Daughter of Wolves

by Stephanie Anthony

Tyler said nothing, narrowed his eyes at Jim, and stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind him. He calmed down almost immediately, cursing himself internally for losing his temper. What was he losing it over anyway? Being interrupted? There was no guarantee that he’d missed out on anything. Nothing had happened beyond that look, albeit that it had taken his breath away. He’d thought seeing her would have satiated his appetite for her, convinced him that she was no different from any other woman that he’d met. But he’d just made himself hungrier. And the glower that Jim had directed at him threatened that his life was about to get ten times harder.

  “You better have a good reason for bursting in here.”

  Jim slammed the folder of papers he was carrying on the table, “He’s an asshole Irena.”

  “He’s useful.”

  “There are plenty of good thieves on these shores.”

  She shook her head a little, tightening the towel about herself as she stood. “Not like him. Now, are you going to tell me what you want or will you keep wasting my time?”

  “You know what, forget it. You can figure out that shitstorm yourself.”

  “Jim.” He’d already slammed the door. Irena cursed, then leaned over the table, turning the leather folder the right way up. She glanced at the first few pages, and flicked it shut. She wasn’t even going to pretend she could concentrate right now. Not on something like that. Her heart was thundering. She’d let him get a little too close. She told herself she’d been about to push him away when Jim had walked in. There was no fun in giving in this easily. She padded to her bedroom, throwing on an old shirt and a pair of shorts and securing her belt about her hips. It grounded her to have her weapons on her. Back in the meet room she tucked herself into one of the chairs, flicking her still damp hair back from her shoulders. With a grunt she tugged her pistols from their holster, lining them up on the table.

  Irena flicked the barrel of the first open, running the bullets around in her palm before stowing them on the table. The cloth she used was stained with grease stains, old and well used. Keep a clean gun and it will keep you. She performed their ablutions regularly, with the calm and attention of someone worshiping. A tune came to her and she began to hum, low in her throat.

  While she didn’t have the voice of her mother, she had a natural talent that gave her a pleasant voice. She’d sing in public only when she was drunk enough, and truth be told didn’t like to drink all that much. There was something disconcerting about feeling out of control of your own body. A tipple here and there, more if she could guarantee a quiet night in and needed a good nights sleep. Irena heard a noise, stopped humming abruptly and listened while she continued cleaning the pistol. Just a creak of the bow probably.

  She focused her full attention on the gun once more. It was a good brand, hard to come by, and she was well aware she’d paid far too much for the pair, but the salesman had been good at his job and damn persuasive. And they looked good on her. It was a curse of most pirate captains, vanity. But no matter, they hadn’t steered her wrong so far, and they shot straight after all these years and a few close shaves. She could have had worse. The pattern on the barrel was for the most unrecognisable, just a collection of swirls and flourishes, but Irena had always thought they looked like the waves. That decoration there was definitely a shell. She ran her thumb over it. The pattern had worn where she’d performed this same ritual time and time again. She shifted in her chair, tucking her ankle beneath her knee as she readjusted the angle of the gun. The lamplight was bright enough to work in, but made the shadows more defined.

  Her mother had taught her to use a pistol, and had loved telling her the story of how she’d first acquired one – helping herself to an order made by Tristan and practicing with it until she could shoot straight, for she knew he’d challenge her on it.

  The way she’d laugh when she remembered the look on his face as she’d broken a rope on the mast. It took years for most people to learn to shoot like that, but her mother was a fast learner with a trained eye. Daggers, bullets, there wasn’t much else to it other than know where you wanted to hit.

  Irena’s first experience with a pistol had been a mistake, to her parents’ minds at least. They’d shown her the basics, in case of emergencies, but had refused to give her a gun of her own. That had all changed when she was twelve. Mid raid, Jim guarding her like his life depended on it, one had skidded across the deck to Irena’s feet. Obviously, she’d grabbed for it, scanning where it had come from. Its owner was still alive, his sword embedded into Finch. He must have managed to knock it from the attacker’s hand, but not seen the blade coming. Finch had been one of the younger ones, her friend. Irena had watched him die, watched his killer yank the blade back out, stride towards her.

  He smiled indulgently. “Children shouldn’t play with guns.”

  “Who said I was playing?”

  Irena jumped physically as the memory of that blast hit her. It had been a headshot. A messy one. She’d been angry. She hadn’t even realised she’d pulled the trigger at the time. It had been a powerful lesson for her. There was no place for emotion in a raid.

  Chapter 6

  The crow’s nest

  Tyler spent the entire night haunted by dreams of the fire haired captain. Of the line of her collarbone, droplets of water still clinging to her skin. Of what may have happened if Jim hadn’t interrupted. He couldn’t get her out of his mind. Even when morning had risen some part of his consciousness was fixated upon her. He’d had a similar feeling some years ago, when he’d finally bitten the bullet and given up smoking. She was an addiction. And he wanted more than just fleeting glances of her.

  She was out on deck now, or had been momentarily. He’d sought out her gaze, and was gifted nothing more than a passing glance before she pulled herself up into the rigging. She climbed like an acrobat, bare toes curling around the ropes as she danced her way along the masts. Tyler didn’t realise he’d been staring quite so obviously when his view was interrupted by the hulking figure of Jim. He actually blocked out the sun.

  “Keep your eyes off of her.” Tyler hadn’t ever been growled at by a human before, but Jim’s tone came pretty close. He was suddenly reminded of a puppy protecting its master, and had to hold back the smirk that threatened.

  “No harm in looking is there.”

  “I’ll give you no harm in looking. She is your superior. She is so bloody far above you that blood crusting the decks probably looks better to her than you do.”

