going to be a new favorite of mine. Now are you going to keep hurting me, Jim, or are we going to be friends? Of course, friends can hurt each other, I suppose.”

“They always do,” I reply.

“You’re right. So let’s be enemies then. Dreadful enemies who can’t stand each other at all.”

How did I let her get so close again? I can smell her—sweat and grime, and the sweetness of fruit preserves on her breath.

“You stink,” I growl.

“So do you.”

“I’ve been sweating in the galley,” I hiss, my face hovering near hers. “Who do you think made the food you ate?”

“I’m surprised you didn’t poison it.”

“I would have, if I’d known which portion you were getting.”

She’s breathing my air now. “But you can’t poison me or kill me, can you? Because you all need me for something.”

“We don’t need the leaking gash between your legs,” I spit. “Got plenty of eager holes on this ship. No sloppy woman is going to worm her way into—”

Her mouth brushes against mine, barely there and gone again. Silky skin. Swollen flesh.

I lean in and bite her lower lip.

It’s full and damp. The plump flesh feels so good between my teeth. I grind deeper, until a salty bead of blood bursts over my tongue.

The Highwitch is gasping, mouth parted as I loosen my teeth and suckle the blood from her lip. I reach through the bars, slam my arm across her back, and crush her against the front of her cell. Her breasts bulge against the bars. With my other hand I find her erect nipple through the fabric of her tunic, and I pinch it hard.

I’ve never been with a woman, but I’ve had sex more times than I can count. The principles must be the same for all genders.

My head and body are roaring hot. I can’t remember why I came down here, except to hurt her, to hurt her—

“Jim,” she gasps, and I twist her nipple harder. She yelps, a burst of breath in my parted mouth, and I lunge for her, slamming my lips over hers. I’m biting, gnawing, jaws wide, tongue whipping through her mouth. Her tongue flashes hot over mine, snaking between my teeth. I clamp my hand over the back of her skull and grind our lips together—blood and bruises, spit and sharp canines, heat and metal bars and god I want her hands on me—

With a roar I throw her backward so hard she falls to the floor, against the cot.

“Fuck you!” I scream. “Don’t fucking touch me!”

And I storm away from her cell, up the corridor.

Damn me. Damn, damn damn it.

7

Jim the cabin boy is a bloody, bruising whirlwind of pain and passion. He’s glorious and deadly. I’ve never met anyone like him. And he’s not so pristine as Iro—though his hands were clean, the rest of his skin was lightly grimed with dirt and sweat. I loved the cutting edge of his jaw. I loved his lean arms, surprisingly strong with compulsive rage. I loved the flat slab of his lower belly, where a trail of dark hair and the sinuous coils of the serpent tattoo disappeared into his pants.

If he took me, it would be the most brutal fucking I’ve had. I crave that with every cell in my body, more than I crave waking up to find myself full of Theo’s cum.

I want both of them, in those ways and more.

Footsteps approach, and I tense, my body thrilling with panic and excitement. Is Jim coming back?

But it’s the Captain.

Varrow, they called him.

The early afternoon light from the porthole cuts across him, highlighting the expanse of his bronzed chest, limning his scarlet braid with threads of gold, glittering on the many hoops along his ears. He’s got strips of cloth and leather wrapped around one forearm, while the other bears several thin bracelets. Heavy silver rings partly cover the skeleton tattoos on his fingers, and a tri-cornered hat with a scarlet plume sits atop his head. He’s wearing big boots and dark pants, with a scarlet sash and three belts around his middle. His scabbard is empty, but the holster at his hip carries a pistol.

He's the most magnificent sight I’ve seen since I came aboard.

Theo is golden and burly, Iro is elegant and lovely, Gabel is clever and beautiful, and Jim is painfully pretty. Kylar—he’s an asshole with a face you can’t forget, damn him.

But Captain Varrow—he is savagely handsome. Like a fox, if foxes sailed the sea and wore copious amounts of jewelry.

“I hear you want a bath,” he says. “We have rules about baths on this ship. Takes time and effort to heat the water and fill the tub. So if one of us needs cleaning, we share the water. Two at a time.”

“I’ll share with Jim,” I say quickly.

“Did I say you’d get to choose your partner? I—” He stops, peering harder at me. “Come here, witch.”

Cautiously I approach the bars, and he points to my forehead and my neck. “Why didn’t Iro heal those bruises for you?”

“They’re recent,” I mutter.

“One of my men did this to you?” His eyes narrow. “Which one?”

“Why do you care? You captured me, and you’re going to try to control my magic. Which means I’ll be your slave.”

“Figure all that out yourself, did you?” He vents a huff of frustration. “I like my possessions to be in good working order, savvy? So tell me, witch—who hurt you?”

I could tell him the truth—that it was Jim. But it strikes me that here is my first opportunity for revenge.

I let my lashes droop and my lips wobble. “Kylar did it.”

“Shit,” growls the captain. “He’s a fucking liar. So he beat you, eh? Did he force you as well?”

“No,” I say mildly, blinking up at him with my most innocent expression. “I asked to be fucked.”

Captain Varrow’s jaw tightens. “Why?”

“Because I like sex.” I pinch my lips together and then let them roll out, plump and damp. “The king wouldn’t let me have sex. I had to take my pleasure quickly and quietly wherever I could. That’s what I’m used to. It’s what I do.” My tongue traces my lower lip. “Isn’t that what you and the boys do, here aboard ship, where there’s no one to see?”

“That’s different,” he says hoarsely. “The men and I know each other. We’re shipmates, brothers before the mast. Bound by a mutual need, a strong affection, and a terrible cur—”

He stops, but I latch onto the last word.

“A curse?” I say eagerly. “That’s why you need me? You need specific magic to break a curse? A harlequin witch of the Escovar line, with an intrinsic connection to water and earth. That’s what Kylar said.”

“Kylar should keep his damn mouth shut.” Captain Varrow takes a key from his pocket—a different one than the other pirates have used for my cell, but it works all the same. A master key, perhaps?

He reaches in and grabs my upper arm. “Come along, witch. You and I are going to have words with Kylar.”

I haven’t been on deck since Kylar and I were plucked from the ocean. The bright rush of sea air floods my whole body, and the heat of the sun relaxes my muscles.

The wind also picks up the hem of my tunic. I’m fairly sure the five pirates facing me are getting flashes of thigh and glimpses of my pussy—their eyes keep darting down there. I don’t mind in the least.

Captain Varrow stands just behind me, to my right, with his hand on my shoulder.

“I went to check on the prisoner,” he says, “and discovered this.” With two fingers he tips my chin up, exposing my bruised throat to the sunlight. Then he touches my forehead as well. “Need I remind you of the importance of this woman? Does anyone wish to confess to harming her?”

He waits a scant handful of seconds. Jim lounges against the mast, smoke curling from his lips. He taps ash from the end of the papery stick he holds.

Iro steps forward, a look of gentle concern on his face, but Gabel presses a restraining hand on his arm. Kylar stares straight ahead.

Under his shaggy golden hair, Theo’s face is a violent red. “I’ll kill the man what’s done it,” he growls.

“You’ll not kill him, Theo,” says the Captain. “But he will be punished. Bound naked and whipped.”

My stomach flips.

The cigarette falls from Jim’s hand. He crushes it with his boot.

“Kylar,” says Captain Varrow. “It appears you were not truthful with your account of what happened between you and the little witch. She says you fucked her at her pleasure, but that you committed this violence against her. These bruises on her throat and forehead. What say you to that?”

Kylar glares at me, shock and hatred blazing in his dark eyes. “I say it’s a bottle of bilge. An outright lie, and you’d be a fool to believe a slippery bitch who isn’t even one of our crew.”

I hold his gaze, and I don’t look at Jim, though I desperately want to. I wonder what Jim thinks of my decision to protect him and punish Kylar.

“It’s not the first time you’ve lied to me or skirted ’round the rules,” says the Captain. He walks up to Kylar, chest to chest. “I forgave you and fucked you. Yet here you stand, lying to my face. Who else would have had the chance to damage the girl?”

“She’s lying because I tricked her,” snarls Kylar, but either the Captain doesn’t believe him, or he thinks the rangy pirate deserves punishment either way. He waves to the four others, and they seize ropes and approach him. Within a few minutes, they’ve dragged his boots and pants off, exposing his big naked body—limp cock, large swaying balls, a light coating of dark hair down his chest. Kylar struggles a little, but I suppose he realizes the odds are against him.

His fellow pirates coil ropes around his wrists and ankles, tying him spread-eagled between two upright posts on the deck. I didn’t notice those posts until now, but they look well-worn, and intended for this very purpose—the restraint of a human body and extension of limbs to allow full view and access to everything, back and front.

I have never seen a naked man tied up like this. Warm tingles keep rippling between the lips of my sex, spiraling up into my belly. When I shift my thighs, they slide easily. Wetly.

“Jim, fetch the flogger from my cabin.” Captain Varrow strides forward to check the ropes, while Kylar hangs from them, seething. Gabel appears at my elbow and murmurs, “This is how we keep everyone civil aboard ship. We wrestle and punch, bite and bleed, but if someone goes too far, it’s the whipping posts for them. Usually the party as suffered the slight gets to deal the punishment.”

“Wait, does that mean—” But before I can finish the sentence, Jim comes to my other side.

“Here’s the flogger, witch,” he says, low.

I take it from him. A handle the size of a good cock, wrapped in black leather, with nine pliant strips dangling from it. I run the soft strips over my palm. “I’m to punish Kylar with this?”

“Any way you like,” says Gabel. There’s a hint of suggestion in his tone, a faint glow of hunger in his eyes that indicates how this kind of “punishment” might usually go.

Interesting. I trail the flogger over my hand again as I stalk toward Kylar. My long dark hair blows around me, like a wavy ribboning cloak all its own, and my borrowed tunic lifts again, puffs of sea air cooling my heated clit.

Captain Varrow steps back, but not before I notice the same predatorial gleam in his eyes as well.

“Ten lashes,” he says.

These pirates are the most fiercely sexual men I have ever met. And joy curls warm in my heart as I realize that maybe, just maybe, I’ve finally found lovers who can match my lust.

I step up to Kylar’s big naked body, and I run my fingers through the silky waves of his glossy black hair. He huffs in disgust and turns his face away from me.

“You really shouldn’t have choked me and made my head strike the bars,” I rebuke him, loud enough for the others, including Jim, to hear. “Although I may have enjoyed the choking bit.” I let the thin strips of the flogger glide over his genitals.

Kylar sucks in a breath through his teeth as I tuck the flogger handle under his flaccid cock. “Not so impressive now,” I croon. I let the strips trail up his thigh, and then I strike them against the hard planes of his abdomen, just enough to sting.

He hisses and jerks.

His cock lifts a little.

“Oh,” I breathe, my mouth nearly against his lips. “You liked that, did you, pirate? That was the first lash. Nine more to go.”

I walk around him, brushing the flogger across his skin, until I reach his back. Such a broad, rippling, beautiful back, with a muscular rounded ass to match.

“Two.” I strike his left ass cheek. “Three. Four, five.” Right, left, and right again.

Both ass cheeks are pink now. Beautiful. And he’s breathing hard, from mingled pain and arousal. A quick peek at his front shows me he’s erect, his cock yearning outward.

“She is far too good at this,” Gabel mutters to Iro.

When I glance at Jim, the front of his pants is distended. He’s hard too. But he stands with legs braced, arms folded, resisting the temptation to touch himself.

I set the top of the flogger handle between Kylar’s enormous shoulder blades and draw it down his spine until I reach the groove between his buttocks. Then I nestle it into the crack, just a little.

Kylar’s arms are bars of rigid sinew, his muscles straining. But he doesn’t complain, or ask me to stop.

I lift the flogger and strike his back. “Six.”

Then I reach under, between his spread legs, and touch the end of the handle to the delicate skin between his ball sack and his anus. I nudge the area, rubbing as I apply pressure. I’ve heard it’s an erogenous spot for some men.

Kylar’s body trembles.

A quick, light whip to his balls. “Seven.”

A groan breaks from Kylar. When I circle him again, I nearly come from the mere sight of his muscled body gleaming in the sun and his proud cock jutting out, bobbing in midair. There’s a string of precum hanging from its tip. The liquid catches the sunlight, sparkling.

“Gods,” whispers Iro. He’s rubbing himself through his white pants.

“May I add something to the punishment, Captain?” I ask. “A request that no one be permitted to slake this man’s lust for the remainder of the day? Until midnight, perhaps?”

Kylar groans again.

“We’ve meted out similar punishments before,” Captain Varrow says thickly. “Agreed.” His pants are lumpy as well, and under Theo’s trousers there’s a massive bar of flesh—biggest cock on the ship, according to Gabel.

I nod to the Captain, thanking him. Three lashes left.

Reaching under the hem of my tunic, conscious of every pirate’s eyes on me, I dip two fingers inside myself and bring them out glossy and wet. Then I wave those two fingers under Kylar’s nose, near his lips. He inhales deeply, raggedly, as if he can’t help himself. His eyes are glassy with lust, but rage burns behind them, too. I might have my revenge now, but I suspect his retaliation will be even greater.

Is it strange that I look forward to it?

His nipples are swollen and peaked. A whisk of the flogger over the left one—smack. Then the right one. Another moan cracks from his lips.

“One lash left,” I tell him softly.

I wonder if Jim is wishing I’d “punished” him instead, after all.

I draw back the flogger and whip Kylar’s cock. “Ten.”

The lash is hard enough to hurt, but not so hard as to be truly cruel. Still, he roars like a man possessed, every muscle bulging as he jerks against the ropes. The slit of his cock leaks more precum. His length is rosy, rock-hard, a vein prominent along the side. His balls must be so full right now.

“F-u-c-k—” a shuddering gasp from Iro, and I glance at him in time to see a wet spot widening on the clean white fabric of his pants.

“Enough.” Captain Varrow says in a choked voice, seizing my arm. He rips the flogger away and tosses it to Jim, who drops it immediately. “Come on, witch. Back to your cell. You heard my order, lads—no one helps Kylar come until just before midnight. Understand?”

“Aye, Captain,” they reply, as I’m dragged below.

Varrow is handling me so roughly that I say, “If you bruise my arm, do I get to flog you too?”

The Captain seizes me and shoves me against the wall of the narrow corridor belowdecks. “You think I don’t understand what you’re trying to do? You’re trying to gain leverage with us. Shift the sails, as it were, or change the winds of your fortune. Understand, witch, that we are a family. And you have no place among us except as a purveyor of magic.”

I swallow, turning away from his angry breath, but he clutches my chin with his ringed fingers and forces me to look at him, into his keen gray eyes. “I won’t allow my crew to mistreat you, but I am not a merciful man. I make the rules, which means I have the right to break them, too. I can crush you, use you, whenever I want.”

He must see the interest waking in my eyes, because he says, “I’ve sworn never to love or bed a woman again, and I’ll see the vow through to my grave. But that doesn’t mean I won’t hurt you if you continue wreaking havoc with my family like you did just now. I’ll not deny it was a titillating sight, and Kylar deserved it for one thing or another, but try that again and you’ll have me to answer to. I won’t see my lovers tortured and unsettled.”

“You sound like Jim,” I mutter. And then my heart chills, because I said more than I meant to.

The Captain’s eyes widen. “I sound like Jim? Did he come and speak to you, then? Threatened you, maybe?” He leans nearer, his mouth ghosting against my cheek. “Was he the one who hurt you?”

“N-no,” I whisper. “It was Kylar, as I told you.”

His knuckles grind against my jawbone. “You’d best learn when to tell lies, little witch, and when to give me the truth I want. Or it’ll be a sorry life for you aboard the Emberwatch.”

He pulls me away from the wall, propels me along the corridor, and shoves me into my cell. Then he locks me in and tests the door. “I’m forbidding the crew from visiting you. Except for Iro—I’ll send him to heal your bruises. As for your bath—you’ll be having that tonight. With me.”

I’ve sworn never to love or bed a woman again, and I’ll see that vow through to my grave.

That’s what Captain Varrow said, before he left me in my cell. A strange vow indeed, one with a story behind it, I’m sure.

Iro comes to heal my bruises and deliver the evening meal. When he puts his hands on my neck and forehead for the healing, his touch is heartbreakingly gentle and warm.

“You are a skilled seductress,” he murmurs. “Have you had training in the art?”

“No. Not unless you call sexual service to all the laborers at my uncle’s distillery training.”

His eyebrows lift infinitesimally. “Ah. That’s interesting.”

“And what about you? When we played our little game the first time you healed me, I got the feeling you’d done something similar before.”

“Indeed. To my shame. Well… I should be ashamed, perhaps, but I’m not. I served as healer in a large city once, and I had a habit of seducing nearly all my patients. All that were beyond seventeen years, that is. When the lords of the city found out how many of their wives, sons, and daughters I’d slipped into, they planned to burn me alive. I escaped.”

He strokes the skin of my throat with his thumb. “I’ve also been married three times. But I discovered that faithfulness isn’t my strength. Just one lover all the time is so dreadfully dull. I prefer to have many.”

“So you’re a devil who looks like an angel,” I say, in a scandalized whisper. “You’re as bad as I am.”

Iro cups my chin, looking into my eyes. My breath catches; I’m enchanted by the snowy fall of his hair, the scent of jasmine in his robes, the sleek beauty of his face.

“We pretend that’s all we are, don’t we, you and I?” he murmurs. “Our magic, and our pleasure.”

“That’s all I’ve been allowed to have, or be.” I avert my eyes.

“And they are both worthy parts of you. But you can be more. You can be anything you want.” He shifts backward, and the heavenly scent of him fades a little. “Would you like some books to read? I have a selection in a chest in my cabin. Some salacious tales as well, if that interests you.”

“No, thank you.”

He crooks an eyebrow. “You would rather sit here and be bored?”

“No, I—” I bite my lip, shame heating my face. “I’ve never been taught to read. My parents kept me out of school so no one would know about my magic and tell the king, but they were always too busy to teach me. My aunt tried when I was left with her, but she had no patience for it, and then she became ill and died. When I worked in the distillery, mostly using my elemental powers, there was little need for spell-study.”

“But what about at court? Surely the king…” But Iro trails off as I shake my head.

“When the king took me and found out I could not read the spells in the royal grimoires, he assigned someone to read aloud for me. Didn’t think it was worthwhile providing a tutor, I suppose. So I managed the spells and curses for him by listening and repeating, rather than reading by myself. I know long, beautiful words from hearing others speak and read, but I’ve never been able to spell those words myself. I can’t do mathematics either.”

Iro’s delicate features have tightened. “Doubtless the king thought educating you would give you too much power over your own destiny, perhaps enable you to find a way to circumvent his orders and turn your magic against him.”

“I suppose. Though I never seriously considered running away. Dreamed of it, occasionally. But with this collar, and nowhere to go…” I shrug. “It was easier just to stay where I was comfortable and well-treated. I had a nice suite at the palace.”

Iro and I both look around at the plain cot, the straw-strewn floor, the washbowl, and the slop bucket. He grimaces at the tunic I’m wearing.

“I’ll speak to the Captain about improving your surroundings,” he says. “You are a prisoner, but an important one. You deserve some comfort. And I will ask him if I can teach you, if you like.”

I lean into the press of his hand against my cheek. A strange warmth flows through my heart—not sexual—something else. Something tender, born from his gentleness with me. Maybe I don’t always like men to be rough, after all.

“Aren’t you afraid teaching me will give me too much power?” I ask.

Iro presses his soft lips to my forehead. “A woman empowered is a beautiful thing. One to be worshiped, not feared.”

When he leaves, I sink down onto the cot. Something has reawakened inside me—a desire I felt at the palace, one I crushed down because I knew it couldn’t be sated.

The desire for knowledge.

I’m through with my dinner, and I’m lying on the cot, staring at the whorls and knots in the wooden beams overhead, when Captain Varrow unlocks my cell door.

He doesn’t speak, and I follow him wordlessly along the corridor, past the steps and into a part of the ship I’ve not yet seen. I catch glimpses of the crew’s quarters—cabins with four bunks each, with cabinets and drawers built between them.

Jim is sitting on one of the bunks. He looks up as we pass. I blow him a kiss, and he gives me his middle finger. Such gratitude, after I spared him punishment for hurting me.

I smirk, because I rather like his resistance. It will make my eventual conquest so much more meaningful.

We cut through the galley—a tidy enough place, with a big oven and stove surrounded by a sand trough in case of sparks or embers. There’s an enormous wooden table, too—long and broad enough to hold a prone Kylar or Theo with room to spare.

At one end of the galley, just past the oven, is another room. Benches line its sides, and there’s a timepiece bracketed to the wall—like an hourglass, but squarer, with red sand flowing through it. It looks as if it flips on its own once it has filled up. A design of Gabel’s, perhaps.

In the center of the room is a wooden tub, big enough to fit two men comfortably. It’s bolted to the floor. A pipe leads from the galley to the tub, probably for the easy transference of heated water from stovetop to the bath. There’s a set of cupboards, too—one door swings wide with every bob of the ship, revealing folded towels and tins that probably contain soap. A lamp sways and flickers overhead.

Captain Varrow isn’t wearing his sash, boots, or weapons—only a pair of pants, which he shucks off immediately.

Most of his body is deeply bronzed—a man who spends hours in the sun. His thighs, buttocks, and genital area are paler by contrast.

And his cock is pierced. There’s a tiny golden orb right in the groove of his cock head, below the slit. More gold studs march along the underside of his shaft—which is partly erect.

I want him inside me. I’ve only had one pierced cock, and I didn’t get nearly enough time to enjoy the sensation before the palace steward and I heard voices coming and had to separate hastily.

While Captain Varrow unbraids his scarlet hair, I take off my borrowed tunic.

Years ago, around the same time I designed the spell to prevent pregnancy, I cast a hair elimination spell on my body. Both spells were clumsily worded, cobbled together from the limited magical knowledge I’d gleaned from my parents and from the advice of the town apothecary, since I couldn’t do any reading on the subject myself—but those two spells have done the trick for me. They’ve held firm in spite of the collar I wear, for which I’m grateful. Otherwise I’d have to bother with razors and herbal contraceptive tonics. Not that I mind body hair on others—but there’s nothing like the smooth, warm glide of my own bare skin.

The Captain seems to appreciate the unobstructed view of my sex. His jaw tightens, and his length twitches upward, hardening more. My nipples pebble in response.

I lean over the tub, trailing my fingertips through the steaming water, letting my breasts sway full and heavy for him to admire.

“Why will you never love or bed a woman again?” I ask quietly.

“That is not your concern. Get in the bath.”

“It’s too hot.”

“No, it isn’t. Get in, or I’ll put you in.”

I smirk at him.

Sighing, he scoops me up. A brief, heavenly brush of his hard body against mine—the swell of his biceps—and then I’m splashing into the water. I yelp and stand up at once, cupping my tender sex. “Too hot! Are you trying to boil my clit?”

He snorts a laugh and steps in. Wades toward me, his bronze body gilded with lamplight, his hair tucked behind one jewel-studded ear before it flows in crimson ribbons over his left pectoral.

“Your clit is safe from me,” he says.

“Is it?” I murmur. “A pity.” I spread my legs and touch it lightly, with one fingertip.

“Such a little whore,” he breathes.

“You like it.”

“But I won’t yield to it. And that’s the difference between me and the others.” He flashes me a grin. “I have learned to say no to myself.”

It is going to be a joy to break him. But I can sense that mere physical temptation won’t do it. With him, I need to go deeper.

I need to get into his heart.

Sighing, I sink into the water, letting myself vent a few tiny whimpers for his benefit. Men like soft feminine sounds—they like mews and whimpers, whines and pleas. They like shrill panting and keen squeals. And sometimes, they appreciate a good, passionate scream.

Each sound I make, each artful angle of my body, each dip of my lashes and parting of my lips—they’re all arrows aimed at Captain Varrow, sinking into the cracks of his defenses. Eventually his walls must shatter, and I will be inside him. And hopefully he’ll come inside me, too.

“Does anyone besides Iro have magic?” I ask, sinking lower in the hot water. Damn, it feels good.

The Captain hesitates as if he’s debating whether or not to tell me. Apparently he decides there’s nothing bad I can do with the knowledge, and he replies, “Only Gabel. He can put some of his energy and intent into the little mechanical creatures he makes. The effect only lasts a short while, but he enjoys it.”

“He showed me one, but he didn’t explain how it moved.”

“Some of them can move on their own, by virtue of the gears or mechanisms—I’m not exactly sure.” Varrow settles into the bath with a soft groan of relief and closes his eyes. “Science is not my strong suit.”

“What is your strong suit?”

“Leadership. Plans. Carrying the weight of lives.”

“How very dull.”

“Someone must take it on.”

I arch backward, dipping my long hair into the water. “You’re all so interesting. More complex than I thought you’d be.”

“Because pirates are nothing but rough, grubby, ale-swigging simpletons?”

“Because men are nothing but dick-swinging, drink-swilling simpletons, yes.”

His eyes open, and one of his brows hooks even more dramatically than usual. “Such a low opinion you have of us.”

“From experience, I’m afraid. Men are sexually-driven dolts. Get their dicks hard, and they become twice as stupid as usual.”

“You can’t have known many men very well if that’s what you think.”

“I’ve known many men. But perhaps not very well,” I concede. “The six of you, I’d like to know better. Though I wonder if there’s much more beyond what I’ve already learned.”

“And what have you learned?”

I position myself opposite him, arranged so that my breasts peek temptingly above the water’s edge. He keeps his eyes on my face though, which both pleases and irks me.

“I’ve learned that Iro is a suave gentleman, probably of noble birth—well-educated and well-trained in his healing arts. But he’s not suited for marriage. He loves well, but not just one person. He’s happiest with multiple lovers to choose from and to enjoy. He’s compassionate, and sympathizes with those who lack power over their circumstances. He’s a good teacher.”

Captain Varrow stares at me, his eyes hard and features rigid.

I give him my most charming smile. “Ah, you’re angry, which means I’m right. Well, on to Theo—he’s a blunt, forceful man without much empathy. He can kill—and has killed, or so I’m told—without mercy, and without feeling guilt afterward. His loyalty and love belong to very few, and when he gives them, they are bone-deep, unshakable. He avoids certain deeds, not because he has a moral sense of why they’re wrong, but because he has been told he shouldn’t do them to people he cares about. Like fucking a sleeping girl, for example. Apathetic though he may be, he can sometimes show moments of mercy and unexpected softness, especially to those he perceives as weak or helpless.”

Varrow’s expression is unreadable now. He is a glorious scarlet-haired bronze statue in the bath, eyes fixed on me. I squint at him, trying to decipher his reaction, but he only says grimly, “Go on.”

“Gabel is a nervous sort. Very intelligent and innovative, but he suffers from a restless spirit and great volumes of creative energy. He’s loving and family-oriented—a peacemaker. And he’s goddamn beautiful. When he decides to excel at something, he achieves that excellence. He gives the best oral pleasure on this ship, and he can take all of Theo’s cock without gagging. He wants to be appreciated for his talents.”

Varrow’s throat bobs as he swallows. “And Jim?”

“Jim—I don’t have much on him yet. He has suffered something horrible, something that broke him inside, but he has put himself back together with the help of this crew, this family. He’s very protective of all of you. I think if anything happened to you, he would end himself, after killing those responsible. He’s a jagged, sharp, passionate, beautiful soul—a wild thing. Good at cooking, though I’m not sure he enjoys it. He likes to smoke, and he likes being noticed. He craves love and belonging.”

“And Kylar,” says Varrow hoarsely.

“Ah. That rutting bastard. He’s a cheat and a trickster. I’d wager his stint on the royal galleon wasn’t the first time he has taken on another identity. He’s a consummate liar, a moody asshole, and a very satisfying lover. He’s vengeful—he’ll hold a grudge. He likes control, but sometimes it’s a relief to him to be dominated.” I hesitate. “I don’t know much more about him. But he risked his life to help break the curse, and I suspect he did it out of love for you and the crew as much as for himself.”

Varrow rises without warning and reaches into the cupboard, extracting a tin of soft soap. He takes the top off, scoops out some soap for himself, and hands the tin to me. His cock is still half-hard.

When he sinks back into the water, I ask quietly, “So how did I do?”

“It took me a long time to learn those things about my men,” he replies. “And I know more about them than you do. Yet everything you said was true. Disturbingly so.”

“I like to watch people and interpret them.” I shrug. “And for some reason, they like to tell me things. It’s a talent I’ve had since I was very young.”

“A natural gift,” he murmurs.

“I suppose.”

I take a dollop of soap and work it deep into my hair, until my locks are foamy and glistening. Then I pile as much of my hair as I can onto my head and purse my lips primly. “Do I look like a queen?”

Varrow glances at me and half-smiles. I grin back, pleased at drawing such a reaction.

“Wait, I forgot to add my jewels.” I dab bits of sparkly foam along my chest and collarbones. “There. I’m fit for the ball, milord.”

He actually chuckles then, his gray eyes softening and brightening. I venture nearer to him and pat some foam onto his cheeks. “Why sir, you can’t go out in such a state! I do believe you need a shave.” And I splash him full in the face with the hot water.

He splutters and lunges for me, and I snatch a breath just before he shoves me under. I can feel the soap from my long hair unspooling into the water, and I hear the gurgle of his movements in my ears. He’s holding me down with one hand to my neck.

And his other hand skims along my backside. Pinches my flesh.

He lets go and I surface, steaming and gasping, tossing wet locks out of my eyes.

I’m laughing and so is he—a helpless, startled kind of laugh, as if he didn’t mean to. There’s an ache in the gray eyes that usually look so stern and hard.

His profile floats close to mine. The heat and steam swirl around us, mingling with our panting breath, our soft laughter. Wet hair, glistening skin, droplets beading in the light red scruff of his beard, and his gray eyes shining under dark lashes.

“Could I stay?” I breathe. “Maybe—maybe there’s a place for me here, after.”

“After what?” He frowns slightly.

“After the curse is broken. I could stay on the ship, with all of you.”

“After the curse is broken,” he repeats, while a dark pain cracks through his expression. In a tone gentler than I’ve heard him use, he says, “That won’t be possible, I’m afraid.”

“Why not?”

He’s looking at me with something like regret, or sorrow. But mixed with it there’s a cold resolve.

“Finish your bath,” he says firmly. “There’s a dress and underthings laid out on a chair in the kitchen, from a chest we had in the hold. Put them on when you’re done, and I’ll return you to your cell. Iro has probably added some blankets and comforts by now—I gave him leave to do so.”

I open my mouth to protest, to question, but he barks, “Belay that, witch. Follow my orders, or you’ll wish you had.”

8

We’re well under way to the isle where Ymarra dwells. I look forward to seeing her again. She was the one who first instructed me in the art of oral pleasure, before we left the city of our birth and went our separate ways.

It will be midnight within the hour. The deck lamps are lit, and the other men are all below—save for Kylar, tied to the posts, and the Captain, whose cabin I can see from where I’m standing on the main deck. A lantern glows through his window.

When Varrow returned from his bath with the witch, he greeted me and gave me permission to relieve Kylar’s suffering. He seemed sorrowful, subdued, and though I offered to pleasure him, he declined. And now, like the rest of us, he’s waiting for the hours we all dread—between midnight and dawn.

Sighing, I approach Kylar. Iro has healed the red marks left by the flogger—just a few, because for all her talk, the witch was merciful.

After the ten lashes, Jim and Theo continued to torment Kylar all afternoon. Every time his cock would start to go limp, Jim would come and kiss it, or Theo would plunge two thick fingers into Kylar’s ass. They sucked his nipples, put their tongues in his mouth, anything to keep him in a state of pre-orgasmic torture.

Every one of us has been through similar torment before. It is as delicious as it is terrible. But Theo and Jim also rigged a sail to provide Kylar with shade, and gave him water whenever he was thirsty. Jim even spoon-fed him soup, an unusual kindness from our cabin boy. He usually vacillates between manically joyful and deeply depressed, without much space for sensing the emotions of others.

I approach Kylar. His head hangs low between his massive shoulders, shiny waves of black hair tumbling around his face.

Reaching for my belt, I unlatch a couple of the small clockwork insects I’ve made—tiny things, the size of my thumb-tip.

With one knuckle I rub the underside of Kylar’s cock, coaxing it hard again. He groans without looking up. “Gabel, please. End this.”

“I will.” Pressing the eyes of the tiny clockwork insects, I set one on his rigid dick. It begins to walk along the shaft, delicate feet pressing the thin skin of his penis. The other insect I set right on the tip.

“Oh gods, Gabel,” Kylar whimpers. “What are you doing to me?”

These two insects have small suckers on their feet, so they can walk sideways and upside down. They are propelled by my own magic—I can temporarily infuse very small amounts of kinetic energy into the objects I make, and impress some of my intent onto them as well. I can’t animate anything large, and the effect is brief—in fact, few would recognize it as magic. But it does make for some interesting playtime. And it’s a relief for me, as my body always seems to be brimming with nervous, restless energy. I enjoy expending some of it into my creations.

I watch as the first little clockwork creature wanders a spiral path along Kylar’s length. The other tends to his cock head, its tiny forefeet massaging the tender spot on the underside, right beneath the mushroom-shaped bulb. Then the insect slips a miniscule mouthpart into the seeping slit of the cock head, teasing out more precum.

I reach between Kylar’s legs, cupping his balls. They fill up my hand.

“Gabel,” he whispers, his gorgeous frame shaking and sweating.

I find his mouth and kiss him. “Share a bath with me after? The water should still be somewhat warm. We can do it quickly, before midnight.”

“Yes, yes—gods—oh, oh—”

The first clockwork insect has begun running up and down the underside of his cock, just as I instructed it, while the second gently squeezes and rubs his tip with its body and legs. It is slimy with his precum and won’t stay functional for long—hopefully just long enough.

“Come for me, Kylar.” I massage his balls again, then reach around and poke a finger into his tight puckered hole, feeling for the internal spot where I can rub his prostate. I know him well, so I find it at once.

He barks sharply when I massage that area, and his dick jumps, throwing off both of the clockwork creatures, who spin and jitter helplessly on the deck. Tenderly I move my fingers inside Kylar, and his balls tighten. Cum spews out of him in thick streams, painting the deck. I’ll have to mop it again before we go to the bath.

I reach for his cock, using the cum to slick his shaft and tease him while he’s still sensitive.

“Oh gods,” he moans. “Gabel, I’m going to—I’m—” And then he pisses, a long yellow stream arching from him in a compulsive spasm.

I stroke his chest with my cum-slick hand while he finishes, and then I untie him. He nearly falls over—limp and drained. I drag his arm over my shoulders and help him over to the steps that lead below-decks. “Go to the bath, mate. I’ll swab the deck and then join you.”

When I finish up on deck and find Kylar, he’s in the wooden tub, propped against the side, half-insensible. I strip off my clothes, climb in, and sponge his huge body with soap. I like the contrast of my ebony skin, his tanned flesh, and the white frothy bubbles. Then I picture long, pale feminine limbs slipping between ours—full breasts shining with soap and water.

Maybe one day.

As I’m washing Kylar’s hair, Theo and Jim slink into the room, followed by Iro. Jim carries a cup of hot tea, which he holds to Kylar’s lips with a penitent look on his face. Iro helps me rinse Kylar’s body and my own.

Theo only sits on a bench with arms crossed, waiting. “When are we going to tell the witch about the curse?” he says gruffly.

“When the Captain is ready,” I reply.

“I’ve a mind to show her tonight.”

“No,” Iro says quickly. “You’ll frighten her.”

“We wait for the Captain’s word,” I repeat. “Agreed?”

“Agreed,” echoes Jim, and the others nod as well.

And then, as one man, we all turn to the timepiece on the wall, the one whose red sand marks the fullness of the hour.

Only a few grains left.

I brace myself.

