Dark took out the chair behind Barton's desk; the polished surface was swept tidier than a church. He deposited his numerous ledgers and account books without care for the previous spotlessness. Settling down to business was easy in the quiet, dimmed office. The only sounds were the hushed whispers of the sea behind him, out the open window. Dark almost swayed in his chair out of habit, unused to an office on dry land.
With the help of the scant light provided a candle, and the dying glow of the sun as it slid beneath the ocean, he perused page after page, figure after figure. The captain didn't raise his head until several hours had passed and the long overdue task was nearly complete.
Massaging his stiff neck, Dark stood up. The usual oceanic chorus was quieter now, more serene. Dark walked to the window, peering with suspicion at the sky. The great black canvas stared back at him, stars winking innocently. Even so, a chill slithered down his back; a sailor's premonition. A sea too calm was a dangerous one.
Dark forced himself away from the window and back to his work. It was highly likely they would not be able to move from Refuge Cay anytime soon. If that were the case, Dark would have to arrange for the crew to be taken care of in the interim. His focus had been on other tasks as of late.
He chuckled to himself. What a shoddy captain he was turning out to be, putting off the business of running a crew to chase a ghost across the Caribbean. But that ghost has been laid to rest at last, he reminded himself.
In the despair of certain death and the confounded thrill of escape that succeeded the battle at the fort, Dark had heard of Grimm's death only after he'd recovered from his injuries. It had given him no small gratification to hear that Sykes had been the one to finish his old enemy. Perhaps now Sykes's demons could be laid aside, too.
Absently, he reached inside his coat pocket for his flask. His fingers brushed something crisp and delicate in his coat pocket. He knew without looking what it was as he drew it out into the light.
Taking a speculative swig of the flask, he unfolded the piece of parchment on which Grimm had inscribed his mysterious contract. Sykes had returned it to him after his escape from Port Royal, unable to decipher its meaning.
Staring without seeing at the blank page, its hidden letters appearing phantom-like in the candlelight, Dark's thoughts drifted.
Death had lurked over his shoulder since the day he was born, waiting for the chance to reach out and snatch away any spare bit of happiness he managed to carve out of a wretched life. He'd always lived in the world of the low-born and desperate. Zaina had made him want a life worth having. The distant dream of happiness with her had kept him from losing himself to Grimm's lies and illusion. She had kept him hoping that his life could be more than common.
He wondered cynically if he would have resisted his fate had he been facing it alone. Hanging from the end of a rope was an expected end for a pirate. Yet he hadn't been alone. Zaina had been at his side. He'd felt that cruel, icy hand close on her, filling him with an agony that morphed into terrible rage.
Dark ripped his gaze away from the page, folding it up and roughly shoving it back into his pocket. He took a deeper taste of the flask, the alcohol burning, clearing his mind. The container was still tipped to his mouth before he realized it was empty. With a disgusted sigh, he tucked it away.
"Ye always were a lush."
The habitually friendly voice was tinged with coolness again. Dark rose from his seat, straightened his coat. Sykes leaned against the doorframe, half-consumed in shadow, refusing to step into the room. Into the fading light.
"Sykes." Dark inclined his head and gestured to the seat opposite the desk. His first mate remained still.
"I see ye were studyin' the page again. Are ye able to glean its meaning?"
Dark sat down, eyes riveted on Sykes. "Yes and no. It holds no new information, other than that—"
"There is more than one character known as Grimm," Sykes finished. His tone was too calm, too even.
Dangerous.
"Yes," Dark agreed, hesitating to meet his friend's accusing stare. "The Grimm you killed...he wasn't the same man you've been searching for," he finished. After scouring the contract for clues, it had become apparent that the wording referred to 'Grimm' as a kind of title, one that was passed down as if from father to son, pirate to pirate.
It was highly likely that the man responsible for Sykes's long-held grief had worn the Grimm name for only a short time before handing it down.
"He's still out there," Sykes mused, his eyes on the still ocean beyond the window.
"Perhaps not," Dark said. "May have been killed."
Sykes's eyes hardened to blue steel. "No. He's alive."
Not wanting to argue the point, Dark changed the topic. "Sykes," he said firmly, bringing his first mate back to the here and now. "It may have been my demon that you slew the other night, but I swear to you I shall not rest until I have helped you slay yours."
He'd walked around the desk and reached out a hand to his friend as he spoke, but Sykes jerked away, his hands curling.
"I do not need, nor want, yer aid," he hissed. Dark pulled back abruptly. Sykes began speaking, his voice no more than a whisper, but his tone laced with increasing venom.
"I entered this partnership with reservations. I thought ye would betray me for Grimm at first. I fully expected that I would have to kill you." Dark stayed where he was, not speaking. Sykes inhaled deeply. "That day didn't come. But ye made some poor calls, and I forgave them as yer friend. Then I was thrown into a jail cell because of you, and ye promised me as my friend that ye'd do all in your power to free me."
His gaze, full of apathy, didn't waver from Dark's. "When the fort was attacked, I thought surely ye would come to spring me."
Dark tore his eyes away. Excuses jumped to his tongue, but he didn't disrespect Sykes by voicing them. His actions had been selfish. He'd only been concerned with bringing an end to Grimm.
"Did I not cross yer mind?" Sykes accused. His large body was shaking ever so slightly from his leashed anger. "Did ye not think I deserved to see it through to the end? Or did ye not care?" he asked callously.
Dark's gaze snapped up. "I did everything I could to save you," he retaliated. "Christ, Sykes. Ryan died on the mission that was meant to save you."
"You used me as a bargaining chip in a deal with Worthington," Sykes growled. "Ye bartered with the lives of Zaina, Tallera, and the crew. Ye left me to die while you chased after Grimm."
Seething, Dark hissed, "I had no choice."
"Ye could have come to me first, Dark. I would ha' helped you. We could ha' been partners and made a plan to get out of the sticky mess." Sykes shook his head in disgust. "But ye always act alone."
Dark stiffened. Sykes breathed a heavy sigh. "I do not think we can be partners who act alone, Dark."
"What are you talking about?"
A glimmer of sadness traveled over the first mate's face before it became impassive again. "I don' think this is to our benefit any longer. Once the season passes and we can leave this place...consider me resigned. I'll no longer be yer first mate."
Dark's face went white with shock. He stammered for a suitable protest when Sykes turned for the door.
"Sykes, wait—"
"Ye have what matters to ye, Dark. Ye've almost lost her." Sykes raked him with a sympathetic look. "Don' let it come that close again."
The shadows curling over the doorway swallowed Sykes's giant form. Dark stared at the spot where he'd vanished, dumbfounded. His mind tried to process what his first mate had told him, but his emotions swept away his thoughts.
Guilt assailed his mind, followed closely by grief. The disarming emotion triggered again the cloud of fear that had hovered ever since that night. Even with all that had been said, Sykes's warning rung in his ears.
That cool, slithering trickle on his spine had returned, but for different reasons. His fears had trapped him in his head, tormenting him with outcomes he rationally knew had not come to pass, but couldn't ignore. Those fears whispered thoughts he refused to acknowledge.
After extinguishing the candle, Dark walked briskly out of Barton's office, heedless of the noise he made, and nearly barged into the bedroom down the hall. His mind quieted when his eyes settled on the woman lying asleep in the bed.
When his held breath escaped him, he clutched the doorknob in reflex. He shut the door gently, approaching the bed with more care. His fingers tentatively brushed over hers, reassuringly warm. His eyes roamed over her, taking in her dark hair, spread out on the pillows, the slow rise and fall of her chest, her arms close to her body, her hands relaxed.
Without disturbing her, Dark shed his coat and boots, kicking them under the bed. His hands rose to unlace his collar and slide his shirt off. Zaina shifted in the bed, murmuring in her sleep. He paused warily before he finished taking off his pants. She shuffled and muttered again when he slid into the bed next to her, one small hand coming to rest on his chest.
Sykes's friendship might be lost to him, but he would not allow anything to keep her from him again. The lingering presence of death would be chased away. He gazed at her sleeping face, mind in turmoil over Sykes's and the events of the past few days. He would earn back Sykes's trust. He would keep her safe.
Dark pressed his hand over hers, pulling her into the circle of his arms. He focused on the steady thump of Zaina's heartbeat, drowning out the voices of fear in his mind, and soon fell asleep.
~oOo~
Someone's voice whispering indistinctly woke me. I shifted on the bed, trying to blot out that quiet, distressed voice. It sounded like it was speaking near me, next to me.
Whatever it was saying, my still-sleeping mind couldn't make out, but it was speaking fast and anxiously; in broken little pieces instead of sentences.
A sharp intake of breath right next to my ear startled me into alertness. When my eyes adjusted to the muted light and I saw the room was empty of threat, I panted with relief. The whispering voice hadn't stopped its mantras.
The big body next to me shifted, restless. I peered over my shoulder at Dark, still asleep, muttering madly in his sleep. It was his voice that had woken me. Concerned, I pressed my palm to his forehead to see if the fever had returned. To my shock, his skin felt cold as death.
My hand jerked away, tucking itself safely against my chest. I swallowed back the bald panic that flashed through me and forced myself to lay my hand back against his chest. His flesh was cool, his heartbeat too strong under my fingertips.
I relaxed. "Just a bad dream," I murmured, gently shaking and prodding him.
His eyes opened without warning, wide with terror and nearly black in color. A bone-white face leered out at me from the caverns of my mind, its black eyes gaping, its maw opened wide.
A scream flew out of my mouth, but there was no air behind it. I wheezed, my fingernails cutting into skin.
I closed my eyes tightly, not loosening my grip until a hand pried my fingers away and pressed them against a stubbled chin and soft lips.
"I'm sorry for scaring you," that whispering voice said. "It was just a bad dream."
I nodded, summoning the courage to open my eyes. Dark's eyes met mine. They were back to their natural deep blue. I hated the mixture of surprise and relief I felt.