9

For the next two weeks, I’m terribly bored, except for the few hours each day when Captain Varrow allows Iro to teach me sums and reading. My cell is slightly more comfortable now, since Iro brought me cushions, blankets, clothes, and some “feminine articles” like a gilt-framed hand mirror, a brush and comb, some hairpins, and other bits and bobs the pirates had in their hold.

Since I shocked Captain Varrow with my insight into his crew, he has forbidden them from interacting with me beyond bringing me meals. But they still seem to find reasons to walk past my cell frequently—except for Kylar, who stays away.

Whenever Jim passes my cell, he shoots me a heated look that I interpret as “I’m going to fuck you then kill you,” or possibly vice versa—I’m not sure. Theo always rumbles in his chest or gives me a low grunt. Either sound is enough to send tingles to my clit, especially if he flexes his thick fingers while walking past, as if he wants to touch me.

Iro is the pinnacle of elegant restraint, though he seems to introduce quite a lot of naughty words into our reading lessons, beginning with easy words like “clit,” “sex,” “cum,” and “dick,” and then moving on to more difficult ones like “breast,” “penis,” “anus,” and “nipple.” One of the first sentences I decipher on my own is “See cum drip,” followed by “The tall man sucks the hot dick.”

Iro includes plenty of regular words as well, which we focus on studiously if anyone is walking by. But by the end of a lesson, I’m usually soaked just from saying and hearing all the naughty phrases with him.

After lessons, I usually indulge in a few moments with a special device that Gabel smuggled to me under a cloth napkin, four days after my first bath with Varrow. It’s made of smooth, polished metal, and it’s about the size of a decent dick. When he first gave it to me, I waited until he left and then slipped it into my pussy. It vibrated so deliciously I nearly squealed and bucked off the bed.

Since then, I use the device secretly, when no one’s around—not because I’m ashamed of my body’s needs, but because I don’t want anyone to report it to Captain Varrow. He’d take my toy away.

When Gabel stops by occasionally, I put the device in his hand for a few seconds so he can infuse it with more energy. We don’t talk, but I thank him with my eyes.

But I’m growing sick of the toy and my own fingers. I want hot, hard man. I want a living, pulsing cock between my legs.

I am practically salivating for dick.

According to Iro, we’re drawing close to the island where this Ymarra lives—the one who might be able to tamper with my collar. Still no sign of the king’s ships—not that I’ve heard of, anyway. Varrow has kept the Emberwatch running fast and hard.

On the night before we’re supposed to arrive at Ymarra’s island, I leave my panties off again, like I’ve done every night, in case Theo decides to risk the Captain’s ire and fulfill my fantasy and his—fucking me while I sleep. I’ve checked myself for cum each morning, but so far, no luck.

I hope he comes inside me tonight.

Recklessly I strip off the thin nightdress I’m wearing and lie down naked on my side, with the pillow stuffed under my head and my knees pulled up. In this position, my slit is exposed.

I have the strangest feeling someone might use it tonight.

10

I don’t know what will happen at Ymarra’s tomorrow, so this could be my last chance to fuck the witch while she’s asleep.

I have a good hour before midnight. Plenty of time. The others have built a fire in a sand barrel on deck, and they’re sprawled beside it, drinking and playing cards. I mutter something about fetching a snack from the galley, and I head below-decks.

My dick is already thickening, pushing against the flap of my trousers. I undo one of the buttons so the tip can peek out.

Iro has the key to the girl’s cell, since he is teaching her to read, but I know which drawer he keeps it in. I fetch it quickly.

Then I’m standing outside the cell door, just the bars between me and the Highwitch. A lantern hanging on a hook a few paces down the corridor provides enough of a glow for me to see her, curled on the cot, sound asleep.

She’s naked, every soft curve exposed. Prominent, delicate collarbones, luscious heavy breasts, shallow stomach, thighs and knees pulled up. It’s as if she’s inviting me.

Quietly I unlock the cell door and pocket the key. I push the door open and slip inside, easing it shut behind me—

But something is in the way. I turn, and there’s Jim.

There’s accusation in his eyes. And hunger. It’s the hunger I lean into—nodding to him, beckoning him to join me.

He sidles into the cell after me.

I pull at the buttons of my pants, opening the flap. My cock springs out, huge and thick. Biggest piece in the entire crew. I rub my thumb over the tip, spreading my precum as I walk to the end of the cot.

There are the dainty pink lips I’ve thought about ever since I first saw them. There’s a faint gleam of wetness between them. She fell asleep aroused. Maybe thinking of me.

I step up to the cot, placing one knee on the frame, tilting my body and lowering myself until I have the right angle. With one thick finger I trace the witch’s sex—slippery. I hold up my wet finger for Jim to see.

His pretty face is flushed, and his cock is out. He has a bigger dick than you’d expect. I’ve never had cum that tasted sweeter than his.

He curls thin fingers around his length and nods to me.

Lining myself up, I push the fat head of my dick into the wet pussy of the witch.

Her body sucks me in, hot and eager. I plunge all the way in, and a textured, bumpy area inside her hole rubs along my cock, sending keen thrills jolting through my spine. I have never felt anything like this. I throw back my head and my mouth opens, a voiceless groan.

Jim is stroking himself, watching the place where my massive cock is stretching the witch wide.

Slowly, thickly, I pump in and out of her limp, pliant body. Every sucking pull of her vagina around my cock sends my eyes rolling back in my head. Her pussy is magic.

My nipples tighten to hard buds. Jim slinks over to me, slides a hand into the open neck of my shirt, and massages one of my breasts while I fuck the witch.

“Come inside her,” he breathes. “Fill her up.”

I quicken my pace slightly, and the slick friction increases. Thrill after thrill, then a giant burst of pleasure exploding through my stomach, my cock, my balls. The strongest climax I’ve ever felt. Jim clamps a palm over my mouth and holds me while I silently convulse. The wet tip of his dick brushes against my thigh as I empty my balls, shooting cum into the sleeping girl’s womb.

If the Captain finds out about this—

I don’t care what he does. This is worth everything. Being inside her.

I’m done. Emptied and softening.

I pull out slowly, and the witch’s pussy drips a bit of pearly cum.

“You have to feel this,” I whisper to Jim.

He winces. “She gave you permission, not me.”

“So ask her.”

“No,” he hisses. “I—I was cruel to her. She’ll say no.”

I stare at him in the half-light, rage surging inside me. “You’re the one who choked her and bruised her forehead? Not Kylar?”

“I was afraid—” Jim begins, but I catch his slender throat in my hand, squeezing.

“I should rip your dick off,” I growl.

“Don’t though,” says a quiet, sleepy voice. “I like his dick.”

The witch is awake, her gorgeous dark eyes blinking. Her hand travels down, trailing over her slit and coming up creamy and wet. Her pretty red mouth curves in a smile. “Thank you, Theo. Now if you’ll bring the cabin boy around and put him inside me.”

Jim bucks, struggling, but I know it’s only his pride. He wants her. I drag him to the end of the cot, forcing his legs into position. My fingers circle his erection, guiding it toward the witch’s slit.

“Let go, Theo,” he gasps. “Let me fuck her myself.”

“You’d better pay her back for what you did,” I snarl.

“I will, I swear.”

Releasing him, I back away.

11

When Theo lets me go and steps back, I unleash myself. Every wicked impulse, every savage intent.

I am going to rip the witch apart.

I strip off my pants, not caring if anyone comes in. I’ve been wanting to do this for two weeks, and I’ll be damned if anyone stops me.

First I grip the witch’s bare body and throw her onto her back. Then I jerk her down to the end of the cot, until her pussy is readily accessible.

My fingers curl around her chin, squeezing her face hard. When she opens her mouth, I plunge in for a raging, tormented kiss. I wreck her lips, bruise them, coat the inside of her mouth with my spit. I suck on her tongue.

She’s my first woman. I want to make sure she remembers this.

My hands find her breasts, groping savagely, squeezing hard. She cries out, but she also bucks into my touch.

I have to taste her skin.

Opening my mouth wide, I take in her nipple and as much of her right breast as I can. I suck, lick, and bite. She’s going to have marks all over her after this. My marks. I might be punished for it, but I don’t care.

“Jim, Jim!” She rakes her fingers into my hair, tightening and pulling until my scalp twinges with pain. Her legs are folded back, her thighs open wide, her entire leaking sex exposed.

She pushes my face down into her pussy.

I can smell Theo there. I taste his cum between her swollen lips. And beneath that I taste her, sweet and caustic, with a hint of lavender. Gods, she’s delicious.

“That’s it. Lick up all my cum, boy,” rumbles Theo.

My nose and lips are deep in a woman’s sex for the first time, and I love it. But I’m still angry with Quressa, torn between desire and the fear that somehow, she’s going to destroy everything I love. So I bite her, pinching one of her thick, juicy pussy lips between my teeth.

She screams a little, and Theo fills her mouth with his big fingers to quiet her.

“Enough of this,” I rasp, pulling my face out of her sex. “I’m going to fuck you so hard you scream.”

I slap her pussy—a loud, wet smack. Then I spank her thighs, quick slaps over and over until she whimpers through Theo’s fingers.

I won’t put it off any longer. This is just like fucking an asshole. Might even be easier going in.

I throw her thighs up and ram my dick inside her.

A ripple of fire—unbearable sweet suction—slippery squeezing, rubbing—gods—I can barely think of what I meant to do, which is plow her until she shrieks. I start a frenzied rhythm with my hips, pummeling her tender little sex with my hard body.

I’m coming already. Too soon.

I picture the plague victims in my village. Countless boil-covered, pus-leaking faces. The helplessness—nothing I can do—the guilt of being the only survivor.

My impending climax recedes, and I beat myself against Quressa, a pace faster than any I’ve kept up with the other men—and I’m well known for my speed.

She’s screaming into Theo’s hand, coming around me, her whole body bucking and jerking. Her inner walls convulse, squeezing my cock, and stars explode behind my eyes as the orgasm hits me. My balls shoot cum through my dick in a violent, exquisite release. My cum, joining Theo’s inside her. Filling her womb to the brim. Gods.

I slam into her one more time, grinding against her sex, my hands kneading her breasts, and with a squeal she comes again, spasming around my cock.

Roughly I jerk out of her, leaving her limp, bruised, and used on the cot. My cum dribbles from her slit.

I’m panting hard, half-screaming with every breath, shaking with relief. All of me aches and yet feels amazing.

There’s a violence inside me that breaks out sometimes, a craving to thoroughly wreck someone else. And Quressa can take it. She’s gasping, grinning, tears streaking her face. Her skin is splotched red where I squeezed and mauled her. Beautiful.

I can’t imagine any other woman being better than her.

But I still can’t stomach the idea of her working her way into this family. There’s no place for her here. If she gets past our dicks into our hearts, we won’t be able to do what has to be done. Or if we do, it’ll break us.

I don’t want to see the men I love broken by what we have to do to this woman.

“This can’t happen again,” I tell Theo hoarsely, pulling on my pants.

“Why?” He glowers at me.

“You know why. Fucking her will only make it more difficult in the end.”

His jaw hardens, and he forges his way out of the cell without speaking.

“You,” I snap at the witch, “Cover all that up so the Captain doesn’t see. And get Iro to heal the bruises tomorrow.”

She nods, her smile fading. “What do you mean ‘Fucking her will only make it more difficult in the end’?”

“We have to go,” I tell Theo. “It must be almost midnight.”

I exit hastily and he locks the cell door.

Quressa swings off the cot, and my heart nearly stops at the naked, ravaged beauty of her. She comes to the bars as we walk away, repeating desperately, “Jim? What did you mean by that?”

But I don’t answer, because as we leave the glow of the lantern behind, the change begins, and I can no longer speak, even if I wanted to.

Midnight.

We cut it closer than we thought.

12

It was Gabel who first introduced us to Ymarra. Iro had been magically poisoned after a job—he could no longer heal, and he was dying. We fled to Ymarra’s island and offered all the treasure in our hold for Iro’s restoration.

And Ymarra managed it, though it took a toll on her.

We went to her again after the curse was placed on us, but she said there was nothing she could do. The parameters of the curse were clear, its terms unshakeable.

This time I’m not asking her to break the fucking curse—just to alter the collar around the witch’s neck and give me control. Surely she can manage that much.

There are four magical factions on Ymarra’s island, and each of them possess a quarter of the land, with clearly defined boundaries. We have to be careful to anchor in Ymarra’s river-mouth, and not in the bay of the Gnawers, or the lagoon of the Shrivelers, or the cove of the Bone-Breakers.

Ymarra’s followers are called Ghosters. They deal in spirit magic, summoning the ghosts of dead witches and consuming the dregs of their power. The other factions have far uglier ways of amplifying their abilities. I’d rather have nothing to do with them.

It’s late afternoon when we anchor in the mouth of the river. I leave Theo and Jim aboard to watch the ship. They grumble about it, but there’s nothing else to be done. I need eyes on the Emberwatch. They’ll likely pass the time fucking each other anyway. They’re both insatiable.

I suppose I was too, once. I still enjoy fucking my men now and then, letting them take my holes. The sexual acts, along with the occasional exchange of blood from bitten lips, strengthen the bond we share and keep us from suffering the final fate of our curse.

I find satisfaction and safety with my crew. But I’m not the lustful being I once was.

Sometimes I ache for softness, for full breasts, wide hips, and a warm, wet opening between lush thighs. Jim is the most feminine-looking of us all, but he’s not soft—he’s a desperate lover, all bones and bruises and harsh kisses from his pretty, brutal mouth.

Once I had someone sweet and strong, kind and intelligent—a woman like no one else I’ve ever met. A soft belly, perfect breasts, thick thighs, and a heart as big and beautiful as the ocean. I fucked her until I couldn’t see, and I loved her until my soul bled. When she died, half of my heart died with her.

I mourn her in ways I shouldn’t—ways that put my entire crew in even more danger, beyond what the curse threatens. That extra dose of danger is the reason I kept us running so fast across the sea to Ymarra’s island. It wasn’t just from fear of the king, pursuing his Highwitch.

Something else is after me. I can’t stay in one place very long.

We’ll have to make this quick.

Kylar and Gabel row the skiff, while Iro sits beside the witch and I sit at the opposite end of the boat. Iro leans toward Quressa, speaking quietly, and she looks up at him with so much trust and affection that my heart clenches.

I should never have let him teach her anything. I’m not sure why he bothers. He knows what the end of this will be. There’s no point in her learning how to read and do math, because she won’t be alive long enough to use any of those new skills.

Maybe he’s merely distracting her. Softening any possible fears she might have by providing hope for the future. If she enjoys herself and believes she has a chance of staying with us, she won’t try to run.

We can’t risk her trying to run, not here, where we cannot chase her. None of us can go ashore.

She’s whispering in Iro’s ear now, and he’s actually blushing, lips parted and eyes bright. He’s beautiful like that. And she is beautiful. Gods, I want them both.

I tear my gaze away and encounter Kylar’s accusing stare. His biceps swell as he works the oars in tandem with Gabel. I can guess what he’s thinking.

Who’s getting soft now? Don’t let the whore pull focus from our task.

I show Kylar my middle finger and turn my eyes to the forest that flanks the river. Tufts of rich grass grow atop rocky banks, and willows trail their long strands of emerald leaves onto the glimmering surface of the water. Beyond, the forest mounds up, swell upon swell of green foliage.

It’s nearly sunset. We must hurry if we are to complete our business and get back to the Emberwatch before midnight.

“Faster,” I order. “Row faster.”

The boys pick up the pace, and soon we arrive at Ymarra’s house—a covered bridge that spans the river. There’s a landing underneath it where we can climb rickety steps and enter by way of a moldering trapdoor.

With us we bring bolts of fine cloth, bottles of wine, aged cheese, and strings of pearls. And as a special incentive, Gabel has crafted a delicate music box that plays a haunting tune.

We let him climb partway up the ladder first and knock on the trapdoor, while the rest of us wait on the landing and Kylar ties up the skiff.

The trapdoor opens, and a waterfall of golden hair tumbles through it. Blossoms and grasses are stuck into the hair at random, and locks of it are braided with pearls and leaves.

“Ymarra,” says Gabel, grinning. “I’ve brought you a present.”

“Not one of those that winds down after you leave and then never works again,” she says rebukingly.

“No, no, love. This one will keep working as long as you wind it.”

“Oh. Then that’s lovely. Good to see you, Gabel. Come in. I suppose you’ve brought your lovers with you?” A slim white hand sweeps aside the curtain of blond hair, and Ymarra’s dainty face appears. She’s well into her seventies, Gabel says, but she looks about seventeen.

“Go on, witch,” I say to Quressa, as Gabel mounts the rest of the ladder. “Follow him.”

She moves in front of me, preparing to climb up. And because my restraint has limitations, I squeeze her ass through the fabric of her gauzy black dress. The faint intake of her breath tells me she noticed, and liked it.

Then she reaches back and claps her hand over my crotch.

That, I did not expect.

She moves on immediately, climbing swiftly up, into the covered bridge. My groin is on fire where she touched me, my dick stiff as wood.

To calm myself, I think hard about the vow I made when Tulseya died—that I would never love or bed another woman.

I’ve kept that vow, no matter how great the temptation. And in doing so I discovered a love for men’s bodies, and a joy in coupling with them. I’m grateful for that epiphany.

And yet…

The little witch-whore is sorely testing my resolve.

13

The witch Ymarra has been bustling around me for a long time. I’m sitting cross-legged on the floor of her bridge-home, surrounded by a circle of arcane symbols. I know most of them, but some I wouldn’t have thought to combine, and others are entirely new to me. Some of the herbs she’s sprinkling are unfamiliar too—strongly scented and strangely colored. When bits of them land on the symbols, vibrations of awakening magic shiver through the wooden floor, rippling into my body.

Gabel is sipping tea and watching her work, with an admiring smile on his face. Kylar is chomping a green apple, his long legs kicked over the arm of his chair. Iro stands by a bookshelf, perusing a volume, and Varrow keeps pacing the room—a difficult feat because it’s so cluttered with furniture, interesting artifacts, and magical objects.

“Can you do it or not?” Varrow asks.

“Patience, Captain.” Ymarra shoots him a keen look from her bright green eyes. “I must suppress the spell that is laid on the collar before I can use my earth and fire magic to weaken its structure. All of this takes time.”

Iro lays aside his book and goes to Varrow, cupping long fingers around the back of his neck, pressing his body against the Captain’s to still him. “Hush, love, and wait,” he murmurs.

Varrow tenses as if to shake him off, but Iro shifts into his space again, his mouth hovering over the Captain’s. Varrow’s eyes glaze, and he yields as Iro kisses him gently, soothingly. Varrow’s tattooed hand drifts to the healer’s ass, squeezing as if the feel of the flesh comforts him.

I desperately want to see them fuck each other one day.

“It’s a wonderful sight,” says Ymarra quietly. When I glance at her, she smirks. “I’ve had the opportunity to watch a few of them take each other. It’s a delight. A true treasure, finding men who are so powerfully male yet attuned to their feminine side as well.”

“They’re enchanting,” I admit. As she begins to lay crow’s feet and chicken feet around the circle of symbols, I venture into a new topic. “I haven’t gotten the chance to speak to other witches much, and you’re the first witch I’ve met who’s like me—a harlequin, with elemental powers as well as universal magic. I’ve wondered something, and I wanted to ask—is there a sexual component to our abilities?”

“There is indeed.” Ymarra nods. “My worshipers and fellow practitioners here on the island take turns serving my needs. I have a few favorites, but anyone is welcome in my bed.” She gives me a sly smile, and her eyes drift down my body. I’m thinly clad in a sheer black dress that barely veils my intimate parts—a purposeful choice on my part, since I’m trying to seduce the entire crew. And it seems I could have Ymarra too, if I wanted.

“Sexual energy feeds directly into our reservoir of magical energy,” Ymarra continues. “We harlequin witches require a certain amount of sexual activity to maintain our energy levels, but we also go through periods where our powers are growing, changing, or more desperately needed—and during those times, the desire for sex increases dramatically, to the point where we can think of little else.”

She brushes stray bits of herbs from her skirts and steps into the circle with me. “I’ll need to heat this collar to fairly high temperatures. Iro, stop kissing your Captain and come here. We may need your healing influence after this. She’s liable to be severely burned in the process.”

“What?” Iro hurries over, anxiety sharpening his beautiful face. “No one said this would hurt her.”

“It has to be done, Iro,” says the Captain.

“Yes, Iro, it has to be done.” Kylar gives me a vengeful grin. He’s all too happy to watch me suffer.

“Hush, all of you,” Ymarra orders. “Captain, I need you in the circle as well, since you’ll be taking control of the collar once I release the king’s hold on her magic.”

“Once I have control, can she enable us to walk on land again?” Varrow asks.

“We can try it,” Ymarra says. “The inability to go ashore isn’t your primary curse, but an adjunct condition, you might say—something that was laid on your crew to make breaking the real curse more difficult. So yes, it’s possible your new witch can undo it, since she has both earth and water powers. We’ll give it a try afterward. But you are aware you can’t shatter the real curse here? There are other criteria to fulfill, if I recall correctly.”

“Yes,” Varrow grits out. “We need certain ingredients and a specific location to do that.”

“Indeed. Stand here, and place your hand on her head. Yes. Now stay very still.”

Ymarra chants for a long time, winding phrases together into a complex interlocking spell, greater than any I’ve cast. I could learn so much from her. Maybe one day I can return here and stay awhile, under her tutelage.

Once she has set the spell, she approaches me and places both her hands on my collar.

Natural magic or elemental power technically does not require spellwork, charms, herbs, or symbols. A witch like me or Ymarra can tap into our elements raw, at any time. With earth and fire magic combined, Ymarra could melt the collar right off me. However, when a harlequin witch does choose to weave elemental control with spellwork, the result is far more intricate and allows for very precise control of the results.

That’s what Ymarra is doing now. Her mouth is working, muttering quiet words while heat rolls through her fingers into the collar of silver, iron, and moonstone. Alone, those three materials have their own distinct, harmless magical properties—but together, they constitute a powerful magical blockade, capable of binding any witch.

“Are you sure you don’t want the collar off her entirely?” Ymarra asks, as the collar begins to heat my skin. “In gratitude for being set free, she might agree to help you break the curse willingly. Isn’t that right, love?” She nods to me.

“Don’t, Ymarra,” Varrow snaps. “You know she wouldn’t. What woman would do that for six strangers?”

“Ah yes—I forgot. The final step in the curse-breaking.” Ymarra winces. “The vital essence of an Escovar witch—which I assume she is. How did you find one? I thought they were all dead, hunted down by Gnawers and greedy rulers.”

“All dead but one,” Varrow grits out. “She’s our last chance.”

“Wait,” I gasp. “My parents—they’re dead?”

No one answers me. Though I suspected the truth, it hurts to have it confirmed. I’ve always secretly hoped my parents would show up again—that perhaps they’d been living in hiding and might reappear to claim me.

Now there’s no chance of that.

“Why are Escovar witches hunted?” I ask.

“Witches of the Escovar line are particularly potent, magically speaking,” Ymarra replies. “Their blood and bodily fluids are highly prized, and consuming their flesh or organs offers a permanent increase in magical power to any human or witch who partakes. Normal humans who eat a piece of an Escovar witch will become a witch themselves. And Escovar blood is used to bind and break the most powerful spellwork, like the curse on the crew of the Emberwatch.”

I twist to look up at Varrow, but he presses his hand more firmly on my head. He doesn’t want to meet my eyes, and no wonder—the bastard.

“The final step in the curse-breaking.” I repeat Ymarra’s words. “The vital essence of an Escovar witch. Does that mean—you’re going to kill me at the end of this?”

Gabel’s fingers are playing over the items on his belt, checking each one in a frenzy of anguish. Kylar is smiling, wicked and triumphant. And Iro—his eyes are wet.

“Oh gods,” I choke out. My stomach rolls with nausea, and my pulse races. Ymarra is still heating the collar, softening it. She begins chanting again.

Sweat breaks out of my pores, slicking my forehead, chest, and back. I want to scream.

They’re going to control me, use me, and then kill me to set themselves free.

Shit, shit. I let three of them fuck me. The rat bastards.

“You’re all dicks, you know that?” I say hoarsely. “And cowards.”

And then I scream, because the collar around my neck has exploded into white-hot fire. Ymarra is yelling now, something about Varrow and ultimate control, the sway of his will over my magic.

My skin sizzles, charring, cooking. Smoke hisses and curls into my nostrils while I scream and scream, until my vocal cords are full of fire and I can’t scream anymore. My consciousness erupts into black emptiness, shot through with streaks of white flame.

14

I need to punish myself.

I have not done so in a long time—I’ve learned to vent my inner torment through sexual activity. But watching the little witch scream and burn is too much. I feel her agony—not only the physical pain, but the anguish of betrayal. She now knows we plan to sacrifice her to break the curse.

It’s the only way. We have no time left to find anyone else, and we’ve tried for three years to find another solution.

We have to kill her.

With her throat engulfed in flame, the witch passes out, thank the gods.

When Ymarra has finished the spell, I move in, gathering the witch’s body in my arms. Her throat under the collar is a striated mess of scarlet tendons and blackened flesh. I place my hand over the area, sending my power into her, healing the wounds.

A side effect of my healing power is an extreme sensitivity to the pain of others, which I can permit or block at will. I can alleviate the pain of the individual I’m healing and let it dissipate harmlessly. Or I can physically pull the agony into my own body. From there, I can either hold it in and suffer through it, or push it into someone else.

I drink Quressa’s pain into myself and I hold it there, because I deserve it. I deserve to hurt like we’ve made her hurt.

The agony is so sharp I can’t help gasping, while more tears fill my eyes.

Kylar is on his feet immediately. “Iro, stop! Don’t do this.”

He’s the only one I’ve told about my secondary ability, and about my former addiction to torturing myself. He understands what I’m doing, and why.

I ignore him and continue the healing, while my body trembles with the force of Quressa’s pain.

“Iro.” Kylar is gripping my shoulders. “Stop. Release it. You don’t deserve to carry this—if anyone deserves the pain, it’s me. Give it to me. Let me share in it.”

“What are you two talking about?” says Varrow, frowning angrily at both of us.

“He’s drinking her pain, to punish himself,” Kylar grits out. “Because he feels guilty about our plans for the witch.”

“Iro, this is what we must do.” The Captain seizes my jaw, lifts my face to his. “You know that.”

“But…” I jerk my face from his grip and look down at the lovely girl who lies unconscious in my arms. “But her, Varrow.”

When I glance at him again, his face is contorted, an echo of the regret and guilt I feel.

“I know,” he says simply. “But it’s that, or we all end. One life for six. Our brothers, Iro. Our mates, our lovers, our family. We cannot sacrifice our crew for this one stranger’s life. I won’t allow it, do you understand?”

I understand. But I’m not sure I can bear it.

Without answering him, I finish the healing.

When Quressa regains consciousness, she seems—shattered. She’s dazed, her eyes glassy with tears.

“We’ll test your control over the collar now, Varrow,” says Ymarra cheerfully. And in that moment I hate the pretty yellow-haired witch with a dark passion I’ve not felt for years. She has just been complicit in the re-enslavement of her own kind—a fellow witch. And she never protested, except for the off-hand suggestion that Varrow let her remove the collar entirely.

She’s a stone-cold bitch, no matter how pretty and flowery she looks.

The three of them—Varrow, Ymarra, and my little witch—go below the bridge to the landing. At Varrow’s command, and under Ymarra’s careful instruction, Quressa summons earth from the riverbank and blends it with saltwater. There’s more to the spell—bone shavings and sand and some foul ichor Ymarra pours from a bottle. And there is chanting, so much chanting, which Ymarra dictates and Quressa repeats.

I pay little attention, since I’m suffering through the tide of pain that I pulled into myself. It will be over soon. It’s not enough penance for what I’ve done, what I’m doing.

The forest and the river have grown dark, so Ymarra sends a hundred tiny golden fireballs floating over the water, so she and Varrow can continue their work with the witch. Quressa doesn’t seem to be able to resist Varrow’s commands, but her lovely face is grim, and her eyes burn. No tears from her now.

At the end of the long, long spell, Varrow takes the skiff to the shore. Kylar and Gabel stand behind me, watching with bated breath as he ties the skiff’s rope around a low-hanging branch and then, cautiously, steps out onto the bank of the river.

The change doesn’t begin. Which means a small portion of our curse has finally been broken.

We can go ashore. We can set our feet on dry land again, for the first time in three years.

I should feel joy and excitement over this breakthrough. Kylar and Gabel are whooping, shouting for their turn to step on the grass and touch the earth.

But I only feel pain.

Varrow brings the skiff back to the landing under the bridge. “We can all go ashore for a little while,” he says. “And then we must return to the Emberwatch. I don’t want to risk being caught in the skiff on the river at midnight.”

Quressa looks at him sharply, narrowing her eyes, but she doesn’t ask questions. She merely climbs into the boat without a word to Ymarra or anyone else.

I consider staying behind as a silent protest, but in the end I climb into the skiff as well. Quressa holds herself stiffly, taking great care not to touch me—a far cry from the intimate moments we shared on the way upriver.

I’m not sure what changed in me between then and now. I’ve known all along what we planned to do with her. But the way she looked at me during the journey to Ymarra’s—the shock of betrayal on her sweet face, the agony of her screams—all of that shifted something in my heart.

I care about her. I care with an intensity I never expected. It started when I went to check on her after her arrival, when she whimpered so temptingly and naughtily begged me to check her poor, sore pussy. Little devil. Every lesson we have is so deliciously erotic—the way she looks up at me from under her lashes after sounding out filthy words with her plump, perfect lips. I get so hard that I have to stroke myself or fuck someone’s mouth after every lesson with her.

I cherished the playfulness in her manner, the trust in her eyes. And now that’s all gone.

The others don’t seem to be feeling the guilt like I do. As they climb from the skiff onto dry land, they roar their delight.

“What about the others aboard the ship? Jim and Theo?” Gabel asks.

“They are free as well,” says Ymarra, with a bright smile. She takes his hands and dances off with him, into grass dotted with tiny purple flowers, under a leafy canopy lit by her magical orbs.

With a wave of her hand and a string of chanted words, Ymarra sends a strain of merry music through the air. Gabel tries to dance, but he still has his sea legs, so he collides with Ymarra and they tumble to the ground, laughing, in a tangle of golden hair and black skin. The trees curl around the clearing, seeming to embrace us with their knotty arms. We are wanderers finally returning to the chest of Father Earth from the bosom of Mother Ocean.

Maybe I can do as the others do, and try to forget. The pain I stole from Quressa is ebbing—perhaps I can muffle my guilt in a bed of fresh grass.

I find a hollow thickly carpeted with damp green clover, and I collapse into it, burying my face in the fragrant leaves.

Solid ground. Vivid growing things. The beauty of stillness—no constant bobbing on the waves.

I’m not sure how long I lie there, or how long Gabel and Ymarra dance with Kylar and Varrow in the sparkling night, laced with magical music.

But suddenly I sit bolt upright, scanning the clearing.

In Varrow’s joyous control over Quressa’s magic, he forgot one thing.

He does not control Quressa’s legs. And she has run off.

“Varrow!” I shout, and he halts his dance battle with Kylar. I don’t have to say any more—he’s instantly on alert, raking the forest with his frantic gaze.

“The witch is gone!” he bellows. “Spread out and find her, you lazy scalawags! Could none of you keep a weather eye on her? Bunch of useless nags, you are!”

I don’t bother protesting that he could have kept watch on her.

“Captain,” says Gabel, his eyes wide. “What if we don’t find her before midnight?”

But Ymarra speaks up, her face whiter than ever. “I’d be more worried about what will happen if she crosses the border. It’s a half-hour’s walk from here, that way.” She points into the forest.

My stomach drops. “What faction lives beyond the border?”

Ymarra’s green eyes meet mine. Dread has drowned all the joy in her gaze. “Beyond that border are the cannibal witches,” she says. “The ones who consume witch-flesh for greater power. The Gnawers.”

15

I don’t know where I’m going, or what I plan to do. I only know that for Varrow to control my magic, he has to be able to see me, and I have to be able to hear his commands.

If I’m beyond eyesight and earshot, I’m no longer his.

I overheard something about other people living on this island—perhaps I can persuade someone to hide me, give me shelter. Perhaps I can run to the opposite side of the island and find a ship. Escape would mean never using my magic again—at least not until I could find and pay another witch like Ymarra to remove my collar—but the loss of my magic is preferable to being sacrificed by the pirates to break their curse—whatever the fucking curse is. I still don’t know. It’s something that affects them from midnight to dawn—I’ve deduced that much—and I suspect it’s a progressive thing, growing worse and worse until it reaches some final end. Which would explain why they’re so eager to get on with breaking it.

I’m their last chance. No time to waste.

Well… fuck them. I’m sure they did something horrible and they deserve to be cursed.

I choke as something flies into my open mouth. Quickly I spit the insect out and focus on breathing through my nose. My lungs already ache. I’m not used to running long distances, and running through a forest at night is much harder than I thought. It’s so fucking dark—a deep, deceptive darkness that makes you think you’ve got a clear path and then slam! You’ve struck your forehead on a tree branch.

Still I keep running. I have no idea how long I have before they pause in their celebration and realize I’m gone.

I suppose Ymarra couldn’t have helped the pirates walk on land again, since her powers are connected to earth and fire, not earth and water. Lucky me. I’m the girl they need for everything—harlequin magic, specific elemental powers, and Escovar blood. Lucky, lucky me. Bless the fucking gods for their overindulgence in showering me with magical gifts when I was born.

What would my life have been like if I hadn’t been a witch born into a famous family of witches? I’d be living a peasant’s dull, placid existence—probably toting a baby on each hip and kissing one weary, balding man for the rest of my life.

As an alternative to running through a strange forest, being pursued by handsome cursed pirates who want to kill me, the calm life of a peasant looks very good.

The forest seems to be thinning, so I run faster. I’m sure I’ve been fleeing for almost an hour now—maybe more.

Maybe the pirates haven’t noticed I’m gone.

Maybe they won’t follow me.

Maybe—

A zinging sensation washes over my body, and there’s a faint flash of light through the trees. Strange. It almost felt as if I passed through some kind of invisible wall.

The forest is definitely thinner now—less undergrowth for concealment if the pirates do catch up to me. But less undergrowth also means I can run faster. And the canopy overhead is scantier, too, allowing some starlight and moonlight to sift through, so I’m not crashing into things as often.

I keep running until the horrible pinching pain under my ribs is too much to bear, and then I walk. A stream bars my path, but smooth rocks provide an easy way across.

Fewer trees now—hills instead, blanketed with scrubby bushes. Many have fragrant berries on them, but although I’m hungry, I don’t dare risk eating strange fruit. It could be poisonous.

Now and then I hear a scuffle and a snap in the bushes or in the valleys between the low hills. Night animals, most likely.

After climbing a particularly steep slope, I pause at the top, panting heavily, leaning over with my palms braced on my thighs. My legs are gelatinous and my lungs hurt. I need to stop and rest. Surely I’ve put enough distance between me and the pirates.

The night air whisks over me, stirring my sweat-damp hair and riffling through my gauzy black dress, which is stuck to my damp skin. Parts of the skirt tore to ribbons on thorn bushes while I was running, and the shredded bits float in the wind like ghostly rags.

I’m standing on bare smooth rock at the peak of the hill, with waist-high bushes clustering around me like hair around the edges of a bald head. The sky sweeps in a huge navy-blue arc above me, infinite, dotted with innumerable crystalline stars. All I can see of the surrounding scenery is more surging lumps of land, with tributaries of the forest winding between them. It’s like a dark, shimmering sea, with hills instead of waves.

A bird whistles softly, distantly. Then another bird-whistle, a short distance behind me.

That whistle didn’t sound quite like a bird, though. There was something off about it.

Another whistle, to my left, and another to my right.

Definitely not birds.

The hair on the back of my neck lifts, and goosebumps roll over my skin.

I’m about to make a break for it when several figures rise up out of the bushes, forming a circle around me.

I’m trapped on the hilltop.

“You win, boys,” I grit out, though inwardly I’m determined to claw and bite the fucking pirates as hard as I can. I’m not letting them take me back to the Emberwatch without a fight.

The figures move in, closing the circle.

Their silhouettes are the wrong shapes, the wrong heights.

Not the pirates, after all.

“Who are you?” I ask.

The figures mutter to each other—I catch the word “witch” repeated several times.

I touch the collar around my neck. “Yes, I’m a witch, and some horrible people are after me. They’ve locked my magic away so only they can use it. Can you help me?”

“Magic can be unlocked,” murmurs one of the figures. “Easily done.”

My stomach thrills. “Wait—you can get this collar off me? You can free my magic?”

“Of course. A simple task.” The person who spoke moves closer. “We’re witches too, some of us. Not all. What’s your name, girl?”

“Quressa Escovar,” I answer.

A soft gasp from the figures. “Escovar, Escovar…” The excited whisper circulates like a never-ending echo until I begin to wonder if I should have only stated my first name. Idiotic move, Quressa, telling them your family line after Captain Varrow just explained the danger of your heritage…

“Come with us,” says the person who first spoke to me.

I glance back in the direction from which I came. No flare of torchlight in the forest, no sign of pursuit.

Maybe the pirates have decided to let me go.

Why am I vaguely disappointed?

“I’ll come with you,” I say. “And if you can get this collar off me, I’ll help you out with my magic as much as I can.”

“Yes, you will,” says the voice, and several of the others chuckle.

I don’t like those chuckles. They’re fucking sinister.

My mind changes at once, just from hearing those soft cackles. “On second thought, I think I’ll be all right walking alone. Thank you for the invitation, but I’ll be on my way. If you could point me toward the nearest port town or dock, I’d be grateful.”

“Nonsense,” replies the talkative figure. “We’ll escort you.”

“I’d rather not.” I revolve slowly in place, eyeing the circle around me for a weak point.

There’s a larger gap between two of the figures. That’s my chance.

The moment I run, all pretext of amity will be over between me and these people, whoever they are.

Taking a deep breath, I bolt for it.

I’m too slow. Too weary from running this far. My body reacts with about half the speed I wanted; it’s like I’m watching myself run in slow motion, screaming at my brain to hurry, while the dark figures shift and seal the gap I was aiming for.

Their hands close on me—thin, bony fingers grasping my flesh painfully tight.

“Pick her up. Bring her along,” says the talkative one—the leader, I’m guessing.

They pick me up, but instead of carrying me, two of the figures hold open a large canvas bag, while the others stuff me into its gaping mouth.

I scream, buck, snap my jaws at someone’s wrist—I’m tumbling into the bag. Horror stifles me as its mouth is cinched tight.

Shrieking, I kick outward as hard as I can. It’s stuffy in this bag. The material is thicker than I expected, and the tightly woven threads reek of rotting meat.

My breath jolts through my lungs, too fast and shallow for my brain to benefit. It’s pitch black. I’m lifted and carried, my butt and knees bumping painfully into hard things as I’m toted along.

More screams rip from my throat, but they’re fainter than I’d like.

I think I am losing consciousness. Not enough air…

I’m dumped out of the bag, limbs in a helpless jumble. I’m barely conscious, the ache of partial suffocation throbbing in my skull.

I’m in a very large room or building, on a stone floor stained with something brown that flakes under my fingernails as I try to push myself upright.

Light flickers from a series of torches in brackets along the walls.

Four people stand around me, their faces concealed by leathery masks decorated with runes and archaic symbols. Witch symbols for death, consumption, sacrifice, abhorrence, violence, blood, and teeth.

Gods. Oh, gods.

One of them snares my wrists, while another holds my ankles. A third cuts my clothing off, all of it, until I’m naked and writhing.

“What is wrong with you?” I gasp. “What are you doing?”

One of the people steps forward—a woman, I think, with red braids much darker than Captain Varrow’s hair. She wears a string of totems around her neck, along with tiny bags and bottles hanging from belts at her waist. From her necklace of totems, she selects one that combines a desiccated finger, a cluster of herbs, and a tiny bird-skull, all bound with twine. Holding the totem, she draws a sign over my lips and murmurs, “Be in silence waiting, withered tongue and tightened cords.”

My tongue sucks to the roof of my mouth, and something in my throat tightens horribly. I can’t speak, and I can’t scream.

But I can fight, and I begin to struggle for all I’m worth. I’m a crazed, wild animal in a trap, flat-out refusing to be the prey.

But the same redhead grips my twisting shoulders and shouts a spell, which one of the men seals by dragging the sharp nails of a bird-claw down my breastbone and tying a chain of woven herbs and dried entrails around my throat. It’s a second collar, and this one steals my power of motion, rendering me limp. I have barely enough muscle control to hold up my head, twitch my fingers, and move my eyes.

My four captors lift me, drag me to an alcove with a privy hole and a seat. They push me onto it—rough wood grating against the smooth skin of my rear. I’m a Highwitch, used to fine palace privies—though lately I’ve grown accustomed to using the bucket in my cell aboard the Emberwatch. Still, this rough, grimy toilet makes my skin crawl.

The redhaired witch presses one of her totems and speaks an oddly-composed spell to promote bodily elimination.

And it works. Everything in my bladder and bowels comes out. It’s the most humiliating few minutes of my life.

The moment it’s over, they drag me to a gigantic tub of water, shackle my wrists to the sides, and proceed to scrub my body hard, until my skin shines pink. Warm water sloshes around my face, nearly splashing into my mouth and nose. I blink, and I imagine struggling. I try to go deep inside myself, to unlock the reserves of power that my collar prevents me from accessing.

But I can’t pull on my magic. I can only sense the very faintest hum of my energy, like always. I can’t make it spike, or overcome the prohibitive properties of the collar the king put on me. Fuck him.

From somewhere outside the building we’re in, above the slop and slosh of the bathwater, I can hear people singing or conversing. Now and then their murmur swells to a shout—joyful, triumphant. Much like the pirates once they set foot on land.

Are the people outside celebrating my capture?

The entrails around my neck float atop the water, their dead, dried-meat scent blending with the spicy fragrance of the herbs. My stomach stirs with nausea, but my body doesn’t have enough motility for vomiting. The last dregs of my power and my will have been stolen from me.

Two hot tears trace along my temples as I lie face-up in the bath, enduring the rugged scrubbing from strangers’ hands.

I’m jerked upright by firm fingers cupping under my shoulders. My wet hair is squeezed out, then I’m unshackled and lifted out of the tub.

The four people carry me to a broad table, worn smooth. A fifth woman comes forward with a gigantic stone bowl, and they all scoop double handfuls of its contents. Their fingers massage the mixture over my skin. It’s grainy, buttery, like the salt scrubs I’ve used at the palace. But this mixture smells spicier and more savory—like the rub one might apply to a chicken before roasting. I could swear there’s bacon grease in it.

When these people said they could remove my collar, I’ll wager they meant they’d remove my head, and then swallow my flesh to imbibe my magic.

I hate not seeing their faces. I glimpse their eyes through the holes of their masks, but they won’t look directly at me. They keep patting my flesh with wet, oily hands, massaging buttery spices into the softest parts.

One of the men is working the spice rub over my thigh muscle, but through the eyeholes of his mask, I can see that his gaze keeps darting between my legs.

“Seems a pity to let that go to waste,” he says, nodding toward my pussy.

“You just want to be able to say you’ve fucked an Escovar witch,” mumbles the redheaded women.

“Well, yes.”

She shrugs. “Take her then. But don’t come inside her. I already cleaned her insides, and I don’t want to have to scrape out your cum.”

“Agreed.” The man shoves my thighs wider apart. “Fuck, she’s so wet.”

I want to snarl at him that it’s only my magic, triggering a panicked need for sex, for energy. Despite my very real terror, I’m bare-ass naked on a table while strangers’ fingertips massage my sensitive body. I can’t help my illogical response to the stimuli.

But arousal does not equal my consent.

The masked male witch gets out his dick, but before he can do anything with it, there’s a scraping sound—a door, maybe? —and the scuff of more footsteps.

“Is she ready?” asks a new voice. “Gods, what are you doing, Pim? Put that thing away. If there’s any fucking to be done, it’ll be at the Mordling’s word, and we’ll all participate. You always were a selfish bastard.”

Pim puts his dick away again, mumbling. The two newcomers hold a long metal bar above my body, while the others secure my wrists and ankles to it. They lift me, trussed and helpless, swinging from the spit. My butt brushes the floor once as they carry me through the room, and the redhead yells, “Hold her higher! We don’t want dirty haunches.”

“Those are the best part,” someone adds. “Once the Mordling gives the word, I’m cutting me a slice of Escovar ass.”

My head lolls as my captors carry me outside. But I have just enough control to turn my face one way or the other, and to hold my head up for a few seconds at a time.

I’m being toted through a wide clearing—no, a village square, surrounded by log cabins. The space is set up for a feast day or a festival—roughly-hewn tables; light flickering prettily through the patterned sides of metal lanterns; glazed ceramic plates and mugs shining in the glow of a giant bonfire, blazing at the center of it all.

Around the tables and along the edges of the square are people—all masked, all dressed in simple brown robes. Some of them have symbols tattooed along their arms.

Two posts with branched tops stand on opposite sides of the bonfire. That’s where they’ll set the spit I’m hanging from. Right over that fire, so they can roast my flesh.

Except there’s another pair of branching posts, a little distance away. Which is where I’ll likely hang if the Mordling—whoever they are—decides I’m to be fucked first.

The witches carry me past the bonfire and halt before a tangle of bones and antlers draped in black velvet—a throne of sorts, on which sits a robed figure wearing a blind mask of leather, dried sinews, and bird-skulls. The mask branches out into a spiky antlered crown.

I can’t tell the gender of the Mordling, and I don’t care.

I don’t want to be roasted. But if these freaks do decide to take turns fucking me beforehand, that will give my pirates more time to find me. I desperately wish I could speak, so I could convince my captors to wait on the fiery part of this process.

Gods, I’m going to die. I’m going to be cooked and sliced apart. Chunks of me are going to be placed into mouths and swallowed—

Not yet, not yet.

A little more time.

Gods above and below, if any of you can hear me, please, please, let me speak.

“Are you in her thoughts yet, Mordling?” asks one of the spit-bearers.

The Mordling’s voice is a crawling rasp. “Not yet—ah, there we are. Now I can see her mind. Yes, an Escovar witch indeed. Such good fortune, my children.”

Wait, the Mordling’s in my thoughts?

Instantly I focus my mental faculties on a few phrases, flooding them through my consciousness. I have the best pussy in all the kingdoms. It’s magical, and these freaks have no idea. They’re going to kill me without ever knowing the pleasure and power they could have gained from rutting with me.

I think those sentences only, over and over, until the Mordling says, “Take her to the joining posts. Every man may fuck her, and the women may taste her if they like, or use one of the ceremonial phalluses.”

A roar surges from the crowd—a hissing, hungry vocalization of murderous lust.

My naked body sways as the bearers carry me to the second set of posts. They each step up onto something, lifting me higher with a grunt and settling the metal pole into the forked tops of the posts. I’m hanging in midair, with my arms and legs straight and my slit easily accessible.

“I’m first.” It’s the voice of the man who wanted to rape me earlier.

He moves into place, with his back to one of the posts and his front facing my pussy. With my head hanging to one side, I have a partial view of him. One of his hands circles his stubby dick, stroking it, and his eyes gleam eagerly through the holes of his mask.

A whirr and a flutter of metallic wings. Something lands on my arm—a tiny clockwork insect with large, multifaceted eyes, blankly golden. Its mouthparts jitter before it takes off again.

My stomach thrills.

Gabel. Gabel is here. And if he’s here, so are the rest of my pirates. Gods be praised. I shall have to sacrifice something on an altar somewhere, in gratitude for this rescue.

“Hurry up,” someone shouts, and with a chuckle the masked man moves forward, aiming for my opening.

With a sharp whine, the golden mechanical insect dives straight for his dick.

And slices the tip clean off.

Blood sprays, and a keening shriek soars from the throat of the mutilated man.

I want to vomit because his blood splattered me. I also want to scream for joy because someone stopped him. Not someone—Gabel. Gabel and his bit of magic, and his wonderful inventions.

With a lethal hiss, arrows arc out of the darkness, raining down on the masked crowd. Yells and screams erupt as the masked witches scramble for cover in buildings or under tables. Some of them seem to be attempting spells, but without a clear target, it’s a difficult task.

Elemental magic can be quick and deadly, when wielded by skilled witches. But universal magic is typically slow, involving numerous ingredients. The more potent a spell, the quicker it drains the caster. That’s why normal witches without elemental powers aren’t typically useful in the heat of battle. Which is a lucky thing for my pirates.

The king who owned me had one witch who used to go out to war with him. The witch would pack carefully measured portions of the necessary ingredients for each spell he planned to use in the field, and he’d carry totems and ink as well. Apparently he managed to survive a number of battles before someone lopped his head off. That was before my time in the palace; a servant told me the story. And the tale comes back to me now, as I watch the masked witches fumble for their totems and supplies while arrows stab into tables or thump into flesh.

One arrow soars toward the Mordling, but it dissolves in a shiver of acidic magic from the Mordling’s raised hands. They are the most powerful witch in this group. The one to fear.

Suddenly I hear a call—Captain Varrow’s voice, coming from somewhere in the shadows between the cabins. “Quressa, use your earth magic to free yourself.”

The compulsion of his voice and his will pierce my body, thrumming along my nerves, screaming in my head, vibrating through the collar of silver, moonstone, and iron around my neck.

But I can’t obey the Captain’s order. The spell that suppresses my speech and motion is colliding with the power of the collar, and I’m caught between them, unable to move or speak, inwardly straining to perform my master’s will.

I need to obey Varrow and use my magic. The moonstone collar is buzzing against my skin, roaring its compulsion through my blood, but the collar of entrails and herbs holds its own spell. I am paralyzed and silenced. And between the two clashing forces, I think I might be ripped apart.

Someone shouts, “Varrow, she’s not doing it! Command her again!”

I think that was Iro.

Another voice—Kylar’s? “Maybe she has to see you when you command her!”

No, no—don’t step into view, I plead inwardly—because if Varrow shows himself, the more powerful witches of this coven will find some way to curse him. It might be a clumsy, hasty spell, but even an awkwardly worded curse, with enough witches behind it, could wound or kill him.

The arrows keep flying, but more sparsely, as if someone stopped shooting. Instead, a dozen small clockwork creatures skim out of the trees, darting in to slash at fingers and necks. Two of them fly straight into the eyeholes of a witch’s mask. The witch staggers, screaming and clawing at the mask until blood spurts from the eyeholes and the body falls heavily. The clockwork insects crawl out and take flight again, shedding scarlet droplets from tiny, razor-sharp legs.

While the other witches dodge arrows and bat away Gabel’s insects, Varrow and Kylar appear, back-to-back, sidling cautiously into the square. Kylar brandishes a cutlass, his massive body tense and catlike, long legs moving in an almost dance-like pattern as he slinks toward me, covering the Captain. Varrow’s gold earrings and his fiery red braid catch the light. His gray eyes have gone coal-dark. He holds a pistol and a dagger.

“Quressa,” he says, and I tremble at his tone. “Defend yourself against the Gnawers with your earth magic. Fight with us.”

My body shudders with the agony of both collars, pain shearing along my limbs. I keep my tortured gaze locked on Varrow, and his eyes widen with realization and alarm. “You can’t?”

With a great effort, I shake my head.

The redhaired witch steps forward, her masked face cocking sharply aside. She takes a handful of dust from a bag at her waist and blows it toward Varrow. Then she takes a swig from a small bottle and spits red liquid at him, too.

“Bones crack cover, skin-piercing, flesh-flaying, pain and power, by the dust of a dead-man, by the blood of a babe,” she intones.

I inhale, my stomach clenching, expecting to see spikes of Varrow’s bones thrust out through his flesh.

But nothing happens.

Varrow grins, arching an eyebrow, and touches a glowing stone around his neck. “Ymarra sends you greetings. She couldn’t come with us, since she’s not allowed to cross the border. But she gave us a couple of good longbows, and amulets to protect us from your magic.”

“Temporarily,” grits out Kylar under his breath. “What should we do, Captain?”

“Get Quressa down from there,” the Captain orders. “Gabel and Iro have us covered. Once she’s free, we’re going to show these fuckers who the Highwitch belongs to.” He raises his voice. “She is ours. No one touches her except us.”

There’s a yell of wild assent from the shadows—Iro or Gabel, I’m not sure which, and I smile inside, joy pulsing through my heart. The pain of Varrow’s order is receding, since his will is no longer behind it, and I can fully realize that my pirates are here. They came for me. Only because they need me, of course—only because they want to kill me themselves someday.

But they’re here, saving me, and for now that’s enough.

16

I slash the ropes holding the Highwitch to the spit, and she falls to the ground. Her body is utterly limp, shiny and greasy, coated with herbs and spices. These disgusting fuckers were really going to roast her alive. Besides the obvious wrongness, that is not the best way to cook up meat. You have to gut and bleed it first. Best to slice the throat, open the carcass, take out the entrails—

The crack of Varrow’s pistol. He’s shooting at some creepy-ass fucker in an antlered mask, but Antlers doesn’t seem disturbed by the bullet at all.

Damn it, Quressa isn’t even trying to get up. They put something on her—a spell. There’s a disgusting wreath of some kind around her neck, and when I try to tear it off, my fingers spark with sharp pain, and I yell.

Forget that. Gabel or Ymarra can unspell her later.

“Stop fucking around!” bellows Varrow. Antlers is nearly upon him now, raising a spiked staff. “Get the witch and run! Go! Back to Ymarra!”

“Here! Cutlass!” I yell, and I toss mine to him. He catches it and blocks an oncoming blow from the antlered fucker just in time.

I pick up the witch’s slick, naked body, and I run.

It’s going to be midnight soon. Varrow, Gabel, and Iro only need to hold out that long, and then they will transform into creatures the Gnawers cannot fight. They will murder everyone in that village.

And I have to get back to the border, to the river, to Ymarra, before I change as well. Because if I change in the middle of the forest, I will kill Quressa. She can’t defend herself against me. Fuck, she’s not only unable to access her magic, she’s also been muted and paralyzed by Gnawer spells. She is utterly helpless.

I hate her for lying about me to Varrow, for telling him that I bruised her. But I can’t deny the punishment was—fun. Ten lashes my rosy ass. The damn witch can’t think of anything but sex, it seems.

I hate her, and I like her, and I don’t want her blood on my hands at dawn.

Quressa’s body is so damn slippery. The buttery scrub they used on her is getting all over my clothes. Shit. Not that I care about the clothes, but she’s damn hard to keep a grip on, and the scent she’s giving off is going to draw every nocturnal beastie in these woods. She smells like bacon grease.

When we come to a stream, I make a quick decision.

I lay her down in the grass and strip my oily shirt and pants off, casting them into the bushes. I don’t use underwear, so I’m naked. Might regret this while I’m running through the undergrowth, but fuck it. Iro can heal my scratches later. What he can’t heal is the torn-up flesh of the witch and me if we run into any hungry beasts.

After buckling my weapons belt back on, I seize Quressa and drag her into the stream with me, propping her head on my shoulder. The water is cold, and I suck in a sharp breath. The witch’s eyes widen.

“Gotta get this bacon smell off you,” I say roughly. I think she nods.

I rub her skin all over, rinsing off as much of the bacon-scented, spice-laden grease as I can. She’s still going to be a little shiny, but hopefully her scent won’t be quite as toothsome.

My fingers sweep over the squishy flesh of her breasts. Her nipples are tight beads, rolling against my palm as I scrape away the bits of herbs, letting them slough off into the running water. My dick lifts, blood rushing in, thickening it.

Quressa’s head rests on my shoulder, while her body lies in the shallow stream, pale and shining in the moonlight. When I look down, her face is tilted up to mine. Her mouth curves, just a little.

She likes me touching her. Even now, in this fucked-up mess we’re in.

“You’re a rutting liar and a whore,” I grit out, squeezing one breast. Gods, I love the feel of it.

Her head inclines, admitting to what I said.

I rinse off her stomach, her thighs. Then my hand delves between her legs. I tell myself I’m searching out any residue of that gods-awful rub they put on her.

But my middle finger sinks into her folds. By accident, I think.

She’s slick inside. Not from the water. This is a different kind of wet.

I angle my gaze to her again. She’s mouthing something, struggling hard to shape each word.

“Are you asking me to fuck you?” I say hoarsely.

She gives me a tiny nod, then mouths, Please.

“You want me to put my thick cock in here—” I hook two fingers into her hole— “and pump my hot cum into your needy little pussy?”

She nods again.

“You’re insane,” I hiss, my nose nearly touching hers. “We don’t have time. We have to run.”

The frustration in her eyes almost changes my mind. I overhead something between her and Ymarra today—something about sexual energy feeding into magical energy. Which explains why our witch is so relentlessly seductive. Ymarra said the urge gets worse in times of danger.

“Does your magic need to be fed, little witch?” I breathe. “Are you desperate for cock?”

Her eyes plead with me.

“You think I’m the right man to ask, after you lied about me, teased me, and then convinced everyone to make me suffer for hours before they let me come?” I swirl my two fingers inside her warm channel. She doesn’t arch into my hand—she can’t.

The idea of making a totally helpless woman come on my fingers is tempting. But it’s going to be midnight soon.

I pull my fingers out of her and give her sex a hard rub before I finish rinsing her legs. I drag her out of the stream, scoop her into my arms, and stride through the forest as fast as I can. My dick relaxes a bit after a while, thank the gods.

We’ve got to be close to the border now. Ymarra promised she’d be nearby, waiting on the other side. But I’m not sure where we crossed it the first time. Farther south, I think.

Light shimmers over us both briefly—the magic of the border. Quressa jolts in my arms. “Oh,” she exclaims. “Oh gods. The border—it broke the spells. Thank the gods.” She tears off the wreath of herbs and entrails around her neck and chucks it into the bushes.

I keep striding ahead, quickening my pace.

I can’t be sure, but I think I’m almost out of time.

A rumbling sensation begins in my belly, rolling through my chest.

“Shit,” I gasp. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.” I put Quressa down quickly and grip her jaw with my hand. Such a tiny, delicate jaw. I could snap it in two.

“You have to run now,” I tell her.

“We’re far enough away from the cannibal witches,” she begins, but I cut her off.

“You’re not running from them. They’ll be dead by dawn. You’re running from me.”

My gut tightens, spasms surging through my body, and I bend double, groaning.

“Kylar?” Quressa’s slim fingers stroke my bare shoulder.

I jerk away, snarling in the voice of the shadow-beast. “Get away from me. Run. Run!”

Wide-eyed and pale, Quressa stares. I growl softly, eyeing her lovely body, her generous breasts, and the tasty cleft between her legs.

“Eat you,” gurgles the shadow-beast, and my body begins to change.

The instant she sees the change beginning, Quressa springs away, light as a doe, her skin flashing white through the dark forest.

My beast roars its delight and gives chase.

17

This is a new kind of running.

It’s not the determined, angry running I did when I left the pirates and fled into the unknown of the island.

This time I am a rabbit in the deep, dark woods, and there is a wolf on my tail.

Running is survival.

Sharp short breath—silent screaming in my mind—muscles burning.

I’m not sure what I saw, exactly. Parts of Kylar’s body faded, turning into translucent shadow, and the shadow-limbs lengthened and swelled horribly, changing into something, something monstrous—I didn’t stay to watch the rest.

“Run,” he told me. And then, in a guttural snarl, “Eat you.”

What is everyone’s obsession with eating me? Damn.

I’m tired. I’m so, so tired. My limbs are a little wobbly from the spell’s dissolution and my whole body is exhausted from my long run earlier. If only the border had broken the spell on my collar as well as the Gnawers’ spell—but no such luck. I can’t feel my magic.

The crunching and crashing behind me spurs me on, sheer panicked force-of-will keeping me upright.

Until my bare toes catch on a root, and I fall headlong.

Twigs lacerate my breasts and tree bark scrapes along my ribs. Dirt cakes my knees and elbows as I struggle, fingers scrabbling in the mulchy forest litter, pushing myself up again—

A weight slams onto my back. Not as heavy as Kylar should be, not as solid—and that terrifies me more than anything else this night. It’s like part of him is still corporeal, and the rest—the rest is an oppressive, bone-chilling presence, a shadowy blanket laid over my arms and legs.

Gasping, I lift my head again.

A smoky, crooked limb lies in front of my face. It’s incorporeal, shifting and juddering, trailing streamers of shadow, but its claws are delving very real grooves into the forest earth.

My breath is tiny sips of air. Can’t manage any more than that.

Slowly I shift, trying to roll over, and Kylar—or the thing that was Kylar—lifts a little, allowing me to flip onto my back.

Part of Kylar’s broad chest, toned abdomen and upper thighs are still corporeal. But the rest of him—head, neck, arms, and legs—is a monster of coiling darkness. Six immense jointed limbs. A cavernous mouth full of black fangs, drooling noxious smoke. Blazing, pupil-less white eyes, like milky flame. Four broken-looking horns that leak dark wisps from the tips.

A scream shivers in my throat, escapes my lips in a whimper.

“Eat you,” purrs the monster, in a tone of deep satisfaction. His voice echoes strangely, hollowly, as if it’s detached from his body, coming to me from a distance.

His great clawed forepaws close over my wrists, pinning me to the ground. The dark jaws open with an earth-shaking moan, and his mouth encompasses my whole face, ready to tear my head off, suck out my soul—something terrible, something I can’t allow.

“No!” I shout into his cold, black throat. “Don’t eat me. I’m important to you, to the crew. You need me to break your curse, remember?”

The shadow-beast pulls back. His answering growl dips low, then rises into a wail of enraged anguish. I writhe, aching to cover my ears, but he’s still gripping my wrists.

At last the wail fades into a rumble. “Devour you now.”

“No, you can’t devour me,” I say again, as firmly as I can manage. “Think about Captain Varrow, Gabel, Iro, Jim, and Theo. You love them. You can’t take away their one chance at breaking this curse.”

“Var-row,” hums the monster.

My mouth is dry. I try to wet my lips, but it doesn’t do much good. “What the fuck did you all do to get cursed like this?” I murmur.

“My fault.” the shadow-beast moans, rocking over me, swaying on his clawed, misshapen limbs. “Theo. Jim.”

Then his hideous head descends again, his muzzle distended, jaws parting to reveal his black maw. A pale tongue, glazed in white smoke, sweeps along my cheek, an icy burn that makes me gasp.

Something wet drips onto my bare stomach. Frowning, I hunt for the source, my gaze drifting down to the space between Kylar’s upper thighs, one of the few parts of him that’s still human. His cock is intact, and it looks harder and more swollen than I’ve ever seen it. The tiny hole at the tip is dripping precum.

I swallow hard. “You can’t eat me,” I repeat. “But you can fuck me.”

The shadow-monster hesitates, snarling and drooling cold smoke in my face.

Slowly I part my legs, spreading my thighs as wide as I can and lifting my hips.

Kylar snorts, his cloudy jaws champing. He snuffles along my chest, over my bare breasts. They’re bleeding, scraped up and covered in small cuts. His icy tongue slathers the blood over my skin, and he hums his delight at the taste. Which makes my body stipple with terrified goosebumps.

“Fuck me,” I say sharply, drawing his attention again.

He snarls, a puff of cold breath, and then whines. His lower haunches sink down, bringing the tip of his cock nearer to my entrance. He’s not really a monster. He’s Kylar. He’s mostly human in shape, from thighs to neck anyway. A human cock, so this is fine. It’s just fine.

The monster hunches suddenly, and the tip of his cock punches through my opening, ramming deep inside me. Bless my insatiable, magic-ridden body for making me slick enough that it doesn’t hurt much, despite his girth.

Kylar’s hips pump wildly, a crazed rhythm that’s almost inhuman. He’s like a beast desperate for a rut, thrusting with a panicked frenzy that nearly stops my breath. The force of him pushes my whole body against the earth at first, but then his second set of claws curl around my shoulders, holding me in place for the fucking.

He groans, almost a roar, shoves in deep. But he hasn’t come yet, and as he picks up the pace again, my mind begins to move beyond the taut, stretched, pulling sensations and into the dizzy realm of increasing pleasure. Kylar’s cock is rubbing hard against a tender spot deep inside me, and his heavy balls are smacking my ass, and my pussy lips are being tugged in such a tantalizing way…

My body tightens, every muscle in my legs and stomach tensing as I strain for release. I’m climbing toward it, reaching, surging—

“Fuck me, Kylar,” I gasp, shrill and desperate. “Fuck me, fuck me, fuck—fuck—” And the thrill pierces my lower belly, glittering, chasing up my spine.

The monstrous part of Kylar seems to have grown. It’s huge and dominant, a thunderous hunched beast of smoke and shadow. But he’s human, too, and I ground myself by focusing on the expanse of his chest, human and familiar.

He kicks into a wilder speed, thrust-thrust-thrust until I’m screaming aloud and I can’t stop. His claws are hurting my arms. I’m so frightened he’s going to fuck me apart, tear me apart. But in the pit of that fear, another orgasm is building, tightening my belly, swelling in my consciousness—

With a bellow, the shadow-monster plunges deep, and I feel his cock spasming inside me. And I come too, a hard, wild, bone-shaking release.

For an instant, every shadowy part of Kylar takes on his usual form—not monstrous, but his human self, with limbs shaped from smoke.

His eyes find mine, bright with orgasmic agony.

“Run,” he gasps while he’s still coming inside me.

The next moment his hands unclench from my wrists.

I drag myself along the ground, crawling backward off his cock. With his cum leaking down my legs, I struggle to my feet and run.

The shadow-beast is roaring behind me, thrashing, breaking branches. Sobbing, with the warmth of my climax still glowing sweet and sore between my legs, I run.

And I crash into someone. Long golden hair, messily adorned with flowers and twigs. Delicate features.

Ymarra.

She grips my upper arms, swings me around behind her.

Then, as Kylar’s shadow-beast charges out of the trees, she lifts a bottle and unstoppers it.

Rays of sunlight slice through the night. Kylar’s beast shrieks, recoiling.

“Don’t kill him!” I scream, tugging at Ymarra’s arm.

“Shut up, fool,” Ymarra snaps. “Come quickly.”

The shadow-beast is moaning among the trees. It doesn’t follow us as we run through the woods and leap into the rowboat. Ymarra grips the oars and works them herself, propelling us to the middle of the river.

“The shadow-beasts can’t enter water,” Ymarra says, handing me her cloak. “I saw the crew change once, in the early days of the curse. They were aboard the Emberwatch when it happened, and two of them jumped into the ocean, planning to swim to the beach and get at me. Those two evaporated instantly. The others learned their lesson and stayed on the ship.”

“How many of them were there, at the beginning?” I ask, wrapping the cloak around myself.

“Not sure. A lot more than there are now. These six have tethered themselves to each other, so they’ve been able to hold onto pieces of their humanity for longer than the rest.”

“Tethered themselves,” I say slowly.

“The bond of sex and affection they share.” She nods. “And Varrow has told me they bite each other sometimes, exchanging small drops of blood. I’m sure that helps cement the bond. Impressive, really, that the dear dolts were able to find a solution, however temporary. It’s rough magic, primal and rudimentary, but it has kept them stable long enough.”

“Long enough for them to find me and sacrifice me.” I want to glare at her, but I’m too exhausted. I can only manage a faint frown.

Ymarra shrugs. “I wish there was another way. But I’ve known them a lot longer than you, dear. I’m on their side.”

“Understandable,” I mumble. “So the rest of the crew who didn’t survive—did they eventually lose all their human parts and turn entirely into smoke-monsters?”

“Yes. Every night from midnight to dawn, since the beginning of the curse, each crew member has had a piece of his body turn to shadow. Each night more of the body is consumed by the shadow, until finally the whole man turns into a shadow-beast. When morning comes, if he has no humanity left, he burns away in the sunlight. In one case, when the Emberwatch was near enough to land, two shadows leaped the gap and went ashore before dawn. Or so Gabel says.”

“Kylar has his chest and hips left. How much is left of the others?” I huddle deeper into the cloak.

“I’m not sure. But we may have a chance to see. They’ll be drawn to you. They’ll seek you out. That’s why we can’t go back into my bridge—they can get to us there. We’re stuck on the river until dawn. You may as well try to sleep.”

I don’t need any more urging. My eyelids are drooping, heavy as my heart. I settle onto the bottom of the rowboat and prop my head on the seat by way of a pillow.

But before I rest, I have one last question for Ymarra. “Will you tell me how they became like this?”

“That’s not my story to tell,” she replies. “Ask them.”

I doze fitfully, off and on. My neck aches, and I can’t get comfortable. Blood has dried on my breasts and ribs, and it crinkles and pulls my skin when I move.

I’m awakened from a strange dream by Ymarra’s hand clutching my shoulder. She’s pointing to the riverbank. “Look.”

Wincing, I pull myself to a sitting position. And my pulse quickens sharply, a cold sweat breaking out over my skin.

There they stand, at the edge of the forest. All four pirates who came to save me from the cannibal witches.

All four monsters.

Kylar, six-legged, horned, moaning aloud.

Iro, lizardlike, made of white smoke with two human legs in addition to six other limbs.

Gabel, head and shoulders still intact atop the body of a lionlike creature made of black swirling clouds, with a toothy maw in its underbelly.

And Captain Varrow, a spindly shadow-beast taller than the trees, with only half his face left. His partial mouth is open in a soundless scream, his eye fixed and glassy.

I wonder what Theo and Jim look like right now.

My six beautiful, monstrous pirates. Every single one of them is interesting and talented and annoying and wicked—flawed and gorgeous and nearly gone.

And they need me to save them.

18

When dawn comes, and my flesh reforms, I break down.

I lost my clothes somewhere in this strange forest. My belts, with my devices, my inventions.

I want them, I need them. My creatures.

I could go and look for them, but they are probably strewn across the forest floor, between here and the Gnawers’ village.

No Gnawers left now. We fought them until we transformed, and then we sliced them apart. Sheets of blood painting the cabins, rivers of blood carpeting the square and the tables where they planned to dine on our witch.

We’ve always been on our ship when we’ve turned—never allowed to go on land. Although when one of us goes fully shadow, he can prowl the land. I saw Ty and Hebe go ashore when their last night came. They didn’t know us anymore. Leaped from the mast to a clifftop and gone. Probably chewed the inhabitants of that island to shreds.

Last night, four of us weren’t on the Emberwatch. We weren’t home. There was no careful stripping and laying aside our possessions before the change, no wrestling and fucking and prowling the deck until dawn. Just a wild storm of bones and flesh and blood. So much blood.

Since the girl has been with us, we’ve locked ourselves in the galley and the bathing room during every change, so we wouldn’t hunt her down. I’m the one who has retained his head, literally, so I’ve been the man in charge of distracting the others every night so they couldn’t break out of the galley and hurt her.

But tonight, we were all out of our minds, even me. In my beast form, I have a fanged mouth in my belly, a gaping slit that’s always hungry, and it gobbled up so many Gnawers. We all ate our fill.

Except Kylar. He was alone in the forest with the witch, and somehow he managed not to eat her.

I’m on all fours, shaking. I can’t get up. So much work, lost. I have a connection to every mechanical creature I make—they are pieces of me. They give me comfort. Always have, since the lonely days of my childhood.

Without them, my mind judders and my nerves twinge, frayed and painfully sensitive.

Varrow staggers over and falls to his knees beside me. He looks like death.

“I need them,” I whisper to him. “My things, my creatures. I lost them. I need them.”

“I know.” Clumsily he throws an arm across my shoulder. “I know, my love. I’m sorry.”