His hands held my face between them, his eyes searching mine. "I'm sorry," he said again, pulling me towards him for a brief kiss.
He laid back down, resettling. I curled up in the circle of his arms, thankful that when he put them around me his body felt warm again. Resting my head on his shoulder, the most absurd memory for the moment came to my mind. It pushed aside my unease.
"I remember when you told me you would never kiss me," I said, thinking back to a time long ago. "Not in a million years, you said."
His laughter vibrated in his chest. I snuggled closer, my hands sliding around to his back.
"I do remember," he told me. He kissed the top of my head. "But I was lying."
I pushed away from him and looked up. "You were not," I accused, half-smiling.
He stroked my jaw with the back of his knuckles. "I was. Through my teeth. I remember that day. I wanted to kiss you very badly, then."
"Why didn't you?" I demanded, surprised at this new information.
He chuckled. "You had just finished telling me that Robbie McCrae had tried to kiss you at your birthday party and you had rather violently expressed your rejection. I didn't want to bring that upon myself, so I of course assured you I had no intention of kissing you. Ever."
I snorted with laughter. "You were honestly afraid that I would do to you what I did to Robbie McCrae?"
Dark grinned. "He rightly deserved it, but I heard rumours. Robbie has no children, you know."
I thwacked him hard on the chest. "I didn't hit him that hard!" I defended myself.
Dark didn't hear me over his own laughter. "You seemed to object quite a bit to the idea of Robbie kissing you. I wagered that any attempts on my part would result in permanent damage to my—"
My hand slapped over his mouth. My glare was undermined by the smile that insisted on being known. Dark's mouth curved up under my hand, his eyes full of laughter.
"You're not Robbie McCrae," I said.
"Aye," he agreed when I took my hand away. "So I feel no qualms in doing this." He bent his head, lips catching mine in a slow and easy kiss.
When he pulled back I caught the slight smirk on his face. "So you did just want to kiss me, then?" I asked, voice playful.
His eyes lingered on my mouth for a second, dropping down the slope of my neck to where the blankets covered me from the chest down. He rubbed a hand across his chin, a thumb pressed against his lips as if to keep his boyhood secrets locked inside. His eyes returned to me face, his grin mischievous.
"I shall not tell you," he said.
I gaped at him. "Why not?" I asked, prodding him in the chest. "You don't trust me with your secrets?" I added with a little smirk of my own.
His gaze narrowed. "Underhanded wench," he muttered. I snickered.
"I'll tell you what I was really thinking then," he offered. "For a price."
His smile was cheery and slick. A true pirate's grin.
Suspicious, I asked. "What price?"
He pretended to consider it, humming under his breath and rolling his eyes around as if racking his brain for the one thing he could possibly want in return from me. His eyes positively glinted when they returned to my face.
"An answer to my question," he replied smoothly, as if we were discussing the weather instead of sealing a bargain. I highly doubted his question would be about the possibility of rain that day.
"Which is?" I prompted.
Dark leaned in until I could feel his breath against my face. His hand had wandered over my hip to the small of my back, and his fingers rubbed small circles into my skin.
"My question is, if I had kissed you back then," he paused, probably for the enjoyment of seeing my anxious look. "Would you have returned it?" he finished.
I felt caught in a trap, the way my face froze in surprise. Dark laughed.
"I-I never considered it before," I said, licking suddenly dry lips.
"Did you ever think of kissing me back then?" he asked.
It felt ridiculous to feel shy answering this question, I thought to myself, all things considered. I glanced at Dark, the bedspread wrapped around his hips, one arm on the pillows propping him up. I traced my hand over his bicep, rigid and taut. The position highlighted his muscled upper body quite well, I thought.
I decided to keep that to myself.
"Yes," I replied. Without looking at his face, I knew he wore a supremely self-assured smile.
"When?" he pressed, full of curiosity.
"That's three questions so far," I said, wagging a disapproving finger.
He caught the digit in his hand. He looked at me with all seriousness. "And you've answered only one."
"Many times," I said vaguely, enjoying his narrow-eyed aggravation in reply. "I found you very handsome then. Much more so than Robbie McCrae," I added with a playful smile.
Dark laughed. "I thought you were quite lovely, too. It is probably why you occupied so many of my thoughts," he teased, using his grip on my hand to pull me closer.
"Pretty girls have always occupied your thoughts, Dark," I said, swatting his hand when it trailed over my hip and down my thigh. "And your hands."
He grinned, holding up his hands where I could see them. "One very beautiful woman in particular has kept me busy," he said. He reached for my leg again, and this time I let him shift me on top of him.
"One can only guess," I teased.
His laughter shook me. "You didn't answer my first question," he noted, arching a brow.
I giggled, leaning down to kiss him lightly. "I think I would have," I told him. "I would not have been able to stop myself."
His smile was broad when he said, "That's all I wanted to hear."
"Are you going to tell me your thoughts now?"
Dark's hand curved around my waist and he flipped me back onto the pillows so he was poised above me. "It's really more of a demonstration," he said.
I wound my arms around his neck and pulled him to me. "Is that so?"