“Varrow.” It’s Iro’s voice, pitifully hoarse. He screamed so much in his shadow form. He’s naked like us, his lean, tattooed body smudged with dirt. He crawls between us, nestling in, laying his head on Varrow’s knee. “I ate people last night, Varrow.” His lashes are sealed, tears trailing from beneath them.

“I know,” Varrow says again.

Kylar comes to us, a ravaged pain in his eyes. “My beast fucked the girl,” he grates out. “I think I hurt her. Gods, Varrow.”

Varrow beckons him in, wraps his other arm around Kylar’s shoulders. He holds us all. Holds us together, like he always does.

But when I look at my Captain, I see a haunted agony I cannot bear. I lean in and kiss his mouth. His lips are cold and chapped.

His brokenness softens my grief over the loss of my things. My Captain needs me.

I kiss him again and whisper, “I love you.”

His lips tremble. He presses them together, his gray eyes hard as stone. “My lads, it’s time we reclaimed our witch. Not long now until our salvation. Just one more ingredient to collect, which we can obtain now that we may walk ashore. Let’s consider this a victory, and be on our way.”

My gaze lifts to the river. Ymarra is helping Quressa out of the rowboat, letting her climb the ladder first into the bridge-house.

All of us can swim, so we take to the river, one by one, heading for the landing.

When we enter the house silently, Ymarra gives us spare clothes from a chest—ill-fitting, but they will have to do until we get back to the Emberwatch. She gives us a little food, too.

I can barely look at her, my oldest friend.

When she passes by me, I whisper, “I’m sorry.”

Ymarra pauses, grips my arm briefly. “Nothing you are and nothing you do will ever change our friendship.” Then she pats my cheek and moves on.

Quressa sits stiffly on a chair, submitting to Iro’s healing hands. She doesn’t speak to us, and we don’t speak to her, not until we’ve said our goodbyes to Ymarra, rowed back along the river, and climbed aboard the Emberwatch.

Jim and Theo are full of angry questions and violent concern. Ever-burning flames, both of them—but even they seem to dim once Varrow explains what happened.

“We can go on land?” Jim exclaims. “And you went without us? I’m going right now.”

“No.” Varrow barks the word so sharply Jim nearly drops his cigarette. “You’ll get a chance to set foot on land at our next stop. We leave now.”

“Well, maybe the witch can generate us a nice current to propel the ship a bit faster,” Jim suggests.

“Shut your bilge-hole,” snarls Theo. “Don’t you reckon she’s been through enough? We’ve got to break the curse with her blood. Least we can do is to show her a little courtesy until then.”

“Must we, though?” says Varrow, crisp and sharp. He whirls, facing Quressa, who has been quietly standing near him. He takes a fistful of her long dark locks, jerks her face up, and leans down, his profile skimming hers.

Her lashes flutter and her lips part. But it’s her hands that fascinate me—curled into delicate fists. She’s a defiant, beautiful, passionate little thing, as finely crafted as any of my creatures. The dress Ymarra gave her is too small, and her breasts bulge from the neckline with every urgent inhale.

“You ran from us,” says Captain Varrow. “Forced us to chase you into the wood. Forced us to fight a group of witches that could have slaughtered us. Forced us to change unexpectedly in a strange place, and do terrible things we’ve been able to avoid so far. You’ve lost us our dignity, and all of Gabel’s creatures. You little fool.” He shakes her, and Theo advances with a rumble of protest.

“Belay that.” Varrow throws out a threatening hand. “You’ll not interfere with my treatment of the Highwitch, Theo.”

Still grumbling, Theo backs down.

“Now, witch,” says Varrow softly. “I’ve a mind to give you your choice of punishment. Six days in the brig on bread and water, no other food. Or six good hard lashes to your back. Or six hours of being tied up naked here on deck, with your holes open for anyone’s pleasure—a pirate whore being used freely.”

“Six hours as your whore,” Quressa gasps immediately.

Iro chuckles, and Jim says “Fuck” around his cigarette.

“Captain,” Kylar begins, but Varrow shoots him a threatening glare before turning back to Quressa.

“You understand, my dear, that some of us won’t be gentle. We’ll make you come until you beg to be left alone. You’ll be mighty sore afterward.”

She nods, her white teeth pinching her lower lip.

“Get us under way, gents!” orders the Captain. “Once we’re sailing free, we’ll tend to our witch’s torment.”

I don’t understand the captain’s plan. Surely he can see that he’s giving the lass exactly what she wants, even though he’s framing it as a punishment.

Or maybe it’s not a punishment after all. Maybe, in his tortured, twisted way, he’s giving her a reward. Or a gift.

I like this turn of events, and I intend to take full advantage of it. But first, I need to help with readying the ship. And then I’m going to my cabin to finish crafting two half-assembled clockwork creatures that lie on my workbench.

The thought of completing those pieces steadies my nerves, settles my pulse, and focuses my energy. I’ll miss the ones I lost, but these new creatures have a lot of potential.

And I know exactly how I want to use them.

After the Captain’s pronouncement, Theo scoops me up and carries me below, to my cell. His skin smells like cigarettes and brown sugar.

“You’ve been fucking Jim while we were gone,” I whisper.

“He’s a good lay,” Theo replies. “Got a mouth on him, but I kept it quiet.”

“I wish I could have watched,” I murmur, stroking his chest like I did the first time he carried me. I turn my face to his warm skin, inhaling. On impulse, I press my lips to his chest.

He sighs, slow and deep. Then he bends, nuzzling his bearded face into my hair.

“Theo, I’m going to die,” I whisper. “You’re going to kill me.”

His thick arms tighten around my body. “Varrow says he’ll do it.”

“But you’ll watch.”

He strides faster, curling me closer to his chest, like he’s defying anyone to snatch me away.

“After seeing the four of them in beast form, I understand.” I drag my mouth along his collarbone. “I want you all to be free. You deserve it.”

“Maybe not.” He sets me down and ushers me into my cell. “I’ll bring you food, and water for washing up. You should sleep a while before we start the punishment.”

“I think I will. Oh, and Theo—” My thin fingers catch his huge ones as he’s moving away. “Please—I want you to fuck me first, when I’m on deck. Last time I was asleep, so I didn’t get to enjoy it.”

A muscle flexes near his temple. “You want to be fucked by the men who plan to kill you?”

“Yes.” My fingers travel up to his wrist, skimming over his pulse point. Under the hot skin, I can feel his blood pounding. “I want you to take me like it’s the last time I’ll ever get cock. I want you to fuck me like you’ll miss me.”

Theo lifts his huge hand and ruffles his golden mane. “I will.”

He strides away, but returns in moments with biscuits and jam, as well as the water for washing. After eating quickly and cleaning myself thoroughly, I slip under the blankets on my cot. At first I fear I won’t be able to sleep, because of my mingled trepidation and excitement about the upcoming “punishment”—but to my surprise, the next thing I’m aware of is Iro leaning over me, smoothing back my hair with his fingers.

“It’s time, sweetheart,” he whispers.

I frown at him. I’m not sure why I’m angrier at him than the others—maybe because he and I have spent more hours together, hours during which I felt my heart twining itself with his. Hours during which he could have warned me about the sacrifice.

“I’m sorry, Quressa,” he says, his lovely face tightening with pain. “You don’t deserve this. It’s the fault of the witch-bitch who cursed us. She made the terms of the curse-breaking as painful and difficult as possible. We need an enchanted item from an ancient, buried temple, but she took away our ability to walk on land, so we couldn’t fetch it.”

He sits down heavily on the cot beside me. “And we need a witch—but not just any witch—a harlequin witch with dual elemental powers, specifically earth and water. Not just any harlequin witch with earth and water powers—one from the Escovar line, the most-hunted, nearly-extinct family of witches to ever exist. Every curse must have conditions for its breaking, and Alessir wanted to make our escape route so impossible we’d never be able to achieve it. She wanted us dead within the year. But the six of us—we fooled her. We found a way to hold onto ourselves. And now—we can almost taste freedom.”

He’s trembling, cupping my face, his thumb stroking my cheek. “I love them, Quressa. I love those five men with all my heart. I can’t let them die. If it was only me at risk, I’d spare you and vanish into the shadows happily.”

My heart flutters and I sit up, staring at him. “You would? You’d let me live, knowing that choice would doom you?”

He gathers my hands, holding them to his chest. “I’d slit my throat now if I thought it would save you.”

His eyes are wet, and a glittering tear slides down his smooth cheek.

“Gods, Iro,” I whisper, wiping the tear with my fingertip. I place the wet finger between my lips, savoring the salt of his regret.

Then I lean in, letting our lips touch.

His mouth is so soft, but there’s strength behind the softness, and a burning heat. One gentle kiss, and then his palm slides from my cheek through my hair, cupping the back of my head.

Iro’s scent saturates me—jasmine and the fresh saltiness of the river water, but he tastes like tears and coppery blood. I open my mouth, slipping my tongue between his teeth. His wet tongue curls over mine, and a pulse of need throbs through my clit.

“Fuck me,” I breathe into his mouth. “Once I’m tied up—fuck me. I want your cock inside me, Iro, please.”

“Which hole?” he says softly.

“My mouth.” I kiss him hard, nipping at his lips. “I want you to fuck my throat. I’m going to swallow you, Iro.” Another desperate kiss. “Your essence, inside me.”

“I’m so fucking hard right now.”

“Then take me up on deck. Let this begin.”

He fills his hands with my breasts first, squeezing them lightly. “Shit. How are these so perfect?”

“Don’t be selfish,” I murmur. “Share me with the others.”

“Fuck, yes. Come on, beautiful.”

19

I stay in my cabin while my men are preparing the witch for her punishment.

I can’t break my vow. So I use the one secret treasure I own—the one my men would kill me for keeping. And with its power filling my mind, I thrust into my own hand over and over. I fight to keep Tulseya’s image centered, but the Highwitch’s large dark eyes, full breasts, and sinuous form keep sauntering through my consciousness, and every time she appears, my dick twitches.

I won’t come with her in my head. No. The only woman I dream of is my dead wife.

I have to come before I go out on deck. If I don’t, the temptation of the girl’s body will be too much for me.

One of the crew could provide release. Yes, that’s what I’ll do—I’ll take one of the men instead. Then my vow will remain intact.

My crew know about my vow. Kylar thinks it’s foolish. “It’s not as if you’re being faithful to her memory,” he told me once, bluntly. “You’ve fucked my ass more times than I can count.”

He doesn’t understand why I have to save some part of me that’s just for Tulseya. Maybe it doesn’t make sense to anyone but me. Yet I haven’t been able to look at another woman that way, until—

Until the damn Highwitch.

She’s playful, like Tulseya was. Stronger than she seems. And the way she asked me so sweetly if she could stay aboard, after the breaking of the curse—it cracked my heart.

She’s lonely, hungry, sweet, and sad—yet full of irresistible hope and joy, too. And she’s brimming with a suppressed power none of us have yet seen.

I want her to live. I want her.

Gods.

Seething, I tuck my dick away and throw open the door to my cabin.

And there is Quressa, being stripped of her clothing by Gabel and Iro, while Theo adjusts a piece of sailcloth to shade her from the sun.

My men gather her discarded clothing and set it aside.

She’s naked before all of us now. Slim throat circled by the collar that marks her as mine. Sharp clavicles. Shoulders slightly lifted, head tilted as if she’s shy, but I know better. Every line of her luscious body sings of sexual awareness, of unquenchable desire.

Her breasts are heavy, creamy, with small areolas and rosy tips I want to nibble. Her shape narrows at the waist, then flares to full hips and round thighs, with her sweet pink cleft between them. Long legs, one straight and one slightly bent—an artful pose, because our little witch knows all too well how to handle men. Down her back tumbles her lovely dark hair, all the way to her buttocks.

She’s a vision of female beauty, and she belongs to us.

To me.

My cock pulses against the inside of my pants, dabbing precum on the fabric.

“Tie her up,” I order sharply. “Legs spread, but leave some slack in case we want to bend her over.”

Slowly I pace toward her, while Gabel and Iro begin tying her wrists. She holds my gaze, humor hovering in her eyes, over her pretty mouth.

“Kiss me, Captain,” she says.

My hand clamps around her neck, just above the collar, and she grins at me, triumphant. “I’m not going to fuck you, witch,” I say hoarsely. Then, louder, “Jim, come here.”

The cabin boy pushes himself away from the mast he was leaning against and saunters up to me, a cigarette dangling from his thin fingers. He’s shirtless, and I run my palm over his snake tattoo before planting both hands on his hips and whirling him around. My hand lands on his back, forcing him to bend over.

He gasps, murmurs, “Mm, Captain,” as I jerk down his pants. I’m fucking desperate, my balls so tight they might burst.

Gabel and Iro have spread the witch’s legs now, and they’re tethering her ankles to the posts like I asked. She’s watching me, her dark eyes dilated with lust.

With a grunt of pained frustration, I pull the tin of lubrication from my pocket and daub it over Jim’s pretty puckered asshole. He has a perfect bottom, two soft egg-shaped cheeks that flush beautifully when they’re smacked.

I shove down my own pants. My erection whips out, hard and ready, the piercings gleaming in a ray of sun. The brisk sea air feels like a kiss on my hot length.

With one finger I tease Jim’s anus, tucking some of the lube inside, swirling the digit around until he moans.

I can’t wait any longer.

I grab Jim’s hip with one hand, and with the other I wedge the tip of my cock into his hole. One push, then another, while he sucks in hissing breaths.

“It burns, I know,” I say hoarsely. “Relax for me, Jim. Take all of me, love.”

In a moment the burn will fade, and the gold nubs along my cock will begin to stimulate him. He likes the pain, our Jim, as well as the pleasure. I’ve seen him take all of Theo up his ass in one hard thrust and yell “Fuck yes!” afterward.

Quressa is shaking, whimpering. Her breasts tremble, and her thighs are yearning inward, as if she’s aching for pressure, for touch.

Jim groans deeply as I push farther inside him. “Yes, Captain, fuck yes, you feel so good inside me.”

No more restraint. I grip Jim’s waist and slam all the way in. He whines, shrill and sharp.

“Oh gods, please,” whimpers Quressa. “Please, I can’t bear it.”

“Are you going to come just from watching me fuck him, Highwitch?” I snarl. With my cock seated fully in Jim’s ass, I lean forward, gripping his jaw and turning his face toward her. “Look at each other while I take him.”

Theo has stripped, and he comes up behind Quressa, pulling her back against his immense chest. The golden hair he’s so proud of continues across his pectorals, travels down between his abs, and blooms into yellow curls above his huge cock.

Theo’s hand closes possessively over the witch’s right breast, and my cock jumps inside Jim’s channel. When Theo’s other hand moves between Quressa’s legs, she nearly shrieks her gratitude.

I want to be him, touching her. But Jim is moaning, my sweet Jim, my lover for almost three years, and I can’t forget him in my craving for her. I pump into him, moving one hand under his belly until my fingers curl around his dick.

“Keep watching the witch, boy,” I growl, stroking him.

Kylar, Iro, and Gabel have all stripped down as well, each of them sporting erections. They’re wild, beautiful, wicked men. I love them like I love the sea. Better, maybe. If only I could let go of the past, and give myself to them entirely—

My gaze shifts back to Quressa, drawn by movement. Theo is bending her over. He’s easing his gigantic cock into her. I can’t see it going in, but Kylar and Gabel shift their positions to watch, and Kylar says, “Gods-fucking shit.”

I quit stroking Jim’s cock and focus on pounding out my lust. My flesh slaps against the cabin boy’s rear and thighs, the raw smack of fucking. He sounds like he’s crying, but I know him well enough to discern that it’s pleasure, not pain, that’s prompting the cries.

“You’re so big, Theo,” Quressa moans. “Oh my gods. You’re too big, I can’t take it, I can’t—”

“You can,” Theo growls, and locks eyes with me. With a violent pump of his hips, he drives fully inside her. He bares his teeth as he does it, a brutal snarl. Quressa gasps and her wrists jerk against the ropes.

Theo’s voice rolls across the deck, audible to all, piercing my heart. “You told me to fuck you like I’ll miss you, witch,” he says. “This is me doing it.”

He starts to thrust, while Quressa bleats her panicked arousal in sharp little bursts. She’s going to come soon, I can feel it.

My pace increases, each nerve ending along my cock teased and sucked by my cabin boy’s tight hole. I’m almost there, I’m coming—

My cum explodes into him, shooting deep into his bowels. The thrill of the climax paralyzes me, tightens every muscle in my body as my balls contract, spilling everything.

When I pull out, Jim’s hole spasms a little, leaking milky cum.

I stagger backward and collapse onto the deck, breathing hard.

Theo is still fucking Quressa with all the power of his massive body. She’s so tiny compared to him. He’s liable to break her. But judging from her flushed face and the glazed pleasure in her eyes, she doesn’t mind.

“Fuck her raw, Theo,” pants Kylar, fisting his length.

“I can’t last,” Theo grunts. “Gods—she feels like nothing else—I’m coming—”

“No!” shrieks Quressa, with a violence that startles us all. “Theo, you will not come until I do, or I swear—"

But Kylar interrupts, laying a hand on Theo’s breast, rubbing his nipple. “Come if you want, mate, and then I’ll take over.”

20

I know teasing Theo’s nipple will make him come. Sure enough, he grunts and shudders, emptying himself into the little witch. I stroke his breast and his abs, which are tensing repeatedly as his pleasure ebbs. My fingers nestle into the thatch of golden curls right above his cock, massaging the sensitive skin of his lower belly.

Then I take his cock in my fingers and pull it slowly out of the witch.

Her beautiful pussy is so swollen, gleaming wet. Her stretched hole begins to drip Theo’s thick cum, but I step in quickly, pushing the cum back into her with the head of my own cock. I slip inside her easily, all the way to the hilt, and I lean over her bent body, reaching beneath her to palm her swaying breasts.

“I apologize for last night,” I say in her ear. “Did I hurt you?”

“Like you care.” She wriggles on me like a little pink pig on a spit, and I grin.

“I like tricking people,” I murmur. “I like playing roles and stealing secrets. But I didn’t want my shadow-beast to kill you. I didn’t take you against your will, did I? I think I remember you asking me to fuck you.” My hand slides down her sleek skin to her pussy lips, to the tiny bit of sensitive flesh between them. “But you hate me, so you wouldn’t suggest that, would you?”

“It was either get fucked or get eaten,” she breathes.

“Did you come?” I whisper. “Did you come when my beast was rutting you?”

Her pussy shivers around my cock. “Yes.” One word, so quiet I barely hear it.

“And you trust me to make you come now?” I’m circling her clit with one finger, then rubbing it gently.

“I will never trust you again.”

“So you don’t want me inside you?” I pump into her, deep and slow. A broken moan falls from her mouth, and I smirk.

“I was the first pirate to fuck this pretty little cunt, witch,” I whisper. “Fucked you again in the forest. Fucking you now, for the third time. Every time I make you come, don’t I? You can’t resist this dick.”

“Fuck you,” she whines. “Faster.”

“What was that?” I take my hand off her clit and pull my length out of her.

“No,” she whimpers. “Get back inside me, please. Faster.”

“Say you trust me.” I’m not sure why I keep insisting, or why my lungs feel so tight, or why my heart is racing so wildly.

Trust me, trust me. I won’t let them hurt you.

The unbidden thought chills my bones. Because I can’t protect her from the others. I won’t give up my life and theirs for her sake. This is just sex. Just punishing the witch-brat for leaving us, using her like the whore she is. Spending my jizz in her hole.

Why should I care if she comes, if she trusts me, if she lives?

Her dark hair is pouring over her shoulder, tangled curls spilling down onto the deck, swaying with the movement of the ship. She’s bent over in front of me, presenting herself like she did the first time. Shameless. Needy.

“Fucking do it, Kylar,” snaps Theo.

But Varrow says, “Leave him alone.”

My hand moves in spite of me. Cupping the smooth swell of the witch’s rear. Stroking along the curve of her hip, then down to her thigh. My fingers are shaking. I know she can feel it, what she does to me.

The sailcloth snaps in the wind, shifting, shedding a brief burst of warm sun over both our bodies.

“I forgive you,” says the witch. Her voice is thin, strained with tears or desire or something else.

It isn’t trust, not yet. But it’s what I need from her, all the same.

I glide back into her sex with one quick motion, feeling that textured part of her vagina rubbing along my cock. Exquisite pleasure, tingling along my length, swirling in my abdomen. But I force myself to ignore it, and I plunge through her slick channel over and over, a steady rhythm, slowly increasing in depth and speed. She’s tensing, trembling, her breaths hitching shorter as she climbs to the peak—

“Come on Kylar’s cock, lass,” urges Gabel, and Quressa breaks.

I feel the moment her climax hits—a tight squeeze of her pussy around my length. She’s clenching, squealing—my hands hold her steady, but I can barely manage it because I’m coming too. My muscles harden, ecstasy shooting through my core.

Theo’s huge arms close around me, holding me up, helping me support Quressa. I can feel the press of his limp cock against my bare ass. “Good work, handsome,” he growls in my ear.

Gods, I love him. I love Gabel, who’s drinking in Quressa’s expression with such delight. I love beautiful Iro, who steps in, tall and naked, to stroke Quressa’s hair. I love the Captain who’s pacing the deck, with his pants sagging low and a tortured look on his face. I love Jim, too, lying on the deck smoking, watching Quressa, with his dick pointing straight up.

And I love the girl sagging between the ropes, her insides softly pulsing around my cock.

Fuck, I’m in trouble.

21

She told Kylar she forgave him for tricking her, for stealing the secrets of her magic.

And earlier, in her cell, she told me, in such sweet tones, how she wants my cock in her mouth.

Who is she? What is she, this treasure, this beauty—this powerful, lustful, darling creature? How did we get so lucky as to have her here, with us? And what kind of monsters are we to even think of spilling her blood, her vital essence?

She’s still bent over, legs splayed. When I move closer, the tip of my cock leaves a dab of wetness on her cheek. I’ve been stroking her hair while she finished her climax, but I can’t hold back anymore.

Gathering her long locks in my hand, I pull her face up a little. “Open your mouth, little witch.”

She lifts her lashes, taking in the sight of me. Half my body is covered with intricate, swirling tattoos, but not my dick. Even when I was addicted to punishing myself through pain, I never had the courage to yield my penis to a tattoo artist’s needles.

Quressa is still admiring my body, so I smear my precum over her mouth, much like a lady might apply lip color. She puts out her small tongue and licks away the glaze of precum before opening wide for me.

I run my length into her mouth, all the way to the back. She chokes a little.

“Relax your throat, sweetheart.”

She hums her understanding and closes her lips around my cock. Her tongue cups the underside of my shaft as she takes me all in, opening her throat. She pulls back, keeping her lips wrapped around my cock until I pop out of her mouth. She tends the tip of my penis with her tongue, then nibbles all around it until I moan.

Every man of the crew has stepped nearer to watch her suck me. When Quressa takes me in to the hilt and her head begins to bob, Gabel groans and his cock jerks. Her eyes slant toward him.

“Look at me, sweetheart.” I take her face between my hands, loving the way she looks up at me, blinking so innocently when she’s so full of wickedness. “Is your throat sore today? I’m going to give you a potion that will soothe it. Will you be a good girl and drink it down?”

She nods, still sucking the bulbous head of my dick.

“That’s my good girl,” I tell her gently. “Take your healer’s cock. Swallow your tonic and you’ll feel better.”

Kylar scoffs faintly, but I ignore him. He’s not one for playing games, but Theo and Jim enjoy it. Jim usually makes Theo play the barbarian who takes him against his will. With me, Jim likes to play the arrogant prince, while I’m the slave he abuses and forces to pleasure him. I’ve never asked him why his fantasies are so dark. I simply accept him as he is and give him what he needs.

Quressa is humming delightedly around my cock. I tilt my head back and sigh, enjoying the warmth of the late afternoon, the rush of the sea air over my bare body, and the sensation of the witch’s hot, wet mouth gliding along my shaft.

She quickens her pace suddenly, and the delicious suction is unbearable. My whole body is tingling, burning, tightening. I cry out, and she pushes her head forward, ramming me down her open throat.

A blaze of searing pleasure. I’m soaring, I’m screaming “Fuck, fuck, fuck!” while my crewmates roar their approval. Kylar smacks my ass while I’m still sunk to the hilt in the witch’s throat.

Quressa’s eyes are streaming tears when I pull out of her mouth. She swallows several times, fighting her gag reflex. Then she gasps for breath, hanging helplessly from her wrist ropes.

I fall to my knees before the witch, taking her lovely body in my arms. “Good girl,” I whisper.

22

Iro has a beautiful cock. I could suck on it for days. I could fall asleep sucking on it. Maybe one day I’ll ask him to let me do that.

One day soon, before they kill me.

But we have another stop to make before that, and I comfort myself with the thought of long days of pleasure between now and the end.

It’s sick that I chose this punishment. Sick that I’m letting them fuck me, use me, pleasure me, when I know they plan to murder me. I’m wretchedly needy. Absurdly disgusting. I’m a whore.

And I want more.

I straighten, lifting my head and staring around at them all. “Who’s next?”

There’s a moment of startled silence from the six gorgeous pirates.

“Come on,” I urge. “You promised to make me come until I begged not to. Are you men of your word?”

“By the powers, yes, we are.” Gabel steps forward, licking his lips. “I’ll have a taste of my mates’ cum between your legs, lass.”

My legs are held slightly apart by the ropes, but Gabel spreads them more and kneels before me. He looks up at me, smiling, his gold-studded brows lifted. “I’ve something of a reputation for oral pleasure,” he says. “You’ll be the judge if I deserve it.”

And he nestles his face between my legs.

He begins with a burring sound, a strong vibration of his lips that sends me into an immediate frenzy. “Oh gods,” I gasp, and I can’t help it—I rub my pussy on his face, desperate for friction.

Only a few men have ever been willing to please me with their mouths, and of those men, none liked it when I took charge. But instead of pulling away, Gabel leans into my movements, giving me the pressure I need with his nose and lips. His tongue laps rapidly at my folds, and then he kisses my clit, over and over, pressing firmly each time—kiss, kiss, kiss, each one planted precisely on the tiny bud of nerves, until I’m scintillating, shuddering, so close to climax I could come from a single touch.

And then he sinks his whole face into my pussy again, suckling my clit.

I come with a shriek that echoes across the deck, and the other pirates break into low cheers and chuckles.

“That’s it, Gabel. Make her scream,” rumbles Theo.

I think Gabel must be done with me, because he steps away and reaches for his clothes. But he’s taking something from a pocket.

“I finished these while you were sleeping,” he says. “Gents, have a look.”

He holds out two clockwork creatures—new ones I haven’t seen before. They resemble golden bees. Both have tiny suckers between their mouthparts, and more tiny suction cups on some of their feet.

Gabel closes his eyes and cups them in his hands for a moment before letting them fly.

The clockwork insects hover in front of me as I stand straight between the posts, my arms and legs splayed wide. Their wings glitter in the angled rays of the sinking sun.

Then the creatures glide in, settling over my nipples.

I’ve watched bumblebees in the king’s gardens—the way they crawl and swivel atop rounded blossoms. These clockwork bees do a similar dance on my breasts, teasing my nipples into aching points. I’m completely exposed, bathed in light and soft sea air, my sex glowing from the two orgasms, cum slicking my inner thighs. And six men are watching two clockwork insects play with my nipples.

Despite my gasps of tortured arousal, I laugh aloud with the joy of it.

“I love this,” I say, breathless. I meet Gabel’s eyes—his grin matches mine.

Then I glance at Captain Varrow. He’s staring at me, his body rigid, his eyes stormy with desire.

Before I can say anything to him, Gabel’s insects leave my breasts and flutter down between my legs.

“Fuck, yes.” Jim sits up and scoots closer to watch.

“Gabel, you insane genius,” Iro mutters.

One of the bees lands just above my sex and extends a pair of long, jointed antenna that nudge into my labia and pin them back, opening my clit to view. The other clockwork insect alights directly on my clit and dances delicately over it with tiny feet.

I have never felt a sensation like this. It’s exquisite, it’s so intensely good it’s almost fucking painful. I’m half-swearing, half-screaming—and then the insect begins to vibrate.

The climax shatters through my nerves, tight and bright and intense.

The little creature begins massaging my clit with its sucker feet, while the other crawls down to my slit, playing along the seam, tantalizing every nerve.

I can’t see the second bee anymore, but I can feel its tiny feet pressing along my genitals, making their way toward—

Toward my asshole.

A tickling sensation there, and then something thin and metallic probes into my tight puckered hole. It’s the strangest feeling, and together with the tantalizing massage of my clit, it’s too much. I’m over-stimulated, writhing on the brink of another orgasm, not quite able to get there.

“Fucking brilliant,” says Kylar hoarsely. “Look at her.”

The two clockwork creatures suddenly leave me, ascending and then fluttering over to land on Gabel’s clothes. He approaches me, his skin darkly gleaming, his beautiful eyes shining with lascivious promise.

“Do you want to come, lass?” he murmurs.

“Please,” I whimper.

“Do you want to come on my cock?”

“Please, yes. Oh gods, yes.”

He hums his satisfaction, sweeping his hands along my sides. He takes palmfuls of my breasts, leans down to kiss my nipples. “Sweet girl. Filthy darling girl.”

Gabel steps in closer, his chest brushing mine, his long cock prodding my belly. “Help me out, Theo?”

Theo grunts and moves in behind me again. He lifts me up, his hands cupping my thighs, opening me wide for Gabel.

Gabel points his cock at my entrance and slides in.

He thrusts so hard my breasts jiggle and my breath jerks out of me. I’m being fucked openly, helplessly, pinned between two muscled pirates. Theo’s getting hard again—I can feel his erection against my lower back as he holds me up for his mate.

“Shit, lass. Look how slick your pussy is making my cock.” Gabel drags it out and slides a finger along the wet shaft.

Jim gets up suddenly. Moves in beside Gabel. His sharp, pretty face is all hard edges and wicked purpose. “Think she can take two at once?”

23

I swap places with Theo, standing behind the witch, sharing her weight with Gabel. We hold her up between us.

I didn’t want her to be a part of our family. But if the others are going to fuck her, I’m damn sure not going to be left out. I’ll be right in it, making sure they don’t forget me.

My fingers dig into the witch’s ass. I want to leave ten little bruises on that white skin.

With my chest pressed against her spine and my cock pinned between her buttocks, I lean in and hiss into her ear, “I’m taking your asshole, witch.”

She sucks in a breath and nods.

“Hold this for me.” I tuck my cigarette between her teeth. “Don’t drop it, or I’m going to fuck your mouth, too, and I won’t be as nice as Iro.”

She nods again, her eyes wide. Tears have dried on her cheeks from when Iro came down her throat. That was so fucking hot.

“Lube,” I snap, and Varrow steps forward, offering me the tin. I don’t use much. I want the witch to feel me, raw and rubbing inside her.

“Anyone ever taken your ass before?” I whisper. Gabel is still pumping into her, but he’s going slow, pausing whenever she starts to tense up.

Her bottom is softer than the men aboard ship. She feels different all over. Almost too soft, and it makes me angry. It makes me want to bite her, bleed her, bruise her.

I ram two lube-coated fingers into her hole without warning. She lets out a startled huff, but she doesn’t complain.

Holding her thigh with one hand, I use the other to shove my dick through the sphincter of muscle into her back channel.

She’s impossibly tight. I know it must hurt, but she takes it. Doesn’t squeal, even when I force my cock deeper. She took everything I gave her last time, and she’s doing it again—surprising me, making me admire her in spite of myself.

“Jim,” she grits out around the cigarette. “Fuck me like you hate me.”

I freeze. My eyes scan the faces of the other men.

Iro, concern furrowing his forehead. Concern for the witch.

Gabel, dazedly watching his cock slide into her pussy. He’s close to coming.

Theo, eyeing me narrowly, a warning in his eyes. He doesn’t want me to hurt the girl. Thinks she’s his.

But I’m his. And if she’s his, she’s also mine.

I swear it makes fucking sense.

My gaze travels to Kylar, who has gone up to the quarterdeck and lounges at the ship’s wheel, still naked, still keeping an eye on us.

Captain Varrow stands wide-legged, arms crossed, pants on. He looks mad. Probably because he’s fighting his lust for the witch.

Gabel is pumping faster now. “Fuck,” I breathe. “I can feel your cock moving inside her.” I lean over the witch’s shoulder to watch his ebony shaft sliding between her delicate pink lips.

“Fucking take my hole, Jim,” says the witch between her teeth. She coughs a little as she inhales smoke. Then she turns her head, dragging the glowing hot tip of the cigarette across my cheek.

The pain snaps me back to what she said: Fuck me like you hate me.

My cheek is seared and sizzling. Vengefully I lunge for her earlobe and bite it hard. She squeals, and I start rocking my hips, dragging my raw cock through her channel. “I do fucking hate you,” I snarl in her ear.

“Yes,” she seethes, still clenching the cigarette in her teeth. “You need me, and you hate it. And you like me, and you hate that, too.”

“I do not like you.”

“You and me,” she says, her voice jerky from my thrusts and Gabel’s, “we’ve seen death face to face. We see it now. One of us is going to die soon, and it makes everything feel so vivid, so much better, so much more—gods, Gabel—come inside me—yes!”

Gabel vents a shuddering groan and bucks against the witch. I hold her steady, my cock jammed deep in her rear. I wrap my hand around her throat above the collar, wrenching myself out and then shoving back in hard. She does cry out this time, and I grin, gripping her throat tighter. Her jaw works, trying to pop open and maximize her air space.

“You drop that cigarette, and you’ll be sorry,” I pant, my hips smacking her ass as I pound into her. “Gabel, I’m coming—I’m coming in her ass—”

He leans forward, meeting my mouth over the witch’s shoulder. His open lips accept my broken cries of release as I come hard in the witch’s hole. And then she’s coming too, her whole body jerking.

Something happens as the three of us huddle there, pulsating, gasping, locked together.

A space opens in my heart—one that doesn’t steal any room from my love for the crew—it’s uniquely Quressa-shaped. Just for her.

I jerk myself out of her, and she yelps at the sudden pain. My cum drips onto the deck, my cock still throbbing—I don’t care. I’m too full of this new emotion, this thundering force inside me, centered on her.

Stalking around to her front, I snatch the cigarette from her mouth, toss it onto the deck, and crush it under my bare foot. Gabel withdraws, and I take his place, my heart pounding, every nerve in my body on fire.

I grab Quressa’s face and look into her eyes—beautiful, brave eyes with wild, dark depths inside them. I didn’t see it before. But she’s someone I need. Another echo of me, in a way the others aren’t.

My fingers grind against her skull, and I kiss her with all the violence of what I’m feeling. She bites my lip, and I grin against her mouth. Teeth and blood and craving.

“You’re mine,” I whisper savagely, under her hair where no one else can hear, and I kiss her again. She tastes like wretched, beautiful truth—like graveyard roses, like death and the sea. She’s kissing me back, frantically, hungrily, like no one has ever kissed her this way and she loves it. She isn’t only soft, after all—she has edges, and shadows, and pain.

One of us is going to die, and I revel in the beautifully gruesome tragedy of it. Fate is a whore for pain.

Quressa and I are still pressed together, naked, eating each other’s mouths, when a large, firm hand falls on my shoulder.

I know that hand, and the cold press of those rings.

Captain Varrow.

I let him pull me away, but not before I give the witch’s right breast a vicious squeeze. “I’m fucking you again as soon as I’m hard,” I promise her.

“Yes,” she breathes. Her lips are bruised, and there’s blood on her teeth. Her cheeks are crimson. “Gods, I love this. It’s everything I ever wanted. So much fun, isn’t it?”

She glances around at us all with such glee that I can’t help grinning. Adorable wicked woman.

Theo chuckles, and Iro says, “I do believe drinks are in order! Theo and I will get the rum, and then we’ll all go another round. Jim, let’s have some food as well!”

“I’ll see to the sails,” Gabel says.

“Get the best rum,” calls Kylar from the quarterdeck. “And some cakes, too. And fresh water. And bacon.”

As I follow Iro and Theo down below-decks, I glance back.

Quressa stands between the posts, naked and flushed, her gaze locked with the Captain’s. There’s a taut, explosive force quivering in the air between them. I can feel it from all the way across the deck.

“You think he’ll give in?” I ask Iro quietly.

Iro sucks his teeth for a moment before replying. “If any woman could make the Captain break his vow, it’s that one. Pulled you in, didn’t she?” He shoves my shoulder playfully.

“Shut up, dickhead.” I shove him back.

“The games we could play with her,” he muses. “Gods. Imagine it.”

“Fuck,” I say fervently. “I wish we had more time.”

Iro’s lips tighten, and he nods.

Just one more spell ingredient, and then we’ll be off to the place where it all started—the only location in the world where we can undo the curse.

The place where our witch will have to die.

24

I feel so wildly alive. Every bit of my skin is fully awakened, and a well of energy somewhere inside me is filling, nearly to the brim, closer to overflowing than it’s ever been. My nerves are singing with sensation, with twinges of pain and residual ripples of pleasure.

Captain Varrow stands before me, his lean, handsome face tight with emotion, his eyes a penetrating force all their own. He’s practically fucking me with a look. Fucking my soul, maybe.

The thought makes me smirk, and his eyes widen and soften immediately. One quick step—like I’m pulling him, like he can’t resist.

“I’m cutting you down,” he says thickly, drawing a knife from his thigh sheath. “You haven’t recovered enough from last night to endure being bound this long.”

“But I’m still open for use?”

He sighs, tapping his bearded chin with the tip of his knife. “Do you want to be?”

“What do you want?” I ask softly. “First you forbid the crew from speaking to me for two weeks, and then suddenly you’re giving them all permission to fuck me? I think you’re the one who’s confused about what he wants.”

He saws silently at the ropes. I want to point out that he could just untie them, but he seems very intent about the cutting. Maybe the motion is calming for him.

When the ropes fall away, he catches my wrists immediately. They’ve been chafed pink in places.

“I’ll get Iro to heal this immediately,” the Captain says through tight lips. Kneeling, he removes the ropes around my ankles as well.

The sky is purple and peach-colored—beautiful—and the sea breeze whispers over my skin, catches loose tendrils of Varrow’s crimson hair. His lashes are dark red too, thick and slightly curled upward. I like the neat shape of his short red beard, the way it accentuates the line of his jaw. I like the surge of his throat as he swallows, the flex of his tattooed fingers as he takes the rope off my leg.

His fingers graze the delicate bones of my ankle, then glide up a little farther, along my calf. He’s still on one knee. Won’t look up at me, only stares at my leg. His bare chest surges under the necklaces he wears. They swung and glittered so gloriously when he was fucking Jim.

Varrow leans slightly toward me, his nose brushing my stomach.

I’m afraid to move. Afraid to shatter this moment. He’s a wounded, wild creature, nosing cautiously closer, and I don’t want to frighten him off.

But he’s also the fierce, virile man I saw rutting boldly into Jim while I watched. And I want him. I need every one of these men to be mine.

Gently I place one hand on his head, on the shaved part above his right ear.

He doesn’t move.

Slowly, slowly I sink down to my knees, shifting my hand to his neck.

I’m nearly face to face with him now—a little lower than eye level, because he’s tall. But when I tip my face up, I can almost reach his mouth.

This isn’t like what I did with the others. This is something delicate, sensual—a fragile desire ghosting between us.

His face tilts down to mine. My breath floats over his lips.

I can practically feel the ache in him, the longing to give in, to sink against me and take comfort in me. He has done it with the others in the crew. But he’s resisting me.

“Come to me,” I whisper. “Let me in.”

He’s breathing faster.

My fingers slide from his neck to his heaving chest. “Master,” I say softly, thinking of my collar. “Touch me, Master.”

“I promised,” he says hoarsely.

“You promised not to bed or love another woman. A touch isn’t bedding. And a kiss isn’t loving.”

“But touches and kisses will only make my hunger for you so much worse.”

I lean in, trying to close the space between our lips, but he turns his face aside.

“She must have been wonderful, this woman you loved,” I say quietly. “Will you tell me about her? Did she pass before you were cursed?”

“Four years ago. A year before the curse.” He gets to his feet. I rise as well, still bare and bruised and thoroughly fucked, my skin bearing the marks or the scent of every man aboard except the Captain.

“I was out of my mind with grief for a long time after she died,” Varrow says raggedly. His fingers tighten into fists, as if he’s struggling not to touch me. “My sorrow made me careless with the Emberwatch and her crew. We took on jobs for pay—hunting bounties, stealing items of value for specific buyers.”

“And you stole from the wrong person.”

He nods. “A very powerful witch. Kylar was supposed to woo her, distract her while we gathered the information we needed to steal a particular object she owned. A very valuable item, sought after by very dangerous people.”

Varrow keeps speaking, slow and reluctant, as if the tale is emerging from him against his will.

“Kylar’s distraction of the witch was not supposed to involve sex. But he decided to go beyond what I ordered and bed her anyway. We learned that while the witch was having an orgasm, the spells and barriers she’d placed around her vault would weaken. Against my better judgment, I agreed to let him fuck her while the rest of us stole from her.”

“And she caught you?”

“We took the priceless object and went back to the ship to wait for Kylar. After their lovemaking, Kylar told the witch that he was bound to serve me for two more years, after which he could come back to be with her. Then he joined us aboard the Emberwatch, and we thought we’d escaped, free and clear, with our prize. But the witch followed us to the ship, came aboard, and hid in the hold. She wanted to surprise Kylar, you see, and come on the voyage with us. But then she overheard us celebrating our triumph, mocking her for loving Kylar, for being such a fool. She heard about what we stole from her.”

His hands have unclenched, and he’s holding my waist now, pressing me against him.

“She hid in the hold for a week, sneaking food and plotting her revenge, until we stopped at an island to resupply and enjoy a hot spring. The whole crew camped there that evening, more than two dozen of us. But deep in the night we all woke as the magic of her spell began to ensnare us. By then it was too late. We couldn’t move, couldn’t stop her. She completed the curse and then told us how to break it.”

I nod. “It’s one of the inviolable laws of witchcraft, that there must be a ritual of undoing for every high-level curse. An escape route for the victim, or victims. Without a ritual of undoing in place, the curse will not work as intended.”

“Yes.” The Captain sighs. “The witch said we must be on the ship by dawn, or we would die. We weren’t permitted on land anymore. ‘To break the curse,’ she said, ‘you need a harlequin witch of the Escovar line, rarest among witches, and that witch must be gifted with power over both earth and water. You must take the Heart-Cask of the goddess Amelan from the ancient temple on Ewaru. Bring the heart of Amelan back to this island, burn it, and sprinkle the ashes on this spot. Then soak the ashes with the vital essence of the Escovar witch, after she has spoken these words.’ She gave me the spell, and then she slit her own throat.”

“Because she could have broken the curse for you,” I say. “The witch who lays the curse can dissolve it without following all those steps.”

Captain Varrow nods. “She didn’t want to be tempted or tortured into removing the punishment.”

“And her blood, shed in connection to the casting, meant the curse would stay active even after her death. Gods.” Pity surges in my heart. Yes, they did a foolish thing, a wrong thing, but for her to curse the whole crew with monstrous torment leading to certain death? It’s too much. Too cruel.

And the price of breaking the curse is also a wretched one. Forcing them to spill my blood, my ‘vital essence,’ on the spot where she condemned them to death?

“So you see,” he says, low, “why I cannot let myself care about you, or take you. Not only because of my vow, but because I already lost one woman I cared for. If I learn to love you, and I have to kill you to save the men I love—I don’t think I will ever be whole again.”

As if he has said too much, Varrow steps back, turns, and strides away. I take a few moments to visit the head, then stand at the rail admiring the darkening hues of the sky. When the others return from belowdecks, they don’t comment on the fact that Varrow cut me down from the ropes. Maybe it has something to do with his attitude—he’s stalking the deck with a violent, restless energy, as if he might crack and make someone walk the plank at the slightest provocation.

Though the sun has set and the sea air is growing chilly, most of us stay naked. Iro brings up blankets and cloaks from the hold and spreads them on deck. Since the ocean is calm and we’re sailing smoothly, Jim and Gabel light fires in two sand barrels, and we all gather between them to eat and drink and laugh in the glow of the flames.

Now and then a few of the men get up and see to the ship, tugging a rope here, adjusting a sail there, checking that we’re still on course. I know next to nothing about sailing, and I’m just as glad to leave it all in their hands. It’s enough to know that we’re headed to a destination where I won’t be sacrificed—the ancient temple containing the Heart-Cask of the goddess Amelan. It must be real, because a ritual of undoing may only require ingredients that actually exist.

Which brings me to a question that’s been irking me.

“You couldn’t go on land,” I pipe up, interrupting Gabel’s spirited argument with Kylar about which is better, wine or rum. “How did you figure out where to find the right witch for your curse?”

The men glance at each other. We’re all lying on the deck between platters of food and bottles of rum, blankets partially twisted around some of us. I’m sitting between Iro’s legs, bare as the day I was born, munching an apple while he combs my hair. He has already healed all my small injuries from the group-fucking earlier. I’m a little sad about it, but I expect more delightful soreness soon.

“Gabel and I have connections in a number of different nations,” says Iro. “So does the Captain. And Kylar has his own network of informants throughout various cities. When we’d anchor in a port, one of us would go halfway across the plank, or walk partway onto the pier, as far as it extended over the water. Or we’d row close to the shore in a boat. We’d call to someone on land, give some excuse why we couldn’t go ashore, and pay them to carry messages and pass information. That’s how we got supplies, too.”

“A piss-poor method, slow and frustrating,” grumbles Kylar.

“But it worked,” says Gabel. “We heard about a few harlequin witches, and an Escovar witch or two. We even found one witch who had earth and water abilities. But we couldn’t get to him, and he wasn’t an Escovar. You were the only one who had the specific bloodline and powers we needed, lass. Our special one, our magical girl.”

He grins at me and scoots nearer, pushing my thighs wide and arranging my legs over Iro’s outstretched ones. I feel my labia parting, opening for him. He maneuvers himself into position, face to face with me, his legs tangled with mine and Iro’s. Then he nudges into me, slow and gentle. I inhale softly with the delicate pleasure of his length sliding through my folds.

“Shit, Gabel,” mutters Kylar, and he crawls over, kissing first Gabel, and then me.

His kiss tastes like rum, and crisp, fresh apple, with a hint of cinnamon. It’s a sucking, powerful, possessive, warm kiss, and when he pulls away, I’m dizzy with the force of it. I lean back against Iro while Gabel’s cock nestles in my pussy. He’s not really thrusting, just enjoying being inside me. Idly he reaches down and thumbs my clit while Captain Varrow continues the tale in a stiff tone.

“We had our eye on you for a while, but since we couldn’t go ashore, we weren’t sure how to get to you. We hired a team of mercenaries to do it, but they were all caught. Then there were two different bounty hunters—also caught.”

“We thought you’d never get your ass into the open ocean, little witch,” Theo cuts in. He stands up and presents his thick cock to Gabel, who opens obediently and lets Theo thrust into his mouth.

“And then a source of mine, a spy in the palace, heard of the king’s plan to take you to Wilfjir,” Kylar continues. “Your capture was all my doing. My master plan.”

“I wouldn’t be so cocky about that if I were you, Kylar,” Iro says. He’s abandoned the combing of my hair, and he’s cupping my breasts, playing with them while I lean against his chest. “You were shot twice during your master plan, and your ‘prisoner’ had to save you.”

“That was the one bit of information I lacked,” Kylar says, bristling. “I wasn’t aware the king had armed his personal guards with hidden pistols.”

“See?” Iro kisses the top of my head. “There’s always a flaw in his schemes. One time that flaw was his dick. No, wait—every single time, the flaw is his dick.”

Kylar rises to his full height. He’s a shockingly virile sight like this, naked, his paneled chest and abs harshly beautiful in the firelight, his cock partly erect, his muscled legs braced.

“Come and say that to my face, Iro,” he snaps.

“Excuse me, love,” Iro whispers in my ear, and he shifts me forward, lifts me until I’m astride Gabel’s lap. Gabel’s dick never leaves its warm home in my pussy. He’s sitting with his legs stretched out straight now, me on his lap, leaning back on both his arms while Theo fucks his mouth. I don’t protest the disappearance of Gabel’s thumb from my clit—instead I take matters into my own hands and begin riding his lovely long cock, one hand braced on his shoulder and the other on Theo’s massive thigh.

Meanwhile I keep my eyes on Iro. His body is half pale muscle and half tattooed swirls of darkness as he stands boldly before Kylar. He speaks smoothly, calmly. “You think with your dick, Ky, and that flaw has wrecked plans for us more than once.”

“Fuck you,” snarls Kylar, and then they’re grappling, struggling, each trying to wrangle a headlock on the other.

I have never been so happy to be alive. My pussy is dripping all over Gabel’s cock as I watch the two naked, sinewy pirates wrestle.

Jim scoots closer to me and takes the cigarette out of his mouth. “This is going to end with them fucking.”

Heat flushes through my body. “How do you know?”

“It always does. Winner gets to top.”

“And top is—”

“Top goes inside.” Jim gives me a wicked grin and leans toward me. I still my movement on Gabel’s cock and meet Jim’s mouth, accepting the smoke he breathes into my lungs. He’s more languid about his kissing this time, like he knows I can be savage now, and he doesn’t need me to prove it. We open wide to each other, tongues playing and coiling.

When Jim pulls away, I’m breathless. I take in his sharp, pretty face, his wild black curls, and his white throat. He’s less tanned than any of them, and in this light he looks even paler. I love the look of him. I want to inhale him, to adore him.

“I want your cock in my pussy later,” I whisper.

He presses his damp lips to mine and murmurs, “Aye-aye, captain.”

“Mm,” I sigh, and I begin to ride Gabel again, faster, pushing him inside me over and over. I’m not titillated enough to climax yet, but I love the hard, smooth feel of him. I love the way he pulls his mouth off Theo’s length, his dark eyes widening, panting desperately as he watches me bounce on his cock.

Captain Varrow is watching, too. He’s watching my breasts jolt and my ass quiver.

“You like this, Captain?” I say sweetly, and I add a little writhe and wriggle to my movements. “Do you like watching me fuck myself on your mate’s cock?”

“Damn you, Quressa,” Varrow says thickly. “Gods.”

“How about this?” I seat myself to the hilt on Gabel, and he groans in delicious agony. “Theo, may I have a taste?” I reach out to touch the tip of his huge cock. Precum is seeping from his slit.

“You want my cock, little witch?” Theo sweeps a huge hand under my chin as I nod. “Open that sweet mouth.”

I open, letting my tongue protrude a little, slanting my eyes toward Varrow. Theo slides his cock over my tongue, dipping into my mouth, then rutting all the way to the back. I gag, and he withdraws, giving me a moment.

I slurp the head of his dick, bathing it with my tongue, then licking all the way up the underside. Theo grunts, throwing his head back. Gabel whimpers, and his dick twitches inside me.

“Do you two want to come?” I say softly, with a kiss to the tip of Theo’s cock. A wriggle of my body makes Gabel cry out.

“Gods, please let me come,” he says, panting. “I need to come.”

Theo leans down and kisses Gabel’s parted mouth roughly, possessively. “Finish him, little witch,” he says.

“Come for me, pirate.” I shift my hips, and the new angle sends Gabel into ecstasy at once. He cries out, jetting hot liquid inside me, his body a gleaming, gorgeous expanse of sleek black muscle. I have to touch him.

“You absolute god,” I whisper, running my hands over his torso. He feels as good as he looks—hard, carved muscle beneath smooth skin stippled with goosebumps in the aftermath of his climax.

Something crashes to the deck near me—well, two somethings—Kylar and Iro, locked together, powerful limbs twisting, bodies shining with sweat.

“Not in the food,” Jim protests, dragging a couple of platters out of the way. “And not the rum either!” He shoves two bottles aside.

Kylar battles with raw ferocity, but Iro has a startling, savage grace about him. He keeps writhing out of Kylar’s grip, getting the upper hand. Finally Iro pins Kylar, ramming his wrists against the deck.

Kylar’s chest is heaving, shining. Both their cocks are hard, grinding against each other. Iro’s white hair falls over his eyes, and he tosses his head to clear it away. “I’m going to fuck your ass now, Ky.”

“I’m not yielding,” hisses Kylar between bared teeth.

Iro laughs. “It’s adorable that you think you have a choice in the matter.”

I lift myself off Gabel, and he collapses among the blankets to rest.

I scoot back and lie down, too, pulling another blanket under my head, keeping my eyes on Iro and Kylar. My fingers creep between my thighs—

But then my legs are thrown apart, and a cock plunges into my slit so unexpectedly that I yelp.

“Such a convenient wet hole.” Jim is fucking me carelessly, cigarette between his teeth. He smacks my thigh hard, then slaps both my breasts, twice each. His hand closes around my throat and he surges into a frenzied pace.

“Gods, the way you feel—” he groans. “Fuck. Oh, shit—I’m coming already—fuck—” He pounds harder, brutally, squeezing my airway—I can’t breathe—sparks are dancing in front of my eyes. My entire body convulses, contracts—and then a keen thrill shoots through my belly, exploding in my air-starved brain. It’s like a burst of blazing sun, razor-sharp rays slicing open my body.

Jim lets my throat go and I drag in a shrieking breath before screaming through my orgasm.

He came too. He’s grinding himself deep, barking out harsh pants of pleasure. “Fuck, witch.”

Theo grabs him with one burly arm, nuzzling his bearded face against Jim’s fine-featured one. “You done, boy?”

“Gods, Theo. Kiss me.”

They kiss, sloppy and savage, while I lie dazed and boneless from the choking and the orgasm.

“My turn,” growls Theo, and he pulls Jim out of me, tosses him on top of Gabel to recover.

My sex is slick with cum, and my body is in a state of thrilled shock. I’m helpless, whimpering, and Theo pulls me against his golden chest, letting me curl up in his lap for a minute. The sensation of being small and naked, cherished and snuggled against this powerful, ruthless giant of a man is almost more wonderful than I can bear. I press my face to his skin, my fingers playing softly with his other nipple. The enormous hard cock pinned between us jerks sharply as I tease the bud of his breast.

“Theo likes having his nipples touched,” says Kylar, who is still grappling with Iro. “He can come just from the clever manipulation of those big breasts of his—gods, Iro—stop moving…” He groans, his head tilting back, the black waves of his hair tumbling against the deck.

Iro has circled both their cocks with his hand, and he’s rubbing slowly, torturously. “Give up, Ky. Let me in.”

“Shit,” Ky moans.

Theo lies back on the blankets, pulling me on top of him chest to chest, like a tiny doll draped across his big body. He lifts my ass carefully, centering my hole over the head of his giant cock. “Relax, little one,” he whispers, easing me onto him.

I cry out as he enters me. My insides are slick with cum, but they’re also slightly sore, and he’s—gods, he’s massive, stretching me wide. Kylar and Iro pause their play to watch us.

“I propose an alternative to our previous choice of post-altercation reward, Ky,” Iro says breathlessly.

“Cut the high-nobility babble, cocksucker,” Kylar growls. “Spit it out.”

“Winner gets his choice of the witch’s unoccupied holes. I see two perfectly good ones begging for attention.”

“Yes,” breathes Kylar. “You brilliant bastard.” He drags Iro down to him for a rough kiss, and then they rise and approach me and Theo.

Theo is gripping my ass cheeks, moving me on his cock while I lie pleasure-dazed on his stomach. As the two gorgeous, erect pirates step toward us, hunger blazing in their eyes, a tingle runs through my belly.

“I’ve got her ass, Ky,” Iro says softly. “Theo is spreading it so nicely for me.” He bends down to stroke my hair for a moment, then brushes his tattooed knuckles along my cheek.

“You like my hair,” I murmur. “You’re always touching it.”

“I love your hair, beautiful girl,” Iro says. “How is your sweet little back hole? Are you sore there? Jim took you hard earlier. Your first time.”

“I’m a little sore, yes.”

“My cum really does heal when I infuse it with my own energy.” Iro runs the tip of his finger along my nose. “When I come inside you, Quressa, you will feel so much better.”

His fingers trail along my spine, and then he moves out of my line of sight—probably kneeling between Theo’s legs, centering himself to access my rear. My eyes glaze as Theo hums deep in his chest, a soothing rumble vibrating through my body, straight down to my clit where it rubs against his belly, just above his thick cock. He pulls my ass cheeks farther apart.

A delicate, cool touch at my asshole, circling, smoothing cool lube over the puckered skin, dipping inside, swirling—my clit throbs, and I whine.

Blinking, I gaze at the tumbled bodies of Gabel and Jim, who are stroking each other’s chests and arms while they kiss. Their cocks are soft, sated. Their caresses are about love and security, not sex, and my heart pulses with delighted pain because I want that love even more than I want to be completely, thoroughly used.

Beyond them, just past the circle of firelight, a lone figure stands, legs braced and arms crossed just like earlier today. Captain Varrow, watching all of us without participating. His pants poke out, a mute witness to his desire to join.

I’m stroking Theo’s breast idly with my fingers, taking immense comfort from the slick surge of his thickness through my folds. He fills me so full. I wish I could make the Captain’s heart feel like that—whole and filled and satisfied.

But Kylar is moving between me and Varrow, blocking my view. Kylar’s long fingers sweep under my head, lifting it.

“Open your mouth, witch,” he says, with a crooked grin.

But he doesn’t wait for me to open. He pushes his cock head between my lips. His length is slick, glazed with precum from when Iro was rubbing their dicks together. I can taste both of them—salty and faintly bitter, but delicious. I hum gratefully, licking and lapping Kylar’s lovely cock like a dog might savor a favorite treat.

“That’s a good little witch.” His voice is a hoarse shudder. “Gods, don’t make me come yet. Iro, get inside her, mate. I want us to come together.”

Iro reaches out, and he and Kylar grip each other’s hands while Iro eases into my ass. His slim cock is lubed, and it glides in much more smoothly than Jim’s. Still, it burns, and I whimper a little.

“Sshh.” Kylar pushes his cock deeper into my mouth. When I close my lips around it, he heaves a groaning sigh. “Fuck. I’m going to come soon. How does she feel, Iro?”

“So fucking good.” Iro’s palm sweeps along my back, pressing lightly.

Theo’s chest is heaving, and he’s pumping harder into me, his butt bumping against the deck. The sensation of him filling my vagina, Iro filling my ass, and Kylar filling my mouth—it’s incredible. My brain almost can’t process the sensory waves rippling through my body.

“I can’t believe you lasted this long in her pussy, Theo,” Kylar pants, fucking my mouth.

“I’ve been counting kills. Picturing how I did each one.” Theo’s blunt answer sends a chill snaking down my spine, but it transforms immediately into a tingling pulse through my clit. “And I’m fucking coming right now.

I can feel his huge hot shaft throbbing, swelling—he’s emptying himself inside me, raw male groans rolling through his big body. My clit grinds against his belly and I come, a shivering tremor of a climax.

“Oh gods, I feel both of you coming,” gasps Iro. “Come with me, Ky. Come in her mouth while I fill up her ass.”

“Gods-fuck, yes,” growls Kylar. Only half his cock is in my mouth, so I reach up and grip the part that doesn’t fit, stroking while I suck him.

He yells in surprise and comes hard, his thighs and abs hardening. It’s a gorgeous sight, and I can feel another climax stirring somewhere in my belly, a tentative swell of arousal chasing the first orgasm.

Iro’s cock twitches in my ass, and he spills everything, warm and wet in my hole. A flood of delicious sensation travels through my rear channel, tingling through my buttocks and my lower belly. I come softly, a gentle surge bathing my insides.

“Did you come again for us, love?” Iro’s voice is breathless as he strokes my back.

“She did,” Theo says. “I felt it.”

“You beautiful, insatiable woman.” Iro keeps petting me, and I could cry from how good it feels. No one has ever touched me like this, fucked me like this, loved me like this—

I pull my thoughts up short, because they don’t love me.

No. They want to kill me.

Kylar pulls his cock out of my mouth. “Did you swallow all my cum, witch? Let me check.”

I haven’t, so I work my throat until it goes down, and then I open for him. He brings his face down to mine and sticks his tongue in my mouth, sweeping the corners for cum.

“Damn, I taste good,” he says, pulling back. “And you are a good fucking girl.”

“You all look so fucking hot,” says Jim. “It’s absolutely disgusting.” He throws a chunk of apple at Kylar, who catches it and then dives for him.

“You’re a little whore for attention, kid,” Kylar growls, pinning Jim down on his belly. “You hard again? Let me check.” He jerks up Jim’s hips, reaches between his legs. “Fuck, you are. Well then.” And he buries his face between the cabin boy’s ass cheeks, licking deeply.

Iro slides out of me. He’s so long it seems to take forever, because he’s being gentle. Then Theo shifts me higher on his chest, and his softened cock pops out of my pussy.

“Gods,” breathes Iro. “She’s so red down there. And she’s leaking so much cum.”

Theo pulls my mouth up to his. His golden beard tickles my skin as he kisses me, and I love it. I wonder how his face would feel between my legs.

Gabel sits up, swirling the wine in his cup. “Captain’s gone.”

“Probably went to jerk off alone,” says Kylar. He’s got three fingers in Jim’s asshole now, pumping casually, quickly, while Jim whines, his face pressed to the deck, his rear in the air, and his cock bobbing between his legs. Kylar smacks Jim’s ass hard—much harder than Jim hit me. Hard enough to leave an immediate red palm-print. Jim yelps and bleats, “Again!”

Theo tumbles me gently off his chest, and I collapse limply into the blankets. I don’t think I have another climax in me.

But Gabel has other ideas. He crawls over and gives me a delicious wine-flavored kiss. Then his fingers start playing with my clit, slathering it with the cum seeping from my pussy.

“I can’t,” I moan, shaking my head. “I can’t come again.”

“Oh, lass, you shouldn’t have said that.” He settles himself alongside me, on his side while I lie splayed on my back. He flashes me a grin. “I take that as a challenge to be conquered. The sea always has another storm in her.”

Half-insensible, I relent, letting him massage the tender bud of flesh and ripple his fingers across my folds. I drink the water that Iro brings me, then collapse again.

After a while, Gabel flips me onto my stomach and lifts my hips, sinking his cock into me while he reaches around between my legs and keeps jiggling my clit. But he doesn’t last long before he moans, “You’re fucking magic inside, lass,” and comes in me again.

Gabel’s dick is immediately replaced by another—I have no idea whose—while Gabel crawls under me and nibbles my clit so expertly that I feel myself climbing toward another orgasm.

“No,” I whine. “I can’t do it. I can’t…”

Gabel tugs my clit lightly with his teeth, and a sharp prick of pleasure races through my belly. He keeps working on me for long minutes that stretch even longer until I have no awareness of time or place. I’m only conscious of the warm, strong hands on my body—gathering my hair, rubbing my back, palpating my breasts, squeezing my thighs—all the pirates except the Captain gathered around me, their low masculine growls and thick, raw moans urging me on.

“Come for us one more time.”

“I want to see that pretty cunt flutter.”

“You can do it, lass.”

“Make that little pussy quiver for us, witch.”

“Fuck, you’re beautiful.”

Cum sprinkles my back, then my cheek. The cock in my pussy keeps thrusting until it pulses, spurting more cum into my overfilled womb. I’m in a maelstrom of masculine bodies and voices, all of them urging me on until finally, with their touch and Gabel’s tongue, another climax tightens and bursts inside me. This time my inner muscles are so weary the orgasm almost hurts.

Rich, warm praise floods my ears when I finally gasp through the climax. “That’s our girl… that’s our good fucking girl… sweet witch… you’re so damn perfect… look at her pussy moving, she’s so fucking beautiful… you did so well, treasure.”

Someone is wiping between my legs, cleaning me up. Wrapping me in a blanket. I’m tucked into Theo’s lap, my head lolling against his shoulder while Jim kisses my mouth and then gives me sips of wine.

Gabel starts singing a sea shanty in a low, lovely voice while the rest of us drink and watch the flickering fires in the sand barrels.

When a door bangs open, we all startle.

It’s the Captain, who strides over grim-faced and starts shoveling sand onto the fires. “You all got barnacles for brains? It’ll be midnight soon. You want your monsters to tear the witch apart and seal our fate?”

“Sorry, Captain,” mutters Theo, rising, holding me against his chest. “I’ll take her to the brig.”

“The brig?” The Captain steps nearer, glaring. “You’ve all rutted her until she’s senseless and sore, and you want to throw her in the fucking brig?”

Theo casts a confused sidelong look at the others. Kylar shrugs.

“Take her to my cabin and put her in my bed, you big fucking idiot,” snarls Varrow. “Then clean up this mess and report to the galley for lock-in. Damn imbeciles, the lot of you.”

I want to thank Varrow for the use of his bed, but he storms away without giving me the chance.

“When do you all sleep?” I ask, as Theo carries me toward the Captain’s cabin. “If you’re up most of the night being monsters…”

“We sleep in shifts,” he says. “Whenever we can.”

“So you haven’t slept through the night in three years.”

“Mm.” He rumbles his assent and shoulders his way through the door in the Captain’s space.

It’s dark inside, lit only by a single candle, and I’m too tired to notice much of my surroundings. Theo tucks me into the bed—blessed sheets and lovely blankets, soft pillows—and I’m falling asleep as he leaves the room, with only the faintest awareness of the door clicking shut.

25

When I wake up, sunshine is streaming between the heavy curtains of the Captain’s cabin, and I feel more rested than I’ve ever felt in my life.

I am in a real bed, after weeks of sleeping on the cot in the brig. Smiling, I sweep my arms along the sheets, relishing the smooth feel of them. They smell like Varrow, like leather and spice and a hint of male sweat. I want to luxuriate in this bed forever.

I take stock of my body, the way it feels. No pain in my ass, true to Iro’s word. My inner muscles are a bit sore from contracting through so many orgasms, but I’m good. Better than good. I feel—

My smile freezes.

Because I can feel something else, something that has only ever been a distant awareness when I’m wearing the collar, unless I was called to perform.

I can feel my magic.

The energy of it is brimming inside me, like a well filled to overflowing.

What if my unusually strong sexual appetite has always been caused by my magic, trying to gather enough power to break the collar’s hold and free itself?

What if last night, when I finally got my fill of sexual pleasure, I was giving myself the energy I needed to overcome the spell that binds me?

What if an earth-and-fire witch isn’t the only way to weaken or negate the collar?

What if—

What if I can break the Captain’s hold on me, before he ever gets the chance to use it?

What if I take control over my own destiny for once?

Tentatively, scarcely daring to breathe, I begin to release the magic inside me, letting it expand outward. There’s resistance—the collar trying to prevent my power—but I keep pushing. I strive with every ounce of energy I collected during the orgy last night. My magic swells against the collar—it’s heating up, but it’s not burning me yet.

I want to be free. I will be free.

Five pirates gave me their bodies last night, fucked me over and over—fed my energy without realizing it. And that power surges through me in one massive burst, propelled by a force of will I didn’t know I had.

I. Will. Be. Free.

The repressive field of the collar snaps.

There’s no tangible pulse of magic, no blaring light. The metal doesn’t break or warp. But the spell that was laid on the collar by the bogwitch coven the king hired—the spell that Ymarra altered to give Varrow power over me—it’s gone. It’s broken.

Now, when I extend my magical awareness and search for the water, I can feel it. I can sense its depth and darkness, its push and pull. I am in tune with the vast sway of the ocean. I could control some of it, if I wanted to—lift the waves and make them crash over the ship, push the vessel along through a current of my own making. If I had the right supplies, I could concoct a spell that would bind the pirates to my will. There must be some ingredients aboard that I could use to gain control over them.

But do I want to?

No. I will never coerce another human being the way I’ve been controlled. I won’t make someone act against their will.

I could escape, though. When we reach our destination, I could take a skiff and make it speed across the ocean to the nearest port. Although to find the nearest port, I’d need a map, star charts—some way to navigate. And with my limited capabilities of math and reading, it’s more likely I’d die of thirst, lost on the open ocean.

Best to stay with the pirates and see this through. When we get to the end of it all, if they still intend to kill me, I’ll have the power to prevent that.

I’ll have the power to save myself and doom them all.

Why doesn’t that thought make me happy?

I swing my legs out of the bed and pad across the floor to the Captain’s wardrobe. There’s a crisp white shirt hanging inside, among the other clothes, and I’m reaching for it when I notice something else, at the far left of the row of garments. A purple dress, beautifully embroidered.

Curious, I take its silky skirts in my hands, savoring the glide of the fabric. There’s something oddly weighty about it. As I fumble around, I realize there’s a pocket with an object inside.

My fingers delve into the opening, closing around a smooth, heavy orb.

When I pull it out, I nearly drop it.

The orb is pearlescent, slightly larger than a human eyeball, with a delicate gold filigree covering half its surface. The uncovered part of its spherical surface is milky, almost translucent, and as I peer into it, I sense the pull of magic—a deep, primal, arcane magic that frightens me.

This is an extremely powerful magical relic. What is Captain Varrow doing with it, and why is he keeping it in the pocket of his lost love’s gown? Maybe so no one aboard will find it? I can’t imagine any of the other pirates nosing around in his clothes, fondling his dead wife’s things and emptying her pockets. Safest place on the ship, probably—except from someone like me.

And now I have another secret in my possession.

The first secret, the fact that my collar is now inert, I must keep, no matter what. If Varrow gives me an order, I’ll follow it and pretend that it’s due to the collar’s compulsion.

But the orb—I’m not sure what to do with it. Keep it? Put it back? Show it to everyone and see what happens?

The last choice has the most potential for chaos. And I rather feel like causing a bit of chaos. But it could also put more distance between me and Varrow, and ruin my chances of ever working my way into his heart.

Why do I even want his heart when he plans to kill me?

I’m a gods-damned idiot.

Sighing, I peer into the milky orb again, frowning. When nothing happens, I put it back in the pocket of the gown, tuck the skirts into place again, and take out a velvety coat with broad lapels and gold toggles. I pull the coat on over my naked body, fastening just two of the toggles.

I use the tiny privy closet, and I wash up and clean my teeth at the Captain’s washstand. His comb serves well enough to get the tangles out of my hair, though it takes fucking forever. At last, when my hair is silky again, I open the cabin door and step into the sunshine.

Only to be confronted by Kylar’s rangy form, complete with glossy black hair and burning eyes.

He places a hand on my chest and pushes me back inside the cabin.

Kylar’s palm heats the skin between my breasts. He kicks the cabin door shut behind him and keeps pushing me, all the way back to the wall.

“Your six hours of punishment are over.” His mouth slants wickedly. “But you’re still the ship’s whore.”

He grips my thighs and hitches them around his waist. The velvety coat I’m wearing crumples and parts, revealing my bare sex to him. He reaches down, running a thumb along my slit. “Dry,” he says. “But I can change that.”

He rips open his pants, keeping me pinned to the wall with his hips and one hand. He pats his hard, hot dick against my clit, and I moan as my body awakens, tingling, wanting.

Kylar jiggles my clit with his first two fingers, kissing my mouth, quick and hot. He inserts a finger into my sex, and when it comes out damp he grins against my lips. “There she is. Fucking little witch-whore. So greedy for pirate cock.”

“I haven’t seen you all do much pirating,” I gasp, as he pokes his cock into my opening. His palms slam against the wall on either side of my head, and he starts rutting desperately with his hips, ramming himself inside me.

“Oh, we do,” he says. “We take ships as needed. But it’s dangerous with only the six of us. We have to choose carefully, merchant vessels without much protection. We take the cargo and leave the crew tied up aboard. One good haul can last us for months. But we got to be careful not to take too much swag. Makes for heavy running, and the Captain likes to run light. Keeps us faster.”

He kisses me again, tugging my lip with his teeth. “Fuck, I’m going to come already. Shit.”

His cock flexes and he shudders hard while it pumps his cum inside me. I sigh with satisfaction, wriggling a little.

I love this. I love being taken by a big gorgeous man at unexpected times. I love being noticed, wanted, craved.

Kylar’s dark lashes flutter open, and he’s looking down at me, looking into my eyes. There’s a raw vulnerability in his gaze that makes my stomach thrill.

Hands still braced on either side of me, holding me to the wall with his cock and his thighs, he leans in, his profile brushing mine. Our lips touch briefly, a graze of soft skin.

“You’re not just a whore,” he whispers, an echo of the terrible words he spoke to me after I gave him my secrets. “And you’re no fool, either. Sweetness and trust can look like foolishness to a hard-ass like me, but—you’re fucking incredible. Why did you have to be like this?” He kisses me again, harder. “Gods-fucking-damn-it. You make me want to—to protect you and shit. To buy you a damn bouquet of flowers, or a fucking crown.” He laughs, the creases in his cheeks deepening. When he smiles, my heart fills right up to the brim with joy.

“I hate you, you big bastard,” I whisper, nosing against his cheek, but my tone is soft, tender.

“I know,” he breathes. “I hate you, too, beautiful.”

The cabin door opens, revealing a slim silhouetted figure holding a cigarette.

“Jim,” I say, and Kylar twists a little to look.

Jim steps in and closes the door. “Should have figured you’d have your morning wood in her, you fucker.”

Kylar chuckles, rolling his hips against me one more time. “You want a turn, kid?”

“Fuck, yes.” Jim is only wearing a pair of black drawers; they’re so short they show most of his lean, pale legs. He shucks them down and kicks them off, running his fingers along his cock.

“I’ll hold her for you.” Kylar lets me down for a second, only to turn my back to his chest and pick me up again. His strong hands cup my thighs, holding me high off the floor, spreading my legs wide so my pussy is displayed for Jim.

Jim collects some of Kylar’s cum from my sex and licks it from his fingers, his gaze meeting Kylar’s over my shoulder.

“Fuck, kid,” Kylar whispers. “You’re such a filthy bastard.”

“That’s why you love me.” Jim tucks his cigarette between Kylar’s lips, then swerves his gaze to mine. The look in his eyes is so fiercely possessive it steals my breath. “How’s my property this morning?” He runs his fingers into the neck of the velvet coat, squeezing one of my breasts.

Something about the violence of him, the pained intensity of him—it gets me so wet every time. I’m wildly aroused—utterly soaked, aching for the crush of his lean body.

When he smashes his lips against mine, impaling me on his length at the same moment, I cry out. The glide of his cock through my folds titillates every sensitive bit of soaked flesh, every part of the tender channel inside me. Kylar woke me up, and now I’m trembling for Jim, ready to shatter into bliss.

“Come on my cock, little witch,” Jim snarls against my mouth, rutting hard into my body. “Fucking come on me. I want your juices all over my dick. Come on me or I’m going to fuck your ass with my fist.”

I’m whimpering, squealing while he batters my pussy with the slamming force of his thrusts. His speed is inhuman—he’s frenzied, brutal. My body is galvanized, inflamed, my muscles contracting, nerves on fire—

“Fucking come, bitch!” he shouts, clamping a hand around my throat, and I explode around him. The orgasm rips through my belly, and I scream. Then I’m gasping more tiny shrieks as he comes hard inside me, yelling his triumph. He buries his tongue in my mouth, the two of us breathing each other’s dwindling cries of pleasure.

Magic swells through my body, so strong and free that I’m terrified the two pirates will sense it. But they can’t. Nor can Gabel or Iro—they’re not gifted in that way. This is my secret. And I can keep having sex with the pirates and building my reserves of energy for whatever danger might come my way.

I laugh with the sheer joy of it, and Jim pulls back, his face brightening. When he smiles, he looks less beautifully savage and more boyish and charming. It’s the hidden Jim, the secret side of himself that he has buried beneath pain and violence, because he had to, because something awful in his past wounded his soul. But he’s still there. He’s smiling at me, and I love it. I love—

“I love you,” I tell him.

Jim’s head jerks back slightly, as if I slapped him.

His hand whips up like he’s going to hit me, but he halts the blow, staring. Then he blinks hard, several times. “Fuck, Quressa,” he whispers.

I cup the back of his neck and pull him in for a soft, tender kiss. And I contract my inner walls, squeezing his cock gently, milking the last of his pleasure.

Kylar is still holding me off the ground with my thighs spread apart. He clears his throat while we’re kissing, and Jim steps back, pulling out of me. His lashes are wet, and he snatches the cigarette from Kylar’s mouth and turns away, stalking out of the cabin naked, his dick still gleaming wet from my soaked pussy.

“Did you mean that?” Kylar watches me as I stand before him, straightening the Captain’s velvety coat, letting it fall into place to cover me.

“Mean what?”

“What you said to Jim. Because if you told him that without meaning it, I’ll dump you overboard myself.”

“I didn’t plan to say it,” I murmur. “But yes. I meant it. He’s so full of pain, but he’s lovable. He’s—I can’t describe it, but I feel this pull between us. Like we understand each other. I know he’s been through things—”

“I don’t know all of his past,” Kylar said. “But I know his entire village died of plague, and he was the only survivor. And I think someone raped him when he was younger. Might have been a regular thing. He won’t talk about that, but the way he likes to play with Iro and Theo sometimes—” Kylar mouth twists. “Makes me wonder.”

“Some people enjoy dark fantasies.”

“I hope that’s all it is.” Kylar runs long fingers through his black hair. “Anyway, he’s ours. Mine and the crew’s. Don’t want his heart damaged any more than it has been.”

“You’ve all been telling me things like that,” I say softly. “You don’t want each other to be hurt, or to die. You care about each other so much. And you fear me because of it.”

“Because you’re different than we thought,” Kylar grits out. “You’re—we want you.”

“Just my cunt, right?” I give him a sad half-smile.

His jaw hardens, his mouth working. He glances away. “I told you, it’s not just that.”

I don’t move, or approach him. I wait.

After a moment he says, “That’s what makes it harder, what we have to do. If we care about you, and then we kill you—we break. All of us. But if we don’t kill you, we die. All of us.”

“Vital essence,” I muse, remembering Varrow’s description of the ritual. “That’s blood, right? How much of it needs to soak the ground?”

But I already know the answer. The curse was sealed by the death of the witch they betrayed. It’s likely that it will only break with the sacrifice of another life.

Kylar’s dark eyes swirl with regret. “I wish there was another way.”

“At least we have some time to enjoy each other first,” I say with forced cheerfulness. “I assume I don’t have to go back to the brig now?”

“Not unless the Captain has another change of mind.” Kylar grimaces. “He’s been changeful as the tides lately.”

“My fault, I suppose.”

“Somewhat. But he’s been nervous a long while. Spends more and more time locked up in here, lately, even before you came aboard.” Kylar glances around the room, at the dark glossy furniture, the cabinets, the framed maps. “Not sure what’s so interesting in here.”

I frown, thinking of the purple dress and the orb in its pocket. But I can’t see why a simple orb with no discernible purpose would hold the Captain’s attention so long.

I shrug and tuck my arm through Kylar’s. “Do ship’s whores get breakfast?”

And then I immediately regret the question because he gives me a devilish grin. “We’ll see if Theo, Gabel, or Iro have any breakfast they’d like to contribute to that pretty little mouth.”

For another week, things continue in much the same way. There’s no talk of my sleeping in the brig again, but sometimes the Captain kicks me out of his cabin for hours at a time. He keeps the curtains closed while he’s in there, so I can’t see what he’s doing, even though I’m desperately curious.

I don’t use my magic in any way they can detect. Just a slight speeding of the currents that will help us on our way. I can’t use my earth magic while we’re out on the ocean anyway, and without the time and place to create talismans, draw symbols, or lay out ingredients for a spell circle, I can’t use my universal abilities either. So I content myself with making sure I still have unfettered access to my water abilities.

Captain Varrow doesn’t request any magic from me, which is a little odd. Perhaps he doesn’t want to abuse his power.

During daylight hours, the crew take turns sleeping and handling the ship. Jim usually cooks the meals, though Iro and Gabel take shifts in the kitchen as well. Iro continues teaching me reading and math, even though everyone probably thinks it’s a pointless endeavor. I’m marked for death. And the pirates don’t know I’ve regained the power to choose my fate.

Sometimes I practice my handwriting by inking naughty words on Jim’s skin under Iro’s supervision. If I do well, I get to sit on one of their faces—my choice—until I come. Kylar teaches me to cheat at cards, Gabel shows me how he assembles his mechanical creatures, and Theo tells me about the workings of the ship, and about the heists and hauls they’ve pulled off with the Emberwatch.

And they fuck me. Whenever they like. Once Kylar bends me so far over the rail I’m terrified of falling while he takes my vagina, then my ass. Another time, Iro and Jim lay me out on the table in the kitchen and eat my pussy over and over until I’m weak from orgasms, and then they both paint my body with their cum.

One afternoon, Gabel ties me to a chair with my legs open and makes his creatures dance on my tender parts with their tiny feet until I have a helpless, shaking climax, and then another, and then a third on his cock. He’s getting very good at communicating his most lecherous intentions to his clockwork insects.

Theo fucks me at night, when I’m lying in the Captain’s bed, before he and the others go to lock themselves in the galley. Sometimes I’m asleep when he does it, and sometimes I only pretend to be, until my quickened breathing alerts him to my wakefulness. Then he rubs my clit until I come, while he pumps his massive cock in and out of my sex. I always feel so deliciously sated when he and I climax at the same time—so full, so happy.

I’m happy nearly all the time aboard ship with my pirates.

Besides the impending sacrifice, one other thing mars my happiness.

Or rather, one person. Captain Varrow.

He avoids me. Barely speaks to me. He’s still intimate with the other men, though. Gabel sucks Varrow off sometimes while he’s steering the ship, or Jim will offer his ass. One morning, I’m on my way to the galley for a snack when I hear the smacking sounds of flesh on flesh in the hold.

Creeping nearer, I find Varrow on hands and knees between barrels and crates. He’s naked, his skeleton-tattooed fingers splayed on the boards. Kylar is pumping into his mouth while Iro’s cock glides into his asshole.

Kylar sees me and grins. “A rare sight, witch. The illustrious Captain, getting spit-roasted by his crew.” He cups his hand under Varrow’s jaw and says, half-tenderly, half-mockingly, “Open your throat, Captain. I’m about to come.”

Varrow groans, and his pierced cock twitches. It’s dripping precum onto the floor, yearning desperately for touch. I want to feel him, to stroke him.

Iro is fucking the Captain’s ass slowly, steadily, angling his hips to reach a spot that makes Varrow moan. Smiling, the healer reaches down and cups Varrow’s balls, caressing them. “Do you want the pretty witch to watch you come, Captain?”

Varrow’s cock jerks. His eyes are half-lidded, and his red braid sways while the two pirates fuck him soundly, deeply.

“He’s going to come without a single touch to his cock,” Kylar murmurs. “Show her, Captain.” And he reaches down to pinch one of Varrow’s nipples. I’ve never seen a man’s nipples so erect, so tight. At the squeeze of Kylar’s fingers, Varrow barks a groan around Ky’s cock, but he doesn’t come yet.

“Take my fucking cum, Captain,” gasps Kylar, and he throws back his head, shoving himself deep in Varrow’s throat. A low roar of release breaks from him.

After a long moment, he pulls out, and the Captain swallows convulsively.

“Come here, Quressa.” Kylar beckons me, and I approach tentatively. Without warning he reaches out and rips open the light tunic I’m wearing, exposing my breasts. He pushes me onto my knees in front of Captain Varrow, whose gray eyes are dilated with arousal.

“Look at these, Captain,” Kylar murmurs, kneeling behind me and reaching around to mold my breasts with his hands. “Such beautiful squishy breasts our witch has. Perfect breasts, these. Fucking exquisite.”

Varrow’s jaw tightens. When Kylar slides his hands from my chest to my waist, I lean forward, letting my breasts swing full and heavy in front of the Captain’s face.

“Do you like them?” I whisper.

Teeth bared, he wrenches his face aside. But his features contort in agonized bliss as Iro quickens his rhythm.

Varrow is panting, shaking, the cords of his neck tight.

“Come for me, Captain,” I whisper.

At those soft words he cries out, his cock bouncing, cum spraying and sprinkling the floor.

“Yes, Captain, yes.” Iro strokes his ass cheeks. “You came so well for us.”

“Good boy.” Kylar takes Varrow by the braid, pulls his face up, and gives him a rough, sloppy kiss.

Bare-breasted, wet with my own need, I rise and walk around behind Iro. He has such a perfect ass—one cheek tattooed and the other pale. I squeeze his buttocks lightly while he ruts into the Captain’s ass. Then, experimentally, I reach between his legs and fondle his balls.

“Seems you have a malady, sir,” I murmur. “These balls are very swollen. You must relieve the pressure immediately.” I press two fingers into the tender skin between his balls and his anus, massaging lightly.

"Shit, Quressa,” he pants. “I’m coming. Varrow, my love—I’m coming.”

“Come inside me,” Varrow growls. “Come hard in my ass.”

Iro’s entire body bucks when he comes. Every muscle hardens, his spine arches—and I step back to enjoy the sight. Kylar’s watching too.

“Aren’t they fucking beautiful?” he mutters. “My men.”

When Iro has finished spending himself inside the Captain, Varrow rises, naked and flushed, his bronzed chest heaving.

There’s a vengeful fire in his glare that makes me back up another step.

“Walking a fine line, aren’t we, Ky?” His voice is hard, unforgiving. “You know my rule.”

“You didn’t bed her or fall in love with her,” Ky retorts. “Nothing in your vow says you can’t enjoy a fine pair of jugs.”

I wince at the word, but I forget it immediately because Captain Varrow seizes my tunic, rips it open the rest of the way, and tears the shredded material off me.

“Turn around and bend over,” he orders.

I stare at him. He just came. He can’t intend to fuck me—

“Now, witch!” he barks.

Startled, I turn my back to him and bend at the waist.

“Lower.”

I bend still more. The knowledge that he’s staring at my bare ass and my naked, wet pussy makes me even more aroused.

I’m ready for anything. His fingers, his tongue, even his cock if he can get it hard again—

But I’m not prepared for what happens next.

26

The little witch wants to play games. Fine. Let’s play games.

I don’t bother with clothes. I pick her up bodily and sling her over my shoulder. Her hair is so long it trails on the floor as I stalk through the ship with her and climb the ladder to the main deck.

She’s naked, fighting me. Soft and pliable she seems, yet she’s wickedly strong when she wants to be.

“Where are you taking me?” she gasps. There’s real apprehension in her voice.

I’ve let her play the whore to my men. It’s been torture watching them fuck her slowly and lazily in the sun on the deck, or rut desperately with her two at a time, one stuffed up her ass and another in her pussy, and her sighing and squirming with pleasure between them.

I’m sick of watching them make her scream. It’s my turn.

If I don’t actually fuck her with my body, it’s not breaking my vow.

She’s beating my butt with her tiny fists as I tote her up to the quarterdeck. Gabel is at the wheel, and his eyes widen as he sees me climbing the steps with the little witch. Jim stands nearby too, cigarette in hand as usual, wisps of smoke curling into the bright blue of the day.

“Out of the way, you scalawags,” I snarl, and they retreat hastily. It’s good to see that they remember who’s in charge.

I stalk up to the wheel of the ship and run my fingers along one of the handles that are spaced evenly along its circumference. The spokes are thick, about the size of a good cock—perfect for gripping, and worn smooth with use. I can’t feel any splinters, so I swing the witch down from my shoulder.

She starts to babble something, but stops with a slight shriek as I grip her waist, lift her, and shove her soaked pussy onto the topmost handle of the ship’s wheel.

The look on her face as it goes inside her is comical. She’s shocked beyond words, beyond movement, beyond thought.

She blinks in the sunshine, her dark hair fluttering in long, wavy tendrils around her pale, sinuous body. Her lush breasts are peaked, tiny pink nipples sharp with arousal. Her smooth stomach sucks in with every panicked breath. Between her creamy thighs, her swollen pink pussy lips are spread wide around the root of the handle. She’s so wet her juices are staining the wood dark.

Impaled on the ship’s wheel, she looks like a siren come aboard to tempt us. A siren with plans to lure every man here to his doom.

Perhaps she is.

On the quarterdeck steps, Iro and Kylar are watching. Theo is securing one of the ropes as fast as he can—he’ll be over to watch too, in a moment.

Let them watch.

I brace Quressa with my palms, holding her steady on the wheel.

“I think we need to veer a bit west,” I say coolly, and I use her to turn the wheel a little way to the right. Her body is slightly angled now.

“Fuck, Varrow!” she gasps.

I lean in, my teeth nearly grazing her cheekbone. “That’s ‘Captain’ to you.”

“Fuck, Captain,” she spits. “Get me off this thing.”

“Very well. But are you sure you want me to?” I swivel the wheel to the left until she’s upright on the top spoke. Then I lift her nearly all the way off it, so just the tip of the handle is still inside her folds. “Ah, but it seems you’re enjoying this. This handle is dripping wet. Perhaps you should stay here—” I thrust her down again— “until you come.”

“Shit, Captain,” mutters Kylar, and Iro says, “Isn’t this a bit far?”

“Shut your hole, healer,” I snap. “Or you’re next. Jim, Gabel—hold the wheel steady. We’re going to let the good ship Emberwatch fuck our little witch.”

27

Varrow has gone insane. I love it.

Of all the men aboard, his body is my favorite. Tall, sleek, bronzed, with wide shoulders, perfectly symmetrical abdominals, a tapered waist, narrow hips, long legs. With that red hair and the tattoos, he’s fucking beautiful. And he’s gleaming with sweat, every muscle hard, biceps swelling as he works the witch’s small, soft body up and down on the handle of the ship’s wheel.

I can die happy, having witnessed this. I’m so fucking hard. But I can’t take myself in hand—I have to help Gabel hold the wheel steady while the Captain rams Quressa’s pussy onto it, over and over. She has stopped fussing and she’s gripping his shoulders now, panting, her gorgeous breasts bouncing up and down.

Tiny shrill moans jerk out of her every time he slams her down again. “Fuck, fuck, fuck—” she squeals, then— “Fu-u-u-ck—I’m coming—oh, gods, I’m coming!” She wraps one arm around Varrow’s head and pulls him against her, his face between her breasts. Her thighs are quivering, jerking—he moves his hands from her waist to her legs, holding her there firmly while she writhes. She’s coming so hard I could spit with jealousy. Instead I risk a long pull at my cigarette, one hand still on the ship’s wheel.

Varrow allowed her to pull him close. He braced her while she came.

He’s softening. We can all see it. Just a little longer, and she’ll wear him down.

But we’ll reach the island of Ewaru soon. We’ll get the Heart-Cask, and then we’ll set sail for the island where the curse began, the one with the hot spring. Fucking beautiful place. The place we were condemned to a slow, horrific death.

The Captain drags Quressa off the wheel’s spoke. She’s shaking, mewling, pressing her fingers between her legs.

Theo shoves his way up the steps to the quarterdeck, pushing Kylar and Iro aside. He looms in front of the Captain, menace in every line of his huge frame.

"Give her to me," he says.

Varrow holds the quivering form of the witch against his own bare body. It’s the first time I’ve seen him that close to a woman. His arm is across her back, his fingers cupping her shoulder gently while she shudders against him. Her hair partly covers her.

I’m no artist. Maybe I could have been once. I see things sometimes—shapes and scenes I like. Balance that appeals to me, like the symmetry of the Captain’s body. Seeing Varrow and the girl pressed against each other, her head tilted against his shoulder, tendrils of his scarlet hair whipping in the wind, his eyes on fire—damn, I wish I could paint them.

“Back off, mate,” Gabel says softly to Theo.

“If you’ve hurt her, I swear—” Theo growls at the Captain.

“You’ll what?” Varrow snaps. “Mutiny? Fat lot of good that’ll do you, mate. A ship full of dead men. Half a dozen monsters and the woman they’re going to destroy.” He laughs, high and sharp and wicked. Then he scoops Quressa into his arms and shoulders past Theo. Iro and Kylar move back, letting him descend the steps to the main deck. A moment later, his cabin door slams.

“Fucking shit,” I say.

Gabel comes over to me and pushes down the front of my pants without my having to ask. He takes my stiff dick into his warm, wet mouth and works me expertly, tongue and teeth and the circle of his fingers. When he wants to, he can make any of us come almost immediately.

My orgasm hits like a gale-force wind, and I yell out, jetting cum onto Gabel’s tongue. He sucks me clean, tucks me back into my pants, and kisses my forehead.

“I love this fucking ship,” I say helplessly.

The others are all turning back to their tasks, but they chuckle at my comment. Gabel leans in and takes a long sniff of the spoke Quressa painted with her juices.

“She belongs to us,” he says quietly. “How will we survive this?”

“You mean, how will we survive killing her?” I crush my cigarette on the quarterdeck and move behind him, locking my arms around his waist. “I don’t fucking know. But if we let her live, we won’t get to enjoy her either. Or each other. Because we’ll all disappear.”

A muscle along his jaw flexes. “But if we go, she will live.”

“Are we that unselfish? All of us dying just so she’ll survive?” I press my forehead to his back, right between his shoulder blades. “Fuck this, Gabel. I can’t bear the thought of you dying any more than I can bear the thought of her dying, or Theo, or Iro, or Kylar, or Varrow. I hate death. I hate it so fucking much.”

“It’s the bane of the world, that’s for sure,” he sighs. “Inevitable for every living thing, and you’d think that would be bad enough. Yet that witch who cursed us found a way to make it so much worse. I wonder now if she knew, somehow, that Quressa existed. If she perceived the future, and saw us torn apart inside, tormented just like this.”

“I want to rip that bitch’s guts out,” I grumble against his shirt.

“She’s gone, lad. No sense hating someone who no longer exists.”

“But the dead do exist, somewhere, don’t they? If the gods exist, there must be an afterlife.”

“If the gods exist.” He nods. “And I believe they do. After all, the heart of the goddess Amelan exists, and so does the Gods-Eye, the relic that started all this.”

“I never got to see the Gods-Eye before Varrow turned it in to the Duke. What did it look like?”

“Pretty little thing. An orb you could hold in your palm, pearly, with gold filigree. Aye, Varrow sent it off to the Duke once we got to Harrelton, right after the curse. Good thing, too. Running afoul of the Duke on top of everything else would have been a shitty piece of luck. A shitty piece of luck indeed.”

28

I’ve been to many islands. Ewaru is my least favorite already and I’ve barely set foot on its shores.

We’ve anchored in a round bay between two curved spits of land. There are strange birds everywhere. Not ravens, not gulls, but an unnatural blend of the two, born through some perversion of nature. They cluster all over the black rocks, eyeing us and snapping their hooked beaks.

I’d like to get my hands on one and snap its neck.

The birds bother me. So does the greasy sheen of the black, spiky rocks, and the puffs of noxious-smelling gas seeping between them. And the gritty, broken shale under my boots. And the lurid pallor of the clouds overhead—the clean sky poisoned with fumes.

“Don’t you think someone should stay with the ship, Captain?” I say. “What if some scalawags show up and take her?”

“Who’s going to show up here?” Jim asks. He’s puffing nervously on a cigarette. He has told me more of his past than he’s told the others, because he trusts me completely. Sometimes he asks me to pretend to take him by force, against his will. And that, too, is a mark of his trust in me. I hold him and the little witch more fiercely in my heart than the others.

This place reminds me somewhat of Jim’s description of his home village, after the plague. No wonder he hates it like I do.

The little witch is dressed in a dark red tunic and black pants, with a deep gray cloak pinned around her shoulders. She has bundled her long hair into a messy bunch of curls at the back of her head. Tiny rubies glint in her ears. I’m sure I’ve seen the Captain wear them before.

What happened between them after he fucked her on the ship’s wheel, when he carried her off to his cabin?

I was angry then. I wanted her with me. I like holding her.

But he took her away. And my love and loyalty for him is an unmovable boulder inside me. Nothing can crack it, not even my own strength.

We are used to sharing each other. Sharing the girl is different, but it feels good, most of the time.

“Quressa.” Captain Varrow approaches behind her, turns her from looking inland and makes her face the Emberwatch. “You’re going to use your magic for me, love. Lift the earth beneath the ship and ground her so firmly that no one can steal her away.”

My body tenses. Not much excites me. My crewmates, for one—handsome devils, all of them. The little witch, for another. The prospect of a raid and some good killing aboard another ship, with loot to be had. A wrestling match with my mates, with sex at the end.

And magic. Seeing magic excites me.

I’ve always liked watching Gabel activate his creatures. His magic is small, limited. But I still enjoy it.

He swears he brought a puppy back to life once, when he was a child. Told me not to tell anyone, not even among the crew. I don’t believe the story, but it seems important to him. So I keep the secret.

I have a feeling Quressa’s magic will be far more exciting than Gabel’s.

But I keep my expression stoic as the little witch steps forward, with Varrow’s hands still resting on her shoulders. Her chest lifts and her full lips press together. There’s a wild excitement in her eyes, and it makes my heart beat heavier, faster.

I’ve seen a couple of elemental witches at work before. One didn’t move his hands at all, while the other moved her hands constantly, dramatically. I suppose the flair of the magic is a personal thing.

My little witch barely moves her hands. She lifts them, yes—palms down, fingers splayed—and then she flips them up, palms to the sky, and her fingers flex.

The beach rumbles beneath us, an aftershock of whatever is happening out there, in the deeper water of the bay where the Emberwatch is anchored. Everything is shaking. I plant my boots farther apart to stay steady. Jim sways and bumps into me. I wrap one arm around him, and he snarls at me for it, but he lets me hold him.

The ship is lifting. Rising above the surface of the ocean, borne up by a mountain of sandy earth. The hull is half-sunk in the sand, firmly locked in place. There will be no washing her away, and no band of buccaneers from some other crew can steal her.

Quressa lowers her hands. She casts Varrow a triumphant little smile. His fingers tighten on her shoulders.

Something happened between them. Did he fuck her?

Doesn’t matter now. My mates look shocked at the casual display of her power. But we don’t have time for marveling over that, or for questioning Varrow about whether his vow is intact. We need to find the goddess’s heart and get the fuck off this island.

Varrow moves away from the witch and starts walking, threading a path between the rocks. Iro strides beside him, poring over a map that is supposed to show the location of the old temple. I bartered for it on an icy pier last winter. Thought we should have it just in case we found our witch.

As we trek inland, I stay as close to the little witch as I can get, and I keep my hand on her back whenever possible. In this place, who knows what might happen? And I will break every bone in my body before I let her be hurt.

Clearly the little witch is not used to walking long distances through rough terrain. After an hour of stomping over broken shale, clambering around jutting rocks, and ducking under the dead limbs of diseased trees, she begins to lag. She’s panting, struggling to keep up, her cheeks painted red from exertion. But she won’t ask for help. Her eyes are bright, determined.

When she stumbles for the twelfth time, I pick her up and carry her.

She struggles at first. “Theo, put me down.”

“You’re not my captain,” I retort.

“You’re sweaty.” She squirms again.

“So are you.”

“Fucking pirate,” she mutters. “I can do this. Let me walk.”

“No.” I keep striding along.

Grumbling, she settles into my arms. Even though our bodies are both heated and sweaty, I can think of no greater delight than having her small, pliant form tucked against my chest. She makes me feel so fucking powerful and so desperately weak at the same time.

Two more hours of walking. The crew and I are fit and strong, but we’ve spent three years on a ship and none of us are used to such long treks. And we still have our sea legs, which makes us clumsier than usual.

I let my little witch walk for a while, but then Kylar hitches her onto his back and jogs ahead with her while she giggles. They get so far ahead they’re completely out of sight, and when the rest of us catch up, Kylar has her bent over a rock with her pants pulled down, and he’s fucking her deep.

29

Theo crosses his arms, growling deep in his chest as Ky ruts into the witch. Theo is very possessive of her. I understand the feeling. I often find myself assuming smugly that she feels closest to me, thanks to all the lessons we’ve shared and the little games we’ve played. I have to remember that she belongs to herself, and her pleasure is to have us all.

Except for right now. In this moment, her pleasure is to have Kylar. I don’t blame her—his cock is magnificent.

Her cheek is pressed to the rock, her eyes glazed with arousal as he thrusts. There’s a cocky, lecherous grin on his face. His very cockiness is one of the reasons I love the damn bastard.

Captain Varrow strides up to Kylar, grips him by the shirt collar, and drags him out of the witch. Ky’s shaft is slick from her insides, and the little witch’s pussy is rosy and wet with need, her small hole gaping for us all to see. “Fuck you, Varrow,” she whines. “Let him finish. I need this.”

“We have a job to do. Or did the two of you forget?” Varrow grits out.

She doesn’t move. Wiggles her ass a little, inviting him.

Fuck.

The Captain smacks her ass hard. Then he slaps her pussy. “Pull up your pants.”

“I’ve spent a lot of magic,” she says. “I need more energy. And I want cock. So either Kylar gives it to me, or someone else must.”

Captain Varrow smacks her bottom again, but his hand stays this time, stroking over her rear. “We might need your magic, where we’re going,” he muses. “I doubt the heart of the goddess is unprotected. And since sex refuels your energy, one might say fucking you is a necessary act. A noble act.”

“A sacrifice I’m happy to make, Captain,” Kylar says.

For a moment I think Varrow might pull out his dick and slip inside the witch himself. But he hesitates, glancing around at the spiked rocks, the vents of noxious gas, and the crumbly, ashy ground.

I know him well. He’s thinking that if and when he does break his vow with her, it won’t be here, in this awful place.

He steps back. “Fuck her,” he says roughly to Ky. “Make it quick. And be sure she comes.”

“Aye, Captain.” Ky sinks to his knees behind the witch, stroking her soaked pussy with his tongue. I’m growing hard just from watching them.

Jim sidles up to me, quietly pulls out his dick and mine, and starts rubbing them together with his slim, skilled fingers. His thumb teases the sensitive place just under my cock head, and as precum starts to seep from me, he smears it all over both our shafts. But I don’t moan. We both stay utterly silent, afraid to attract the attention of the Captain, who is mesmerized by Ky’s face nestling into the witch’s pussy.

Quressa’s breath is hitching, short and shrill, higher and higher—she’s about to come. I seize Jim’s head and pull his face to mine. He tastes like smoke. I bite his lip, and a salty drop of his blood bursts over my tongue. I lave the place I bit, but he bites me back, passionately, viciously, while my cock throbs against his. “Fuck, Jim,” I whisper into his mouth, and he hisses, “Hush,” with a warning glance at Varrow.

But our Captain is still engrossed in Quressa and Ky. She’s trembling, almost crying, right on the edge—and Kylar stops his tongue work and rises, tall and broad, thrusting himself inside her. She’s so close that it only takes a few quick pumps, and then she’s coming. The sweetest little gasps break from her mouth, and my cum overflows, spurting over Jim’s hand where it curls around both our cocks.

He comes too, harsh breaths cracking from his lips. He kisses me, and then as Varrow starts to turn around we both part quickly and tuck our cocks away.

Then Jim wipes the cum from his hand all over the front of my tunic. He darts away as I lunge for him, but I manage a glancing punch to his shoulder. “You little shit.”

He’s laughing, and I chase him ahead of the others, around a bend in the path—

He yells, feet skidding, and drops.

Cliff’s edge.

My Jim, falling—

I snag his wrist.

The weight of his whole body jerks against my shoulder, and I bellow with pain and panic.

Gritting my teeth, I haul Jim up, my muscles screaming. He reaches, scrabbles for the rocky lip of the cliff, and pulls himself up.

“Iro,” he pants. “Gods, Iro. I almost—”

“Shit.” Gabel runs up behind us. “Did one of you—”

“Jim fell.” My whole body is shaking, weakness racing through my limbs as my frantic energy ebbs. “I caught him.”

“Fuck, Iro.” Gabel’s voice is thick with emotion. “Thank the gods.” He crushes a hand into Jim’s unruly black hair and presses their foreheads together for a second.

Then Theo’s there. He squeezes Jim’s shoulder. “Watch your fucking step, boy.”

“I know.” Jim’s hands are trembling. He’s trying to light a cigarette with the pocket flint-kit he carries, but he can’t manage, and I’m not sure my hands are steady enough to help.

Quressa appears between us, collecting the flint-kit quietly. She holds the cigarette in her mouth and strikes the chips of stone together until a spark catches the end of the papery roll of herbs. Then she hands the cigarette to Jim.

I know the smoking habit isn’t good for him. I’ve had to heal damage to his lungs repeatedly. But it calms him, and if I can repair the decay, what’s the harm?

While Jim starts to smoke, Gabel’s fingers tug at the devices along his belt. In the past week he has made progress toward replacing the pieces he lost, though he still seems more anxious than usual. Then again, we all are.

Kylar comes around the bend, still adjusting his pants. His tanned skin is flushed deeper in patches on his cheeks and along his throat, and his eyes are softer than usual. He always looks like that right after coming inside someone he cares about.

“Look,” he says, pointing ahead and glancing back at the Captain, who’s right behind him. “There it is.”

We all look up, past the chasm. Beyond it, nearly camouflaged among the rocks, are the spires of the goddess Amelan’s temple.

“How will we get to it?” Jim asks.

Captain Varrow claps a hand on his shoulder. “Safely,” he replies. “Thanks to our witch. Quressa, make us a bridge.”

30

Quressa is fucking amazing.

The instant I give her the order, she steps eagerly forward, lifting her hands. Columns of rock shoot up from the bottom of the chasm, locking together into a narrow path across the gap. But she doesn’t stop there. She raises more rock and earth, broadening the path until it’s a wide avenue, expansive enough for us all to walk across easily without fear of falling. She even adds barriers along the sides, walls that come to hip height on me, with twisting spires of rock as a decorative touch.

“Railings for the little ones,” she says, with a smirk at Jim.

“Fuck you, witch,” he says, grinning, and blows smoke into her face. She sticks out her little pink tongue at him.

I want so badly to come on that sweet tongue. And I wanted to fuck her back there, when she was bent over the rock. But if I’m going to break my vow, I can’t do it in a place like this.

After I brought her to climax on the ship’s wheel, I took her back to my cabin and put her in bed. Then I poured us both wine, and we talked for two hours. During that time I did not think about the Gods-Eye. Not once. I did not feel the compelling pull I always feel, the magnetic draw of that orb tugging at my soul.

Quressa told me her story, from her childhood to her time in the king’s service, and I told her mine. Well, most of it. How I grew up in a merchant’s family, and watched my father struggle with tariffs, tolls, and regulations while the big merchants who didn’t give a shit about honesty made money by the barrelful. How I decided I preferred comfort and freedom, rather than enslavement to laws put in place by greedy councils to benefit the wealthy and repress honest tradesmen. How my ambition and my skills led me to piracy. How I met each of my men during my travels, one by one.

I cared about them deeply from the beginning, but Iro was the only one I fucked before the curse. He was eager to escape a city full of disgruntled nobles, and I needed healing from blisterpox I’d contracted when we accidentally raided a ship full of infected people.

Once Iro got my skin cleared up, he surveyed my body and said, “You were hiding a lot of goodness under those leaking boils, weren’t you, Captain?” And with his gentle hands and soft words, he lured me into his bed. He was the first man I’d ever had, and the first person I’d taken pleasure with since Tulseya’s death. He opened the door to a new world of possibilities for me, and I took him with me when the Emberwatch sailed the next day.

I told Quressa that story and others. More of my life than I’ve shared with any of my crew. They know me, and they love me, but she seems to enjoy learning everything about me—all the details that don’t interest anyone else.

Her love for detail shows in the decorative edges of the bridge she just made, and her love of knowledge and history is obvious in the flood of questions that pour from her as we walk across. Despite how weary she is, she wants to know everything about the temple—who built it and when, what the goddess was known for, whether anyone knows what she looked like, when she existed, whether she was actually a goddess or just a very powerful witch, who her worshippers were, and how she died.

“A goddess who dies isn’t really a goddess, though,” she says.

“The heart is from her human form,” Gabel explains. He’s the only one of us with any inclination to actually worship the gods or study their lore. “It is said she ascended to divine form and left her heart behind to supply the island and its people with magic.”

Quressa frowns, looking around. “Well, that didn’t work, did it?”

“Greed destroyed this place,” Gabel says. “The heart is all but drained of its magic now. It’s useless.”

“Which explains why it’s still here,” Quressa says.

“It’s useless to anyone except us,” I interject. “But that doesn’t mean it will be easy to obtain. The witch who laid our curse had days to ponder which ingredients to include in the ritual of undoing. Trust me, she wouldn’t have chosen this spell ingredient if getting it was easy. Every man jack of you check your weapons and keep a weather eye open.”

The entrance to the temple is cluttered with collapsed stone, frosted with spiderwebs.

Quressa lifts her hands again, then catches herself. “May I clear the way, master?” she asks me sweetly.

“You may.”

It’s wondrous and almost frightening how easily she tosses aside chunks of rock and sends pebbles and debris skittering out of our way. Gabel opens his pack and passes around some of the small, long-burning hand-lamps he’s crafted. We’ve used them during raids before, and they’re a marvel.

By wordless agreement we allow Quressa to enter the temple first. She does so without flinching, without showing a hint of fear, though Theo and I walk immediately behind her, hands on our weapons in case she needs us.

As she walks, stone slabs fly out of her way, slamming into the walls, and the cracks in the pavers seal over, seamless as the day they were laid. A collapsed floor reassembles itself effortlessly, slanted pillars snap upright, a half-fallen ceiling coalesces again, smooth and intact over our heads. Goosebumps break out over my skin at the sight.

I glance sideways at Theo, who appears as impassive as ever, and then I look back at the rest of my crew. Rough men we are, a strange lot obsessed with sex out of both affinity and necessity, an odd group that not many people would understand. We’ve seen strange things, and we transform into shadow-beasts nightly. We are not easily unsettled.

But this girl, this woman, this witch—she has unsettled us all. I see it in my men’s wide eyes, their lifted brows, their shocked stares at each other.

Uncollared, this woman could kill every man of us in an instant. We would be entirely at her mercy.

A strange impulse takes root in my heart—the urge to worship her. To set her free, and to fall at her feet.

“Keep up, boys,” she says brightly, musically, and I laugh. I can’t help it. I love her.

I—

A chill thrums through my very bones.

No. No, I can’t love her because that would mean—

That would mean I’ve already broken my vow. Without realizing it, without intending to. I was so intent on not sleeping with our darling witch that I fell in love with her.

I love her.

Shit.

31

We’re deep in the temple when we come to a wide, wide room—impossibly wide, impossibly tall. Every surface—floor and walls—perfectly smooth, not a crack or a blemish anywhere, at least as far as our lights reach. It’s fucking suspicious.

The room is so long we can’t see the far end, and so high we can’t see the ceiling.

The Captain claps me on the shoulder. “Gabel, mate, have one of your insects fly through the room with a bit of tinder so we can see what we’re dealing with.”

I fetch a splinter of wood from the hallway we just left, dip it in fuel oil from one of my portable lamps, and affix it to one of my clockwork insects. After impressing it with my energy and will, I let it fly.

It soars deeper and deeper into the dark, until it’s a mere speck of light in the vast, inky blackness.

There’s a sudden, terrible grinding of gears, then a clapping sound that echoes through the chamber like the applause from a million hands—and the light winks out.

My insect should come back to me, but it does not, though I wait for several long minutes.

At last the Captain says, “It’s gone.”

My heart sinks. Another precious creature, lost, and with each loss my pain and anxiety seem to grow exponentially. I can’t lose anything else—anyone else. My creatures are precious to me—

No. No, that’s not it—or at least not all of it.

My crew. My mates. My lovers. They’re precious to me.

Each creation of mine that I lose is another reminder that everyone I love could disappear into shadow any day now.

They all know it and fear it, but none of them understand how that anxiety weighs on me every moment of every day—except when I’m crafting, sleeping, or fucking. Which is why I spend all my waking hours having sex or creating mechanical wonders. If I don’t, the darkness will swallow me whole.

The Captain speaks again, jerking me out of my mental maelstrom. “Quressa, can you sense anything about this room?”

She kneels, pressing her palms to the stone floor. “I’ll try.”

More long moments, and then she says, “There’s something bad here. Something dangerous.”

“Brilliant guess, witch,” scoffs Kylar. “I could have told you that.”

Quressa ignores him. “Holes,” she says. “Holes underneath. Gaps and weaknesses. Metal—iron spikes, maybe? Darts? Something—something big and flat that moves.”

“Can you get us through it?” Varrow asks.

“Maybe.” She looks scared now, pale as salt. “You’ll all have to stay very close to me, and if I say run, or stop, you obey at once.”

“Very well,” says Varrow. “You heard the witch, men—stay close and obey her orders as if they were my own. Belay that—obey her better and more promptly than you usually obey me.”

Kylar chuckles. “That warning’s for you, cabin boy.”

“Actually it was for you, Ky,” says the Captain. “Now, Quressa, I order you to use your magic to get all seven of us through this alive. Come on, boys, don’t be shy. Cuddle in.”

Kylar makes a gagging sound, even though he was the one holding Iro’s hand during sex a week ago.

The six of us surround Quressa, bumping into each other a little. Quressa’s on my left, my shoulder brushing hers. Ky is in front of me, Jim behind. The others cluster around her left side.

We walk into the pitch black of the room, until we cannot see walls or ceiling, only the floor under our feet. The circles of light from our lamps don’t reach far into the thick, cloying darkness.

The floor shudders and cracks under our feet. Quressa gasps, and the crack reluctantly grinds back together, closing as we hurry on. An explosion directly in front of us—a blast of cold stale air from below as the floor erupts. Kylar teeters on the edge, and I grab his collar.

“Quressa!” Varrow’s shout is a warning and a rebuke.

“I’m trying,” she screams. Air is rushing out of the hole, pressing us backward. Quressa barely manages to seal it over with rocks before there’s a rumbling, louder and louder from both sides.

Quressa yells and throws her arms out just as two massive slabs of stone come barreling toward us from the east and west. She holds them off, her arms trembling, because those two stones clearly want to slam together and crush us flat. “Run!” she screams, and the six of us charge ahead. She leaps clear, while the stones hurtle together with a deafening slam.

We’re still running. My heart is racing and a chilly sweat breaks out across my forehead. Things are crashing all around us—darts whistling, pieces of the floor breaking away—and Quressa is a hurricane through it all, flinging obstacles out of our way, intercepting darts with chunks of rock, pulling pieces together to form a path, throwing up waves of earth or stone to protect us from the missiles whistling out of the dark.

My boot toe collides with Kylar’s heel and I stumble. Fucking sea legs. Jim grabs my arm, pulls me ahead. My lungs are aching. Pain stabs under my ribs. If I’m this exhausted, then Quressa must be on the point of collapse.

Theo barrels past me, picks her up, and runs with her. She’s still working her earth magic—hits him in the face twice with her flailing hands, but he doesn’t complain.

There’s a wall ahead, coming closer. A gap in the wall, a doorway, strangely and horrifically tall, stretching into black oblivion overhead.

We race for that doorway, all of us. Tumble through it, just as more of the floor falls away.

“Is it safe here?” Varrow gasps. “Quressa! Is it safe?”

“Shit,” mutters Theo. “I think she passed out.”

Iro shoulders forward. “Let me see her.”

Theo kneels, with the little witch draped across his burly arms, and Iro sinks down beside them.

She has fainted, probably from overuse of her magical energy. Happened to me once, after I animated too many creatures at once.

“Saved our hides, she did,” says Theo, in an almost accusing tone, glaring at Captain Varrow.

“She did as she was ordered,” the Captain replies.

“She’d have done it without orders and you know it,” Theo growls back.

“Physically she’s fine,” Iro announces. “But she’ll likely be unconscious awhile while her magic replenishes.”

“We’re going to need her magic to get out of here,” Varrow says.

Kylar clears his throat. “Fucking her would refill her energy faster.”

“Not without her consent, asshole,” says the Captain.

Theo speaks up. “I have her consent to fuck her when she’s asleep. I do it often.”

The rest of us stare at him.

“What?” he growls. “She likes waking up with my cum in her pussy.”

Varrow rubs his wrist across his forehead. He didn’t wear his captain’s hat on this venture, and it’s a good thing, because it would have been lost for good during that run we just did.

“Very well,” he says. “We’ll find the Heart-Cask, and then Theo will fuck the witch until she wakes. Then, if she consents, we’ll all help her recover her energy. I don’t know about you gents, but I’d rather not face that gauntlet of death again without her.”

“Aye,” we all echo.

“Come on then, you lazy louts. On your feet and let’s move out.” With an imperious wave of his hand, Varrow strides ahead, along the gloomy corridor.

32

I’m concerned about our sweet Quressa. When I checked her, I could not sense any physical ailments except some muscle soreness, which I eased—but there was a deep exhaustion, stemming from the overuse of her magic. Normally I cannot sense anything to do with a person’s magical abilities, but this exhaustion was so overwhelming it leaked through the barrier of her magical self into the bodily self. Not that strange, I suppose, given that, according to Ymarra, a harlequin witch’s power links the sexual and physical with the esoteric and mental. Sexual energy—carnal energy—channels into magical power. And so it is logical that when the magical power is depleted, it might also cannibalize some of the body’s vital energy as well.

I walk beside Theo, keeping an eye on Quressa’s chest, making sure it continues to rise and fall. We traverse several more corridors, descend countless steps, until at last we enter an ornately decorated chamber, lined with statues of more gods than I can name. Gabel seems thrilled and begins going along the wall, talking about each statue in turn, though no one really listens.

Quressa would listen, if she were awake. She would probably link her arm with his and walk with him, asking questions.

She’s the dearest treasure. I love her so much it hurts.

“Iro,” Theo says sharply, in a tone I’ve never heard him use.

“What?” I glance at Quressa.

At first I think she’s not breathing at all, and my heart nearly stops. Then her chest lifts, but so slightly I barely see it. Her breathing is far too slow and shallow.

“We have to do this now,” I snap. “Now, Theo.”

His blue eyes meet mine, a wretched fear in them. I nod to him. “I’ll hold her head.”

I sit crosslegged, the lap of my tunic forming the perfect space for the witch’s head. Theo lays her down, and I stroke her hair back from her face. “My love, we must give you a potion,” I whisper. “I pray to the gods that it helps.”

Leaning forward a little, I push down the neckline of her tunic, exposing more of her lovely breasts to Theo’s view. He grunts his appreciation and begins palming his cock, trying to get it erect.

I lick my wrist and hold it in front of Quressa’s mouth.

Barely a puff of air.

We can’t wait for Theo to get hard. We need to do this now. I know she would consent to it if she could. Without the sexual energy we can give her, she’ll die.

“Jim!” I shout. “Kylar! Get your lazy bones over here! Which of you can get hard the fastest?”

They glance at each other, then at me, mouths open.

“This is the best fucking game you’ve ever invented, Iro,” says Kylar.

“I’m always half-hard,” Jim says.

“One of you needs to get inside her, now,” I order. “Not her mouth, though—she might choke. Theo, take off her boots and pants.”

He obeys, his cock still limp. It’s a mark of his deep concern for her that he can’t make himself rise to this.

“You first, Jim.” I sweep my hand across Quressa’s breasts, teasing the pretty little nipples, hoping the stimulation will help her body react naturally and ease Jim’s way. I don’t want to hurt her, not even to save her life.

Jim pushes apart the witch’s legs. She’s completely limp, so Theo and Kylar step in and each hold one leg, opening her for him.

His cock is bare, pants pushed down his thighs. He moves his body over hers, his hips between her legs. With uncharacteristic gentleness, Jim plays with Quressa’s clit, then slides a finger along her folds, over and over, while I keep fondling her breasts. Kylar reaches over and gives one breast a gentle squeeze, too.

Jim lifts a slippery finger, and I nod to him. He tucks himself inside her and then, bracing himself on both arms, he begins to thrust. He lets out short grunting pants while he does it. “The shape of her,” he moans. “She’s rubbing me in just the right spot—fuck me, I’m coming. I’m coming, Iro.”

He lifts his eyes to mine. He’s beautiful, flushed, long dark lashes drooping, his eyes asking for my permission, my approval. Tough and wild as he is, he’s still young, and sometimes uncertain. Just twenty years old, while the rest of us are in our middle or late twenties, and Varrow is pushing thirty.

“Good boy,” I murmur, smiling at Jim. “You’re doing so well.”

“Shit, Iro,” he whispers. “Say that again.”

“Good boy,” I say, low. His eyes close, his face twisting, contracting in orgasm, then relaxing. He gives a little shudder, then eases his dick out of the witch.

Kylar kneels between her legs next, lifting her hips with my help while Theo steps back, working his own cock.

“I’m going to fuck you back to life, little one,” mutters Kylar. “You want to come for me, baby? Come for me in your sleep.” He presses two fingers over her tiny clit, circling it, massaging it. Then he runs his long cock into her, pumping steadily. “I can feel Jim’s hot cum inside you, baby girl. Come for us.” He lifts her hips higher, rocking his body deeper into hers.

“Shit, that's hot,” huffs Theo, panting and stroking his cock. “Keep talking to her, mate.”

Jim is looking past me, watching Gabel and Captain Varrow.

“What are they doing?” I ask him.

“They’re at the other end of the room, looking at the big statue of Amelan. They haven’t even noticed what we’re up to.”

“She’s so wet, fuck,” breathes Kylar.

I can hear the wet, sucking sounds of her pussy around his cock. Her body is welcoming us, urging us to complete this and refill her. We are her survival, and she is ours.

My palm cups her breast, pressing lightly. Then I play with her nipples again, first one, then the other.

“She’s tensing,” huffs Kylar. “She’s tightening—keep doing that, Iro—fuck, she’s coming. She’s coming around me. Ahhh—” He vents a long, ragged groan, his arms trembling, hips stilling as he spills his cum inside her.

Quressa is definitely breathing more noticeably and regularly now, but it worries me that she isn’t conscious yet. What if this is pointless? What if we’re not actually helping or saving her at all? If this doesn’t work, she’d be right to be furious at us for fucking her while she’s unresponsive.

Or maybe she’s in even more danger than I thought—so far gone that two sexual interludes are barely enough to pull her back from the edge.

I always thought our group of six was beyond insatiable—more than any one woman could ever handle. But maybe I had it wrong. Maybe she’s the limitlessly insatiable one, and we’re going to have to keep up with her.

Until we shed her blood to break the curse.

But she won’t die by my hand, or with my approval. I’d rather go into the shadows entirely than be complicit in her death. Even if it means giving up what I have with this crew, this family of men.

I’ve decided. I will do everything in my power to save the witch’s life, both now and when we reach the end of this.

But will my lovers stand by me, or stand in my way?

33

I don’t ever have trouble getting hard, unless I’ve just fucked within the hour.

But when I saw my little witch lying so near death—I couldn’t think of anything else. Nothing but fear.

I had to step back and let Kylar and Jim fuck her. Had to call up memories of my favorite sexual encounters with my crew. Gabel taking all of me down his throat. Me coming between the Captain’s thighs once while he stood at the ship’s wheel. Letting Gabel tease my body with his creations one afternoon while the others napped. He inserted three vibrating metal balls inside me and made me come, then took them out and fucked my ass until he filled me up with his release.

Those memories, and the sight of Quressa’s soft, pliant body and lax limbs—I finally feel the blood rushing into my cock, swelling and tightening it. I can fuck her now.

My interest in fucking an inert body is twisted, I’m told. Even if it is something I would never do without the individual’s conscious consent beforehand. I've done it twice to members of the crew, with their agreement, but they don’t understand why I like it so much. Quressa does.

If she survives this I should offer to let her creep into my cabin and ride me while I sleep.

Twice-fucked, and she’s still unconscious. She used too much magic to clear the way into the temple, and to help us survive that room full of traps.

As if he’s reading my mind, Kylar says, “She told me once she cut a new pass through a mountain for her king’s army. She went into a recovery trance for a week afterward.”

“Shit,” says Jim.

“But the king wouldn’t let her have sex,” Iro counters. “He didn’t realize the connection of her sexuality to her magic. We do. So we should be able to help her speed through the recovery process. Theo, can you take her now?”

“I can.” I push Quressa onto her side and push her knees up so she’s in a fetal position. Jim comes over and lifts her hips onto his lap, raising her for me so I have easier access to her slit. Her unconscious body is oozing the cum of the other two men.

Mine will be the release that wakes her up.

An excited shout from the other end of the chamber distracts me for a moment.

“We found something!” Varrow calls.

“Keep going,” Kylar says, and walks away toward the Captain and Gabel.

I poke the thick head of my cock between Quressa’s pussy lips, nuzzling into her. She’s so tight she can barely take me, but her own wetness and the slickness of my two mates ease the way. The shape of her body is magic, rolling along my cock, stimulating me until I harden even more.

Iro cradles her head, Jim holds her hips, and I urge myself deep inside her. My hand covers her entire creamy ass cheek. I squeeze it while I pump my cock through her channel.

Jim reaches up, folds aside my shirt, and pinches my nipple, a knowing smirk on his face. A tingle races from my breast to my groin, and I growl in response, my eyes locked with his. My gaze switches back and forth, from Quressa’s lovely features to Jim’s pretty, smirking face, and with the sight of them, and the tightness of the witch’s cunt, I come hard. So fucking hard. My balls tighten, spending through my cock into the girl. Every throb jets more of my seed into her, until I have nothing left.

I groan deeply, ramming my hips against her rear one last time before drawing my thick length out of her. She’s a sopping mess.

With a faint sigh, she lifts her hand, brushing her fingers across her forehead. Her eyes blink open.

34

I feel so drained. So weak.

I can barely remember what happened, how we got into this strange room.

As Iro explains the situation, my memories trickle back in—running through the roomful of traps, trying desperately to keep everyone alive, even as I felt all my magical energy draining away.

I’m only conscious because of what Jim, Kylar, and Theo did to me while I was passed out. Iro explains it anxiously, his tone drenched in the fear that I might hate them for it. But I’m grateful. And I’m hungry.

I reach up and grasp the front of his tunic. “I need more.”

With a relieved exhale, he smiles. “I think I can oblige.”

Helping me to my feet, he leads me over to an altar near the center of the room. It’s just the right height for me to bend over it, resting my breasts and belly on the gilded surface, while Iro lifts my tunic to bare my ass.

I’m soaked, my pussy dripping and my inner thighs slicked with cum. Iro’s hot length burrows into me, and I clench around him, gasping with needy delight.

“Fuck me as long as you can,” I beg him.

“I will try,” he says tightly.

I let my eyes fall shut again, my cheek resting on the smooth top of the altar. Somewhere toward the end of the room I can hear the chink of metal on metal, and the crumble of mortar. The pirates are probably chipping out the Heart-Cask from whatever secret recess it was tucked into. If I had my full power, I could extricate it easily. But for now, their own muscles and ingenuity will have to do.

I still have access to my power. The collar’s spell, once broken, is broken for good. That is a relief. And so is the blessed glide of Iro’s delicious cock through my sex.

“Deeper,” I whisper.

He lifts and spreads my thighs, sinking in farther, and he touches that spot in my body—gods—pleasure is surging inside me, cresting—

“More,” I gasp. “More, please, gods—”

Iro picks up his pace, his skin slapping against mine.

“Talk to me,” I whimper.

Jim kneels by my head, taking my neck in his hand.

“Yes,” I breathe. “You. You talk to me.”

“You like that, you little whore?” he whispers, teeth bared. “You like it when men fuck you one after the other, spread your pretty pussy and fill you full of cum? You like to be a filthy little used toy for us? A pirates’ hole? Do you feel tingles inside when you think about how we’ve spoiled you? We’re going to ruin your body.” His hand tightens, and my eyes roll up. Close, so close…

Jim leans in and snags my lip with his teeth, tugging it sharply. “Come for me,” he snarls, and the pinch of pain, the tightness of my throat, the fierce thrusts of Iro’s cock—it all coils together inside me and I burst.

“She’s coming,” Iro pants. “She’s coming so hard. I can’t hold back—aahhhh—”

Jim lets go of my throat just as Captain Varrow’s waist and thighs appear in my line of sight. I barely register his presence because my whole body is spasming, surging with waves of bliss.

“What the devil are you doing?” barks the Captain.

“She nearly died,” Iro says, his voice jerky and hoarse with his ebbing orgasm. “Took three of us to get her breathing properly and conscious again. I’m the fourth. But I’ll wager she needs a couple more cocks and climaxes to feel right.”

Silence. And then the Captain’s hand on my sweat-damp hair. “Quressa. Are you all right?”

“Better now,” I whisper. A tear trails from my eye, dripping over the bridge of my nose and falling onto the altar. “He’s right. I almost died. Which would have left the six of you stuck with the curse.”

The thought of them disappearing, transforming utterly into shadow-beasts and burning away in the sun—everything that makes them beautiful and special, gone—it’s too much for me to bear.

“I can’t let you all die,” I falter, as more tears slip from my eyes. Iro slides out of me, and I pull myself upright in front of the Captain, the tunic falling into place around my thighs. I lean into him, sliding my arms around his body, my ear pressed to the thundering heartbeat in his chest.

His arms close around me slowly.

“I can see no solution,” he says, hoarse and agonized. Then louder he orders the other men, “Go and help Gabel and Kylar dislodge the Heart-Cask. Then we must leave this place.”

Their footsteps scuff away. I keep my face pressed to his shirt.

“I love you,” I murmur. “I love every one of them, too, but I love you.” I tilt my face up to his. “You, wild and wicked, sad and sweet, so intelligent and so lost. I love you so much my heart is breaking.”

“She was so cruel, that woman who cursed us,” he says thickly, his eyes wet. “I think she could foresee this somehow—this pain. This agony, because either way, the seven of us cannot be together. But we will try, Quressa, I swear. We’ll spill a little of your blood, and see if that works. Iro can heal you afterward—”

“No.” I shake my head. “It won’t work, and you know it. Vital essence, she said, and it must soak the ground where she stood when she laid the curse. A little blood won’t accomplish that. The six of you existed just fine without me before—you’ll survive without me again. And I can die happy, knowing you’ll be alive and free and in love with each other, even though I’m gone.”

“You’d really give yourself for us?” he says, low.

“It would be my greatest joy.” My whisper is intense, my face tipped up to his, my lips grazing his mouth. “I’ve not done much to be proud of in my life, but freeing you—that would be something worthwhile.”

Varrow lets out a sound like a harsh sob, and his mouth surges against mine. His breath is spicy, savory—rich and tender. I want to kiss him for the rest of my days.

Captain Varrow lifts me, laying me gently down on the altar, his hand cupping my head. With a tug, he brings my bottom to the altar’s edge, and I lift my legs, bending them, spreading them.

He opens his pants and takes out that beautiful pierced cock of his, touches its tip to my quivering center, then leans partway over me and looks into my eyes.

“Are you sure you want to break your vow?” I whisper.

“My vow is already broken,” he says. “Because I’m in love with you, darling girl.”

My heart swells tight with joy. “Your Tulseya would want you to be utterly happy.”

He nods. “But she is not here. You are. And you’re mine, sweet witch.”

His cock ripples into me, each tiny nub of metal a burst of exquisite sensation. My back arches, my head tilts back, and I release a breathless cry of ecstasy.

Captain Varrow seats himself entirely inside me. With a shuddering exhale, he pauses.

I can hear soft, startled exclamations from the other pirates as they notice what he’s doing.

“To your work, or I’ll snip off your balls and hang them from the rigging,” snarls the Captain.

The murmurs fade, and the scraping of tools recommences.

With his cock deep inside me, the Captain leans down and kisses my mouth, eager longing in every press of his lips. He cups my half-bared breasts, squeezing and fondling them as if he’s been aching to touch me for a long time.

“I missed this,” he breathes. “The softness. I love my men, but—I like women.”

“How fortunate for me.” I kiss him back, urgent and tender.

“I’m going to fuck you now,” he says shakily. “Are you ready?”

His right hand clasps mine, our fingers interlacing, while his left fingers close over my hip. And then he’s rocking into me, sliding almost all the way out with every thrust before skimming back through my pussy, all those little nubs sending me into sheer breathless bliss every single time he comes in. I’m louder with him than I’ve been with any of them. Can’t help it.

“They weren’t lying,” he gasps. “The shape of you—your body—you’re fucking exquisite—”

“Don’t come yet,” I beg. “Not yet, not yet. Please, oh please.”

“Treasure, I won’t come until you do, I promise.” He pulls all the way out, and I whine in protest, but then he’s licking my clit, mouthing it, and I scream, because I’m so infinitely sensitive in this moment.

A soft tickling tug at my clit, a broad lick to my pussy, and then his cock rushes into me again, a burning rod coated in rippling sensation.

I come with a pure, high shriek. And he keeps fucking me, slow and sure, so incredible I think I might pass out from the beauty of it, of him—his tattooed fingers on my hip, his gray eyes locked on me, drinking in my every expression, and his scarlet hair, coming loose from its braid, trailing around his handsome face.

His features go taut, and his head tips back, his eyes closing. He’s coming for me. “Yes, Captain,” I breathe. “Yes, my beautiful pirate. Claim me, come inside me.”

Ragged breaths burst from him, and he stills, his cock pulsing. Heat floods my lower belly, and when he reaches down and rubs a tattooed thumb over my clit, I come again, softly this time, a gentle wave of pleasure.

Captain Varrow bends over me, still inside me, and we kiss luxuriously, dazedly, until someone clears his throat nearby and says quietly, “We have it, Captain.”

Varrow pulls back, his mouth swollen and scarlet from my kisses. He drags his cock out of me, and I sigh with delight.

“Can you do magic again?” he asks me. “I won’t order it unless you’re sure you will be all right.”

“Let’s hope the way back is easier,” I reply. “But yes, I think I can do some magic.” My gaze flicks to Gabel, his gorgeous dark skin gleaming with sweat and his eyes shining with the triumph of extricating the Heart-Cask. “Maybe just one more, to be sure I’m replenished.”

Gabel grins at me. “Turn over, then, lovely. I’ll take the back door, if you don’t mind.”

I obey, flipping onto my belly. He swirls his fingers through the cummy mess the other men left and uses it as lubricant for my asshole, applying a generous amount before working his cock into me. He fucks me deep and raw. My clit is swollen, tender, aching, and when he reaches underneath and touches it, I jump and whimper.

“Sshh, little witch,” he soothes me. “You’re going to come for me one last time. Because that’s what I do for you, isn’t it? I take you all the way to the edge and beyond, because you’re capable of so much more than you think.”

He’s still pumping into my ass, his cock pulling tight through my slim channel. His fingers dip lower, thrusting into my vagina. Then he’s back to my clit again, working it so expertly it’s almost as if he’s had one himself and knows exactly what to do, almost better than I know myself.

He comes hot in my ass, groaning, but he’s not done with me. He flips me onto my back again, my spine pressed to the gold surface of the altar, which by now is warm from my skin. Bending beside me, watching my face, he reaches down and pats my pussy before sliding three fingers in. He thrusts his whole hand with inhuman speed, his palm smacking wetly, lewdly, as he pounds into me. The other five pirates are standing around me, watching Gabel finger-fuck me on the gods’ altar, listening to the shrieking gasps escaping my open mouth. Gabel hammers me into another climax, then whips my legs apart so the others can watch my pussy spasm. They touch me, thick male fingers gliding through my folds, prodding my soaked clit, swirling around my tender nipples, poking the puckered hole that’s leaking Gabel’s cum. Enjoying every bit of me. And I love it.

They’ve ruined me, like Jim said. Even if we could all live forever, I’d never want anyone else but them.

35

I feel incredible. Strangely clean, and new, and magnificent. I’m in love. Me. I love my men, of course, with a lust I can’t slake, with a comforting affection that links me to them—but it’s been a couple of years since I was newly in love with someone. I forgot how wonderful it is to have a fresh, young love that is eagerly returned.

I can’t stop glancing at Quressa.

I trust Gabel to carry the Heart-Cask out of the temple, since Theo wants to be free to carry the little witch. First we open the cask and peer at the shriveled heart inside, just to be sure it’s there. And then we work our way out of the temple.

The place has apparently spent most of its traps on us already, because Quressa has to do very little to protect us on the way out. She shores up a broken ceiling, blocks a few oncoming darts with chunks of stone, and fills in the gaps in the floor. On the long trek back to the beach, she falls asleep in Theo’s arms. He walks carefully, cradling her with a look of such tenderness on his face that it makes me smile every time I glance at them.

But my smile and all my good feelings vanish when we step out from the rocks onto the shore.

Six ships have formed a semi-circle around the Emberwatch.

Three fly the flag of the king—Quressa’s king. The man from whom we stole her.

And the other three vessels fly the serpent-green pennants of the Duke of Harrelton, the one to whom I was supposed to deliver the Gods-Eye.

I did not give it to him. I kept it for myself, after I discovered what it could do.

I’ve managed to keep us moving for three years, in such unpredictable directions that the Duke had no hope of intercepting our route.

He had no chance of finding us by magic, either. Witches can’t pinpoint the location of a ship at sea.

But they can locate people on land.

I should have realized that once we were permitted to set foot on firm earth again, the danger from the Duke would be tripled.

Now he has found us, and so has the king.

Shit.

“Is that—” Jim begins, but Iro signals him to hush and grabs my arm. He draws me back behind a cluster of rocks, and the others retreat as well, out of sight of the ships. Quressa wakes up and makes Theo put her down. She peers around the rocks, taking in the sight of the ships in the bay.

“Varrow,” Iro says, low. “What the fuck is the Duke of Harrelton doing here?”

Shit. Shit-shit-shit.

My men’s eyes are on me. This is the moment I’ve dreaded for three years. The moment when my crew discovers what I did—or didn’t do.

“Captain?” Gabel’s voice is thin, threaded with fear. “The king finding us is bad enough, but… what does the Duke want?”

“He wants the Gods-Eye,” Kylar says, his gaze piercing mine. “Because you never gave it to him, did you? Fuck, Varrow. You kept it?”

“The Gods-Eye,” Quressa murmurs. “Is it a pearly ball, about this size, with gold on it?” She makes a circle with her fingers.

“Oh gods, Varrow.” Iro presses a hand to his face. “I understand why, but—you should have told us.”

“Told us? He shouldn’t have fucking kept it!” roars Kylar. “Is this why you’ve insisted we keep moving constantly for three years? Why you wouldn’t raid any of the Duke’s ships?”

I can’t answer them. I was so happy just moments ago—as happy as I could be with the threat of the curse hanging over us—and now I am crushed again, groaning under the weight of my responsibility to my men, and my own failure.

I told Quressa once that I’d learned to say no to myself.

I lied.

“What does the Gods-Eye do?” the witch asks quietly.

“It allows its owner to observe one loved person who is deceased,” Gabel replies. “It acts as a window into some afterlife dimension. Or so we were told. I’ve never seen it in action. None of us have, except the Captain, I suppose.”

Quressa glides nearer to me, her dark eyes pools of sympathy. “You were using it to see her, weren’t you? Your wife, Tulseya.”

My throat is so tight I can barely answer. “Glimpses,” I croak. “Memories, sometimes, and other times I could see her in the afterlife, moving through beautiful meadows, dancing by a stream. She would interact with me occasionally, or it seemed so. I don’t know if any of it was real.”

“That’s why you holed yourself up in your cabin for hours,” growls Kylar. “Jerking off to memories of a dead woman. You sick fucker—”

With a bellow of pain I lunge at him. My fist crashes into his jaw, and he reels for a moment—then he charges me, rams me against a rock, drives his fist into my side, right under my ribs.

“You’ve doomed us all!” he roars in my face. “What were you thinking? You’re so selfish—”

“You want to talk about selfishness? You made that fucking witch fall in love with you!” I bellow. “If you hadn’t been so damn charming, we wouldn’t be cursed!”

Kylar stares at me, blinking. “You’re fucking kidding me. You’re blaming me for being charming? I’m not the one who kept a priceless treasure, the one that got us into this shitstorm. And now, because of you, we won’t even get to decide whether we break the curse or not. We’re going to die right here, right now. They’ll kill us and take Quressa.” He twists to look at her. “Where is Quressa?”

36

When Quressa quietly retreats and slips around the cluster of rocks, headed for the beach, I follow her.

She glances over her shoulder. “Don’t try to stop me, Gabel.”

And even though I’m not sure what she plans to do, I say, “I won’t, lass.”

We stand side by side on the beach, staring at the semicircle of ships surrounding ours, corralling the Emberwatch in the circular bay. They must have just arrived. None have launched boats yet. Perhaps they’re confused by the fact that the Emberwatch is beached on an unnatural rise of earth. Perhaps Quressa’s king has realized that someone else controls the witch’s power now—in which case, he’s right to wait. In fact, he should be fleeing, because he understands what she’s capable of.

Or maybe he’s occasionally an idiot, like our own dear captain.

Quressa inhales deeply, lifting her hands toward the sea. “You’ll take care of me afterward,” she says. Not a question, but a statement of trust. “Refill me. You and the boys have my permission, always.”

“We will,” I promise. My heartbeat quickens, suspense flooding my nerves.

What is she doing?

She can’t do magic without Varrow’s order. Can she?

Gods above and below… can she?

I fumble for the items at my belt, checking each one, feeling the comforting press of their edges and gears against my fingertips. They’re still a bit unfamiliar, but they’re enough to soothe me.

Quressa’s whole body tenses.

For a second, it seems as if nothing is happening.

Then six great tongues of water erupt from the sea. Half a dozen giant columns, each with an enemy ship riding its peak.

She can do magic. Without Varrow’s command.

Either Ymarra’s spell on the collar did not work, or our little witch figured out a way to overcome it.

Fuck, she is incredible.

Realization crashes over me—the understanding that she could have let us die in the temple. She could have escaped us at any time, or forced us to submit to her.

She is here with us now of her own free will.

Quressa’s arms are shaking. Her breath comes in harsh pants. Quickly I step behind her, clasping her shoulders. “I’m here,” I murmur. “You can do this.” I squeeze her shoulders firmly, over and over, venting my own anxiety while hopefully reassuring her.

Quressa groans, lifting her arms higher, then opening them wider, wider. The bay is partly encircled by two curved peninsulas, creating a crescent moon shape. At Quressa’s direction, three of the ships veer toward one peninsula, and three toward another.

She’s screaming now. I wrap both arms around her body and hold her tight against my heart.

My mates are running up around us, some shouting for her to stop, but I yell, louder than all of them, “Let her be!”

With a violent convulsion of her small frame, Quressa drops all six of the ships onto dry land. Clouds of black-and-white birds rise, squawking and swirling, as the ships crash into the rocky hills and thorny forests of Ewaru. Some of the ships are stuck among trees—others waver, then slowly keel onto their sides.

All those sailors will be stranded here for a long time, until they can figure out how to get their enormous ships back into the water. I doubt they’ll ever manage it, even if they have a witch or two in their company. Because our witch is far more powerful than any I’ve seen or heard of.

Quressa is shaking, but with trembling fingers outstretched, she manages to lower the mound of earth on which the Emberwatch rests, until our ship is in the water again, ready to set sail.

Then the witch sags in my arms, her head lolling.

“Into the boats!” shouts the Captain. “Back to the ship!” His voice is taut, almost shrill.

“She did magic,” Jim says faintly. “Without your orders, Varrow.”

“Back to the Emberwatch, and make ready to sail,” the Captain repeats. “Once we’re under way, we’ll discuss this. For now, you filthy lubbers, no talking unless it’s about your duties aboard ship!”

I climb into one of the boats with Quressa in my arms, while the others scramble to obey Varrow.

The witch is terrifyingly white, and the hollows around her eyes seem to have sunken and darkened. Her pulse is barely a flutter in her pale throat.

Wriggling my fingers into her pants, I manipulate her pussy gently, skillfully, hoping the act will give her a bit of energy, something to hold her stable until we reach the ship. As Theo rows with urgent, powerful strokes, propelling us across the bay, I sink my fingers into her slit, pumping while my thumb teases her clit.

Just as we reach the Emberwatch, Quressa’s body compresses softly and rhythmically around my fingers. I cup her pussy tenderly, feeling the flutters of her orgasm across my palm.

She’s alive, and I’ve given her a little of the energy she needs. She’s going to make it.

As we climb aboard our ship, we hear distant shouts from the stranded men on the island. But they cannot touch us.

Thanks to our witch, we are safe.

37

When my eyes open, I’m lying naked in a nest of heated male muscle, sinewy limbs, and smooth skin.

I’m on the deck of the Emberwatch, and she’s under full sail, skimming over the sea. The mast stretches high above my head, webbed with neat rigging. The sails are bellied taut against a sunset sky rich with gold and amber hues, streaked with strips of purple-gray cloud.

The men lying around me are asleep, or dozing. Theo is under me, and my body lifts with his steady breath. Gabel is pressed tightly beside Theo, one black arm tossed across my waist. On my other side is Iro, his cheek tucked against my shoulder. Kylar is draped against the healer’s chest, and his fingers rest on my hip. Jim is lying between my legs, his hair tousled and his sharp face flushed with sleep.

The space between my legs feels sticky and pleasantly sore. Clearly my men helped me recharge after I spent all my energy again. Mentally I promise myself not to let my reserves get that low anymore unless I must, to save lives. Not that I mind them slipping inside me while I sleep—I told Gabel as much. But if there’s going to be an orgy, I’d rather be conscious so I can enjoy it.

Only one of the pirates is still upright, awake. Captain Varrow, keeping watch over us all. He stands on the quarterdeck, one hand on the wheel, the other cupping a small object at which he’s staring intently. Is it the Gods-Eye?

The Captain cuts a fine figure up there, silhouetted against the vivid sky. He’s wearing one of his magnificent captain’s coats and his fine feathered hat. But there’s a droop to his shoulders that tugs at my heart.

Slowly I shift Jim’s head and shoulders off me. He lets out a faint snore, but he’s completely sunk in sleep. My sweet men wore themselves out replenishing my magic.

After disentangling myself, I grab a cloak someone tossed nearby. It smells a little too strongly of sweat, but it will do. It’s about time we had another laundry day aboard ship.

Holding the cloak around my body, I climb the steps to the quarterdeck and stand beside Varrow. He’s got bruises on his cheekbone and jaw, a black eye, and a swollen lip crusted with blood.

He’s holding the orb I found. The Gods-Eye. In his hand it glows faintly.

“Can you see her?” he asks quietly, holding it toward me.

I peer into the milky surface. “No.”

“I think only the orb’s owner can see the visions.” He drops the Gods-Eye into the pocket of his coat and continues speaking, low and steady and sad. “I’ve apologized to the crew for keeping it. I let them beat me up a while, and then they forgave me, I think.”

“We all make mistakes.”

“But when I make them, they’re worse.” His grip on the ship’s wheel tightens until I can see white bone through the tattooed skin of his knuckles.

I admire his profile for a moment—beautiful, sorrowful, savage. I love his trim red beard, and the sleek, shaved part of his head, and the braid crowning the center of his skull. The setting sun glitters on the earrings that follow the curve of his ear.

“Be kind to yourself,” I tell him. “Everyone handles loss differently. I lost my parents and I denied it for a long time. I only halfway grieved them, I think—and now that I know for sure they’re dead, I don’t know how to feel. Jim understands loss, too. He understands how it fractures the soul.”

Varrow nods. “He and Iro were the only ones to speak their forgiveness aloud to me.”

“I’ll wager Kylar hit you the hardest,” I say.

“He did. He’s been betrayed before, you see. He prefers to be the one doing the trickery. Doesn’t take kindly to being fooled.”

“Who betrayed him?”

“His mother sold him to a brothel when he was sixteen.”

“Oh my gods.” I glance down at the main deck, where Kylar’s big frame is draped over Iro’s. With those intense eyes sealed in sleep, his rugged face looks less intimidating. He’s less dominant like this, and I want to hug him.

“He ran away a week later, right before he was supposed to take his first client,” says Varrow. “So he did not suffer as you might think. But it was the betrayal that broke him. By all accounts his mother was good to him. Loved him, he thought. There was no warning before she did it. He told me once that he should have suspected she might do it—she was addicted to ash, and they were out of money.”

“Ash? That’s a drug, isn’t it?”

Varrow nods. “He won’t forgive this easily.” He turns from the wheel to face me. “And now that we’re talking of secrets, love, let’s discuss yours. When did you break the collar’s control?”

“The morning after my ‘punishment.’” I force myself to meet his gray eyes. “I’d never been so full of magical energy, and I just—snapped the spell. So really, I have you all to thank, for fucking me full of power.”

“I should put you in the brig,” he muses.

“Try it.” I smirk. “I could sink your ship. Wash you all overboard with a thought.”

His throat bobs as he swallows. “You could.”

Biting my lip, I reach up and take off his hat, rising on tiptoe to kiss his mouth. “But I won’t.”

His mouth twitches as if he wants to smile. “Now that you have all the power, my dear, what are your orders?”

“My orders? Oh, I like the sound of that.” I wink at him and settle his hat atop my own head. “Well, why don’t we continue with the plan? Keep sailing to the island when you’re supposed to sacrifice me?”

“Quressa.” His voice is a sorrowful rebuke.

“I’m serious.” I smile as widely as I can, because there’s a tearful, trembling pain inside me, and my grin is the barrier, keeping it locked firmly away. “Let’s go to the island and set you all free.”

He turns from me, but not before I see the glimmer of tears in his eyes. “You would do that? You’d die for us willingly, when you could make us take you to the port of your choice and let you go?”

“I love all of you.” The tears are creeping into my voice in spite of myself. “I’ll do whatever it takes to set you free.”

He strikes the wheel with his palm, so sharply that I jump. “Belay that! I won’t allow it.” He snatches back his hat. “We’re taking you to a safe port where you can begin a new life. We have more than enough treasure in the hold for you to become anyone you’d like to be.”

“All I want to be is a pirate’s witch.” I take his hand in mine.

He jerks his fingers away. “I won’t let you serve yourself up as the human sacrifice for a bunch of filthy, thieving louts like us. You’re way too good for that.”

“If I want to be the sacrifice, that’s my choice,” I snap. “You can’t stop me.”

He bends to me, his angry face a breath from mine. “Oh, I’ll find a way. I’ll save you in spite of yourself.”

My fingers curl around the lapel of his coat. “Let’s go to the island. Let’s try some of my blood, just like you suggested. A non-lethal amount, and we’ll see if it works. Please, Varrow. Let’s at least attempt it. That can’t hurt, right? A test, to see if we can break the curse and survive, all seven of us.”

Everything I know about magic is telling me otherwise. And when we get to that island, I have every intention of completing the ritual of undoing the way it should be done. I’ll cut my own throat if I have to. But I need Varrow to believe that we’re only going there to try a non-lethal solution. So I smile at him, with my most innocent, girlish smile.

He sighs, the tension draining from his form. “Just a test. If it doesn’t work, we’ll take you to a safe place and you can begin your new life.”

I pinch my lips together, stroking his chest through his thick coat. “You’d let all of them die?” I say softly. “Jim, Iro, Theo, Kylar, and Gabel? Their lives for mine?”

“We talked about it while you were sleeping,” he says. “We’re all agreed. We love each other, yes. But we love you, too—every man of us. We can’t slay you to save ourselves and go on living with that guilt, with your precious blood on our hands.” He grips my shoulders. “I love you. And I won’t lose another woman I love.”

Now that I can do magic openly, I use it in small amounts, to speed our journey to the island of the curse.

Part of me wants to take the trip slowly and enjoy my men as long as I can—but after I overhear them discussing how quickly their human parts are receding in shadow-beast form, I abandon all thoughts of elongating the voyage.

My pirates are nearly out of time. If we don’t do this quickly, one or more of them might be beyond saving.

One bright morning, we arrive at the island and drop anchor in a shining blue cove. We don’t speak of breaking the curse right away. Instead we walk inland, through groves of fruit trees and thickets of flowering bushes, heavy with sweet fragrance, and we immerse ourselves in the steamy bliss of the hot spring.

As a treat, the pirates give me a show where all six of them join at once, connected in a long chain, each man with his cock in the ass of the pirate in front of him. It’s meant to titillate me, but I end up laughing because they’re all so ridiculous about setting it up, and they keep fussing at each other.

Iro and Kylar end up in another fight, which climaxes—literally—with them coming at the same time, then arguing about who shot their cum farther. Meanwhile I lie on a sunny rock with Gabel as my pillow, with Varrow licking my pussy while Jim fucks the Captain from behind. Theo rubs his enormous dick sideways across the cradle of my open lips until he comes all over the stone and my outspread hair.

I climax against Captain Varrow’s mouth, whimpering from sheer bliss, listening to his crooning voice praise me: “Good girl. Such a good little witch. You came so beautifully on my tongue.” And then he’s panting, crying out, setting his forehead against my lower belly, his breath puffing across my sex as Jim rubs the sensitive spot inside my Captain’s channel.

I tangle my fingers in Varrow’s unbound red hair, soothing him while his release sprinkles the rock between my legs, a few drops spattering my pussy. Jim groans and shoves hard into the Captain’s rear, with a whispered chorus of fucks that make Theo chuckle as he slides his cock across my mouth one more time before shifting back on his heels.

I gaze up at the lacy green foliage overhead, at the cutouts of bright blue sky. The sun warms my skin, and I am wholly, contentedly myself. So perfectly alive.

I wish it could always be like this.

Tears ooze from the corners of my eyes. Theo looks down at me, his blond brows pulling together. “I’ll wash the cum out of your hair. Sorry about that.”

“Oh, no,” I sob a half-laugh. “It’s not that, it’s—you know.”

“Ah.” He frowns deeper. Then he shoves Varrow, Gabel, and Jim aside. “Move over, ye swabs. I need to cheer up our little witch, and I think I know just the thing.”

He grabs me and flips us both over, until he’s lying on the rock on his back and I’m on top of him. Then he lifts my entire body and seats me right on his face.

I gasp at the rough, grazing tickle of his beard against my overstimulated pussy. “Oh gods…”

And then he’s working his mouth, plunging his tongue into my sex. He’s rougher about it than Varrow—eating me heartily, boldly. His big hands cup my hips, lifting me just long enough for him to say, “Ride my face until you come.”

“But… you need to breathe.”

“I need to feel you coming on my face,” he growls. “If that means I suffocate in your little wet cunt, I’ll die happy.” And he plops me onto his mouth again.

“Gods, that’s a beautiful sight,” murmurs Gabel. He’s been dozing, letting me use him as a pillow until Theo changed our positions. Now he sits up and props his back against a tree, legs parted, with his beautiful cock yearning upward between his thighs. There’s a bit of precum gleaming at the tip.

“Jim,” I pant, still rocking on Theo’s bearded mouth. “Get me that drop of precum from Gabel’s dick. I want to taste it.”

“You little whore.” Jim kisses me fiercely on his way over to Gabel. With one fingertip he swipes delicately across the slit of Gabel’s cock, collecting the precious drops and carrying them over to me. I lock eyes with Gabel as Jim dabs the precum on my tongue.

“By all the gods above and below, lass,” Gabel breathes.

I smile. “Suck on him, Jim. I want him to come when I do.”

Despite Theo’s earlier statement, I lift myself to let him breathe. He holds up both his huge hands and I clasp them, using them for leverage as I grind my tender pussy against the ridge of his jaw, against his thick lips. His nose nestles against my clit, giving me exactly the pressure point I need.

Jim is slurping on Gabel’s dick, savoring the tip, then swallowing Gabel to the root. Gabel’s hips jolt upward, and Jim gags. He pulls off and flicks Gabel’s nipple. “Easy. I’m not as good at deep-throating as you are.”

“All you need is practice,” says Gabel, and shoves Jim’s head down on his cock. Jim grumbles, but he obeys, taking Gabel deeper every time.

My whole body is tingling, and pleasure is flaring at my core. I let Theo breathe again—his beard, lips, jaw and nose are sopping wet with my juices. With a rumble of delight he lifts his face to my sex again, nibbling at my clit with his teeth, and I arch, curving back as ecstasy jolts through me. Theo holds my hands, keeping me steady while I press my pussy convulsively to his face.

I open my eyes, desperate to watch Gabel come, too. He has pulled out of Jim’s mouth and he’s spraying our cabin boy’s face with liquid lines of white cum.

It’s one of my favorite things I’ve ever seen—two men I love, enjoying each other.

And it’s the last time I’ll ever see it. Because tonight, the moment they lock themselves into the galley for the change, I’m going ashore to perform the ritual of undoing. Gabel already told me where the witch cast it—we walked right past the spot on our way to the hot spring, and he pointed it out.

I already know where Varrow keeps the Heart-Cask, and the spell I’m supposed to say. I saw him take the spell out of a drawer yesterday and look over it. Thanks to Iro’s lessons, I’m fairly sure I’ll be able to read it aloud myself. Let’s hope to the gods I don’t butcher the wording.

This beautiful day of love and lust is my farewell to my pirates, though they don’t know it. They think that tomorrow we’ll experiment by shedding just a little of my blood and attempting the ritual.

But a spell sealed by a death must be broken by a death. And I’m determined to rescue them—these six lovable men who have made me feel more valued, desirable, cherished, and beloved than anyone else I’ve ever known.

I am theirs, and they are mine. And no one will stop me from saving them.

38

If I’ve had a more perfect day, I don’t remember it.

We spent hours bathing in the hot spring, fucking, eating, napping, drinking, telling stories, and fucking again.

When we returned to the ship for the night, Quressa pulled me aside and whispered in my ear. “You are a beautiful soul,” she said. “A restless soul, with darkness in places, but so worth knowing. I love you, and the games you play, and the way you care so deeply for us all. I love how fucking gorgeous you are. You were the first one who made me feel like I could be happy on this ship. Thank you for teaching me.” And she kissed me so sweetly I thought my heart would burst.

Since Quressa said she was going to bed, and the ship was safely anchored, we went down to the galley area early, about half an hour ago. We’ve been drinking and joking around since then, and now there is a mere half hour left before midnight.

The crew and I strip ourselves of our clothes and possessions, and then we all troop into the bathing room to sit on the benches and wait for the change. It has become a nightly ritual since Quressa’s arrival.

Despite the impending threat of my shift into a shadow-beast, I’m feeling very satisfied with myself. I lean back, my arms tucked behind my head. “Quressa told me how she feels about me tonight.”

“How sweet. Did you cry?” Kylar sneers.

“Shut up, Ky.” Jim kicks him. “She said some things to me, too. Why can’t you fuckers ever say sweet words to me like that? Bunch of dickheads.”

Varrow sits up straight and leans forward, his brow furrowing. “She spoke to me as well.”

“And to me,” says Gabel.

Theo nods. “She told me she loved me. Said some other things—good things—” He clears his throat.

“Kylar?” Varrow glares at him.

“Fine. Maybe she talked to me, too. Maybe I liked it.” Kylar slumps down against the wall, arms crossed.

My stomach turns sick and cold, and when my gaze meets the Captain’s, I know he’s thinking the same thing I am.

He rises, his voice shaking. “She was telling us goodbye. She’s going to kill herself tonight.”

“The fuck?” barks Kylar, scrambling to his feet.

“No.” Jim shakes his head rapidly, his face bone-white. “No. No, no, no.”

I’m already rushing out of the bathing room into the galley, undoing the bars and bolts on the door. We can’t really lock ourselves in from the outside since we’re all inside every night, but thanks to Gabel’s ingenuity we’ve placed mechanisms and bars across the galley door that can only be undone by human hands with human wits. Our shadow-beasts can’t manage them. Those measures—and Gabel’s semi-control over his beast—have kept Quressa safe from us while she’s been aboard ship. But now the locks seem like a terrible, terrible idea as I struggle with all the gears, levers, and knobs. Faster, faster. She might already be dead.

When we reach the deck, Kylar shouts that no boats are missing—and I’m temporarily relieved until I realize that with her magic, Quressa probably raised herself a nice earthen path leading from the ship’s railing to the beach, and then sank it again once she reached the shore.

Jim comes hurtling out of the Captain’s cabin. “She’s not in there.”

“To the boats,” Varrow says tersely. “Hurry.”

We barely speak to each other as we lower the boats and row, harder and faster than we ever have, straight for the beach. As we near it, I see a glow shining behind a pair of sand dunes far ahead. A fire, burning right near the spot where the other witch cursed us.

“How did she know where to do it?” I gasp.

Gabel makes a choking sound. “I—I told her where it happened. This morning, when we walked past the spot.”

Kylar charges him with a pained bellow, but Theo intercepts. “Fight later. We have to stop her.”

He’s out of the boat before we’ve reached the shore. With his powerful legs, he slogs through the water at a pace I could never match.

The words of the witch who cursed us echo through my head.

A harlequin witch of the Escovar line, rarest among witches, and that witch must be gifted with power over both earth and water. Take the Heart-Cask of the goddess Amelan from the ancient temple on Ewaru. Bring the heart of Amelan back to this island, burn it, and sprinkle the ashes on this spot. Then soak the ashes with the vital essence of the Escovar witch, after she has spoken these words.

I can still see that other witch’s smile of agonized triumph as she dragged a knife across her own throat.

The severed throat, the flood of crimson blood—that cannot be Quressa. She can’t end this way. I won’t allow it.

As soon as we’re in the shallows, I spring out of the boat and pelt across the sand after Theo.

If Quressa has cut herself open for us, I’m her best chance at survival.

But I’m not prepared for what I see as Theo and I race up to the dunes, into the circle of light painted by the flickering fire.

The Heart-Cask lies open, its shriveled contents gone.

There’s a circle on the sand—symbols dribbled with ink. Several empty ink bottles lie nearby—mine and the Captain’s.

In the center of the circle is a pile of wet ashes, the remains of the goddess Amelan’s heart.

A piece of paper flutters nearby—the words of the spell, half-soaked in blood.

The ashes are wet, and the spell is wet, because Quressa is lying in the circle, her throat pumping fresh blood onto the sand. She slit her neck open right above the moonstone collar. The knife she used lies nearby, its blade gleaming crimson.

Theo roars his agony, but I don’t have time for screaming.

I fall to my knees beside Quressa, clamp my hand over the gaping slit in her throat, and flood her body with my magic.

In the past I’ve healed some very severe injuries and horrible diseases. I cannot cure everything—my power isn’t limitless. When someone is right on the edge of death, trying too hard to save them could cause my own demise.

I don’t care if I die, as long as she lives.

I pour everything I have into her, sealing up the wound, spurring her body to replenish her blood supply. I cannot fabricate the blood—I can only hasten its creation with my magic.

I don’t know if it will be enough.

Lifting my hand, I check the wound on her neck. It’s sealed. The damage has been repaired. But when I press my hands to her chest, I feel nothing. No heartbeat.

The others are standing around us now. Jim is weeping openly, his head on Theo’s shoulder. Kylar paces in the shadows.

Gabel and Varrow stare down at Quressa, at the pool of her blood, at her beautiful, sightless eyes and her perfect, precious face. Her hand lies limply near mine, delicate fingers slightly curled.

“No,” I whisper, collecting that hand and holding it to my chest. “No. Come back to us. Come back to me.”

Bowing over her, I set my forehead to hers. And I open myself wide. Every last bit of magic I possess, I push into her, all the way down to the dregs. I feel the sick tug in my soul as I pass the point of no return, as I give her everything I have.

39

Iro leans his forehead against Quressa’s, whispering to her.

And then he slumps, shifts, and rolls aside onto his back, glassy eyes staring up at the night sky.

Empty eyes.

Dead eyes.

I scream.

This is my lived nightmare. Everyone I know, dying around me.

It happened once, and it’s happening again. And I have no magic. No power to stop it. I can only stand, and scream.

They’re dead, both of them. The man who helped heal my heart and the only woman I’ve ever fucked. The only woman I love.

I cling to Theo’s huge arm like his flesh is my only tether to life. Maybe it is. In shadow-beast form he is bearlike and muscled, while I am a crawling thing with tentacles. We’ve managed to hold onto ourselves this far, but with Iro gone, I don’t think I can anymore. If Quressa’s death didn’t break the curse, I think this will be my last night anyway.

I don’t have it in me to hold on any longer.

All of us came from the ship naked, so when I slam my tear-soaked face against Theo’s chest, it’s all hot skin and the light fur of his golden hair. I sob into him, horrible sounds that I don’t try to stop until he grips both my arms, pushes me back from him, and says harshly. “Boy. Look!”

Choking on a sob, I turn.

Quressa is moving. Her breasts lift, her head tilts aside, and her fingers twitch.

With a broken cry, Varrow leaps to her and pulls her into his arms.

Joy leaks into my heart—just a little of it, like a ray of sun through dirty, cracked glass.

But Iro does not move.

Whatever he did—it brought her back, and it killed him. She sacrificed herself for us, and he gave himself for her.

But—he can’t go. He can’t. I love him. He taught me, he took care of me—yet he never treated me like a child, not from the moment I stowed away at age seventeen. He never spoke down to me. Always asked rather than giving orders. Did his share of the chores, even though I had the name of cabin boy. He was the first one aboard who got down on his knees and took my dick in his mouth, and he did it with such care and sweetness that I let him be the first to come in my ass, too. I like violent, angry sex. I like to pretend to force others, or be forced myself. But that first time aboard the Emberwatch was gentle, because somehow Iro knew what I needed.

Iro always knew what we needed.

I drop to all fours and crawl to him, through the ink and the sand and the spatters of Quressa’s blood. My fingers find his beautiful feet, narrow and strong, coated with grainy sand—and I hold onto them, as if my grip might hold him here with us.

Quressa isn’t fully conscious, but she’s alive, curled in Captain Varrow’s lap. He’s crying, and I know it’s relief that she’s here and agony that Iro is gone.

Fucking Iro. So fucking noble. He told me people in his city hated him because he seduced all his patients, from seventeen-year-olds like me right up to seventy-year-olds. He loved everyone, saw beauty in everyone, enjoyed pleasuring everyone.

Once he told me how a woman came to him for healing shortly after her baby’s birth. Her vagina had torn badly during the delivery, and the midwife had stitched her up clumsily. The new mother said her husband had refused to touch her while she was pregnant—said he couldn’t stand the way she looked, all bloated, with her skin marked from stretching to accommodate his child. She’d left the baby with a relative and come to Iro, to see if he could fix her and make her desirable again.

Iro healed her torn flesh and gave her six orgasms that day. She left with the confidence that she was worthy of care and pleasure.

I always liked that story.

My sister had a baby once. She’s dead now. The baby too. Everyone is dead. And now Iro—gods—

Sorrow cuts me open, and I bow over Iro’s feet, groaning my pain to the uncaring night.

Across from me, Gabel steps forward and collapses on his knees beside our healer.

He reaches out. Places both trembling hands on Iro’s heart.

But he can’t do anything, can he? He can only put some of his energy into inanimate clockwork creatures, not human bodies, not dead people—

He can’t fix this.

40

Once, when I was nine, I brought a puppy back to life.

He’d been chewed nearly to pieces by another dog, a big brutish animal, and when I brought him back to life, he was in so much pain I had to kill him again. It hurt, because at the time he was my only friend.

I never tried to reanimate another living thing.

My power is weak, limited. I can’t animate anything big. But to bring the dog back, I didn’t need to animate his whole body. I just needed to push energy into his heart and get it started. Once my will and my magic wore off, the heart kept pumping on its own.

Iro isn’t damaged, only drained. Drained of his spark, his energy, whatever thing he gave to restore Quressa. He needs that spark, the energy that signals his heart to throb and his lungs to pull in air.

Maybe I can bring him back.

I have to bring him back, because Jim is shattered, and Kylar is roaring, beating his fists against a nearby tree, and Theo looks as empty as death. And Varrow—he’s holding Quressa tight, but I can see him shaking, his anguished gaze fixed on Iro.

We need Iro. Our kind-hearted healer, our sweet seducer.

I press both my hands to his chest, over his heart. My body is vibrating with restless anxiety, with nervous energy. I have too much of it. And for once, that anxious, unsettled energy of mine might be exactly what we need.

I push energy into Iro’s heart—a strong magical pulse, fueled by my will for his heart to go, to beat, to live. To go on beating and living, on and on, for him, for us.

His heart isn’t clockwork, it’s flesh and blood—muscled tissue. But metal or flesh—it’s all made of the same basic elements, and can hold the same vital spark. Small though my power may be, less obvious than Quressa’s or Iro’s, I can do one thing they can’t. I can transmit that flicker of life.

Gritting my teeth, I send another pulse into Iro’s heart. Sparks crackle under my fingers, against his skin.

His chest jerks, sucked upward into the power of my hands—and then—and then, as his body sinks down, I lean over him and press my ear to his breast.

The best sound I ever heard—the soft double-thump of a heart reawakened.

His chest lifts sharply, breath sucking into his lungs.

My pirates break into a roar of joy. Theo lifts me straight off the ground, slamming his mouth against mine. “You fucking genius,” he says hoarsely. “You beautiful son of a bitch.”

I laugh against his rough, bearded lips, and then we both crouch beside Iro as he stirs and tries to get up. Jim is crying and kissing his sandy feet. Kylar strides over, tugs Iro’s head and torso into his lap, and holds him. Kylar’s knuckles are split open, heavily bruised and streaming blood from where he beat them against the trees.

“I’m back,” whispers Iro. “How am I back? I thought—is she—?”

“The witch is alive,” Kylar says roughly. “And so are you, thanks to Gabel. He’s the most powerful of us all, and we never knew it.”

A soft feminine moan catches our attention as Quressa’s lashes flutter open. My little lass, coming back to us.

The first thing she does is frown thunderously at us all. “You idiot bastards,” she hisses. “Why did you bring me back? The spell requires a death to break it.”

“But you said it might only need some of your blood,” Varrow begins.

“I lied, you idiot. Whatever we might have hoped, I always knew I would need to die. And you knew it, too. Let me guess—that idiot Iro healed me before I was fully dead.”

“I’m not sure if you were dead or not,” Varrow cuts in, “but I think you were. Either way, your blood was spilled, and there was at least one death here, because Iro put every bit of magic he had into you, and he died to bring you back.”

“What?” Quressa sits up straight in Varrow’s arms, staring at Iro. Her full lips are trembling, and her eyes are wet pools of pained love.

“I would do anything for you, sweetheart,” Iro says. “For all of you.”

“Shut up,” Kylar says hoarsely. “You’re going to make me bawl like Jim.”

“Iro was dead,” Captain Varrow says. “And then Gabel animated his heart. Made it start working again.”

All eyes turn to me, and I’m immediately anxious. My fingers twitch and twist together as I reply, “Yes, well... now that his heart has restarted, it will keep going. So that’s good. Nothing to be shocked about, just a little flicker of energy between mates. I’m more interested in what he and Quressa saw on the other side, if anything. Gods, would you quit staring at me, you bilge-idiots?”

I can’t stop my fingers from moving, from linking and writhing together. I don’t know where to look. I can’t stand all the attention being fixed on me; it makes my skin hot, makes me feel as if a thousand tiny crabs are crawling over me.

Quressa rises from Varrow’s lap and comes to me, her dress drenched in blood, her skin and hair wet with it. The collar of iron, silver, and moonstone is glazed with blood.

She’s beautiful and dreadful, and I feel like kneeling before her.

My witch takes the braided sash out of its loops at her waist and hands it to me. There are beads sewn along it, nubs forming an interesting textured pattern. I twine loops of the sash through my fingers and rub my thumbs over its surface.

I inhale, long and deep. “Thank you.”

Quressa strokes my cheek with soft fingers. “Thank you. Both of you.” She glances over at Iro.

In a low, thick voice, Theo says, “It’s after midnight.”

It takes a moment for all of us to realize what he’s saying.

To understand what it means.

It’s after midnight, and none of us have changed into shadow-beasts.

The curse is broken.

We are free.

41

I died for them. And one of them died for me. I’m not sure whose sacrifice ended the curse, but it’s over. My pirates are free, and I’m alive.

I’m alive. And I’ve been liberated, too. I can use my magic at will. I can go where I choose and be who I please. I don’t know if the king who owned me is trapped on Ewaru along with his men and his ships, but even if he isn’t, even if he comes for me, I’m no longer the weak, half-starved girl he found chained in the distillery. Back then I had no thought of resisting him—I only wanted a better life, a different life. Now I am strong. I know my full power, and I wield it myself. I know my strength and my limits. And thanks to my six gorgeous, insatiable pirates, I can refill the well of my magical energy anytime I want.

I smile, watching as the outline of the cursed island blurs in the distance.

Kylar comes up beside me and props his tanned, sinewy forearms on the ship’s railing. “We’re never going back to that fucking island,” he says. “I don’t care how good the hot spring is.”

I laugh and lean my shoulder against his. “Agreed.”

He wraps an arm around me and clears his throat. “You know I love you, right? I’ve loved you since I smacked your pussy and called you a fool.”

I snort. “Such sweet words.”

“I don’t say soft things like Iro and Gabel. Doesn’t make my feelings any less real. I’d have cut the heart out of my chest and given it to you or Iro if I’d thought it would make a difference.”

Warmth and tenderness rush through my heart, and I turn to him. He’s staring intently at the sea and he won’t look at me. His jawline is hard, unyielding.

I reach up and run my fingers through his glossy black hair. “Kiss me.”

“Gods, yes,” he groans, and he gathers me in, devouring my mouth, inhaling deeply like he wants to suck me into himself. I’ve never been happier than standing here, in the bright salt-scented air, with the whip of the sails over our heads and the gentle creak of the Emberwatch under our feet, and the world lying open before us. A whole future for me and my pirates.

A hand runs down my back, and I startle, because Kylar is clasping my bottom with both his hands. I pull back slightly.

The third hand belongs to Captain Varrow. He’s standing beside us, with a smile so broad and bright it makes my heart jump.

“I thought you should do the honors,” he says. “And deliver this to the sea.” He presses a heavy, smooth orb into my palm. “I don’t need it anymore.”

“What if the Duke manages to get off the island of Ewaru and comes looking for it again?” I ask.

“He’ll be out of luck.” Varrow shrugs. “And you, my love, can protect me from him.”

“Gladly.” I pull back my arm and fling the orb into the sea, where it sinks quickly out of sight. Then I grasp my Captain’s coat and pull him down for a kiss.

Boots slam onto the deck nearby—Jim jumping down from the rigging. “We’re kissing the witch?” he says. “I want some of that.”

Laughing, I pull him in. He’s lean and sweaty and half-naked, smudged and sexy and so very pirate. He clasps my face between his hands and kisses me recklessly, savagely, the way I love to be kissed by him. There's less tension in his body now, less rage in his caresses. Since the night Iro and I came back to life, something inside him has eased, and that makes me glad.

Suddenly he yelps into my mouth. “Gods, Ky.”

Kylar has tugged down Jim’s pants and he’s fondling the cabin boy’s ass. “We haven’t had a celebratory fuck-party yet,” he says, with one of his sardonic grins. “Let me in, kid.”

“Don’t have to ask me twice.” Jim drops his pants and grabs the rail, sticking his ass out. Kylar lubes himself up quickly and nestles in, groaning with sheer relief. “You always feel so good.”

Iro, Gabel, and Theo are approaching, as if they have an inner compass that tells them when sex is being had.

“Our witch is wearing far too many clothes,” croons Iro, tugging down the neckline of my gown. It’s a clean one, not the bloodstained thing from last night.

“I just put this on,” I protest.

“You should never be dressed. I propose a new rule, that the witch be naked as much as possible,” Iro declares.

“I’ll second that,” growls Theo. He rips the dress wide, tearing it from my body and humming his satisfaction when he sees I’m wearing nothing underneath—no undergarments at all. I smirk at him, and he shucks off his pants with a growl. Before I can think, he has my back rammed against the mast, my legs pinned up, and he’s pushing his thick cock into my slick pussy.

“Gods.” He vents a shuddering groan. “Fuck, witch.”

Something crashes into his back, shoving him farther inside me. Iro has pushed Gabel back-to-back with Theo, and he’s pinning Gabel there, subjecting him to a storm of ardent kisses.

“You saved me, you magnificent bastard,” Iro breathes between his attacks on Gabel’s mouth. “I’m going to make you come so hard you see stars.”

They grunt, pressing their cocks together, the force of their passion urging Theo deeper into me. Theo is grinding against my clit, growling as he surges between my body and Gabel’s back. A few steps away, Jim is sucking on Varrow’s cock while Kylar plows him from behind.

Varrow’s eyes meet mine, and his eyebrows lift. “Come together, love?” he mouths to me.

I nod, breathless, and he grabs Jim’s head, fucking his mouth mercilessly. My panting rises to sharp squeals, and I come hard around Theo while Varrow empties himself into Jim’s mouth. Theo bellows, filling me with his release, while Gabel and Iro shudder against his back, grinding and groaning until they cry out, their harsh male moans making my clit tingle. When they move apart, with a final kiss or two, their chests and abs are slick with cum.

Like the constellations shifting, like waves in the everchanging landscape of the sea, we rearrange ourselves, finding new partners, new places of comfort. I come again with Kylar in my ass, Jim in my pussy and Gabel in my mouth, then again on Varrow’s cock while Theo lays Iro on his back, lifts both his legs, and fucks his hole. I lose track of the cocks I take, lose count of the orgasms.

When we’re all sated, Jim and Gabel bring food, and we eat until we can stand up again. Then we put on a few scanty clothes and gather on the quarterdeck together, in front of the ship’s wheel. Varrow presses my fingers around the very handle he fucked me with.

Jim brings a map from the Captain’s cabin and holds it out for me. “Where shall we go?”

“Plundering ships seems almost too easy, now that we have our witch.” Iro winks at me.

“But fun,” Kylar adds.

“I’d like to see her work more magic,” Theo puts in. “Long as she doesn’t drain herself too far.” His huge palm lands warmly on the small of my back, a comforting pressure.

“There are places we’ve never explored,” Captain Varrow says. “Beautiful lands we haven’t been able to set foot on, because of the curse. Things to discover.”

“What’ll it be, lass?” Gabel asks, his warm brown eyes meeting mine. “Plundering or exploring?”

I pucker my lips thoughtfully, then smile at all of them. “Why not both? Set sail for a beautiful land, and plunder a ship on the way?”

“Both it is!” crows Kylar, and Theo pats my back approvingly. Jim gives a whoop and a whistle. He looks the happiest I’ve ever seen him.

“We’ll plunder at will, with our witch’s help, and dress her in the richest gowns, drape her in the loveliest jewels," says Gabel.

"Only so we can take them off again,” Iro adds, and they all laugh. How I love the delicious masculine sound of their laughter—unfettered, unworried by curses.

Varrow’s warm fingers close over mine, directing me as I turn the ship’s wheel. Me at the helm, surrounded by my beautiful men.

I’m no longer a powerful, magical slave with insatiable needs. No longer despised, forced to steal moments of scanty pleasure in the dark hold of my master’s ship.

I can fuck in the sun, and take my fill, and enjoy the world to the fullest.

I am one of the crew, a queen of the sea.

A witch, and a pirate.

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