  Which would all be true had Tyler been a common thief. But he wasn’t. “Ah, you said probably. And for the record, you don’t know what I am.” And he intended to keep it that way. No good could come of any of his enemies, or any of his friends for that matter, figuring out where he’d disappeared to. The minute they wound up on dry land he’d be getting his ear to the ground to find out just what had been said about his fate. Knowing the watch they’d probably hung some other poor bastard in his place.

  “You’re the little shit who scrubs the decks of a pirate ship, and she is not yours.”

  He was feeling cocky. “Prickly today aren’t we – did someone get up on the wrong side of the hammock?”

  Jim’s hands curled into fists, Tyler’s muscles coiled in preparation to duck. Clearly he underestimated the first mate’s control. “You have no idea how much I want to hit you.”

  “Nah I get that. I’m quite good at recognising when people want to hit me. You learn that in my line of work.”

  “Your line of work is doing what I tell you. You’re not even a member of this crew until Captain acknowledges you. And even then you can bet I won’t.” Jim smiled, nothing friendly in it. Tyler could practically see him mentally scribbling ‘Jim:1 Tyler:0’.

  He didn’t intend to let that stand. “Thanks for that insightful barrage of information. Now, would you like your wallet back?” He tossed it in the air for effect. Funny what you could get away with when people were angry.

  Jim went a dangerous sha
de of red, swiping the wallet back from Tyler’s hand with unnecessary force. Tyler was sure to create some quick distance between them as he hurried back below deck. He told himself it was to carry on with his job, but a large part of him wanted to coil up and hide. Provoking men like Jim was stupid and dangerous, and Tyler had done it anyway. He knew he’d regret it later.

  “You’ll regret that.” It was said with a sigh, nothing threatening.

  Tyler turned to see Jackie hop down from the last section of the mast. She propped a hand on her hip to stare after the retreating hulk of Jim. He snorted to himself, “Oh I’m aware.”

  Though she wore full sleeves the shoulders of the jacket had been cut away to show her tattoos. Her blue hair was wrapped back on one side with the aid of a scarf, the rest arranged to cover her patch. She took a flask from somewhere in her jacket, gulped down a swig before offering it out. “Want some?”

  He took the flask with more than a little suspicion, “What is it?”

  “Gin.”

  Jackie scratched at her eyepatch, grinning as Tyler took a swig, his face contorting at the burn of alcohol. “I make it myself. The percentage varies.”

  He coughed a few times, knocking his fist against his chest as he handed back the flask. “Pungent.”

  She shrugged, tucking it away once more. “Figured it might help.”

  “Thanks.”

  ~

  Anya brushed her hair back from her face, the fierce wind whipping it free from the tight plait she’d secured it in that morning. It smelled of cooking fat and vinegar, an unavoidable aspect of her job. Pickling the last of the fresh vegetables had taken up the majority of her day, and Tyler had been suspiciously absent. Her creativity was running low along with their supplies – there was only so much you could do with rice and beans. Still, there were more pressing issues to attend to for now.

  Staring up at the crow’s nest, she narrowed her eyes to better see the figure that was hunched at the lookout post. “How long has Tyler been up there?”

  Jim dismissed her concern almost immediately. “He’s fine.”

  She dropped her chin to glare at him. She’d expected such a response, but the nonchalant tone still pissed her off. Anya had figured out Jim’s game a while back. Certain things did not go unnoticed by the cook. “You haven’t even sent any food up have you?”

  “Don’t interfere Anya.”

  It was unlike him to be like this, but she didn’t let his change in tune make her falter. First mate he may be, but she hadn’t joined this ship to follow orders blindly just because a man was giving them. It wasn’t that sort of job. She had a say as much as anyone else. “I will when you’re being a pigheaded asshole. I know he’s new, but this goes beyond any sort of banter. This is just cruel.”

  He said nothing as Anya stormed past him, hurrying to the mast and tying a safety line around herself before climbing up. You’d think he’d have realised by now, but no, he held grudges, thinking with his heart before his brain, or more accurately something lower than his heart. Like most men. He didn’t come to call her back, or stop her. She didn’t expect him to, if she knew anything about Jim it was that he was stubborn, but her hands shook all the same as she hauled herself up those first few feet.

  It had been a long time since she’d made this climb. Her role kept her below decks for the most, and she’d never much minded. The wind on her face at least eased the lingering scent of the galley, replacing it with salt and damp and a chill that numbed her fingers. She couldn’t tell if they were still shaking.

  Tyler stood up as she appeared. His lips were almost blue with cold, but he looked at her like she was the one he was concerned about. Her heart leapt at that, despite her increasing unease. “What are you doing up here?”

  “Go. You must be starving. I’ll take up your post.” She realised now that Jim might not be the only one doing things without thinking. She sat herself down, her back pressed firmly against the top of the mast, her fingers automatically checking the knots of her safety line.

  Tyler gripped the edge of the basket with one hand, his other scratching at his hair. “He didn’t tell you to relieve me did he?”

  Anya tried to ignore the dizziness that came over her. “I’ll face whatever punishment he sets me for disobeying him. I’m not following orders that mean my crewmates come to harm. You’re practically swaying on your feet. Tell Pips where I am, she’ll send Blue up in a few hours. I’ll be fine, I like being in the crow’s nest, makes a nice change from the galley.” Part of her hoped he’d see through the lie, that he’d tell her to stop being an idiot and go fetch one of the others. Honestly she wasn’t sure she’d even be able to climb down. Or move at all.

  He didn’t notice, thanked her, and began to lower himself from the nest.

  Anya was paralysed with fear now, fixing her gaze on the horizon. Anything but looking down. Don’t look down.

  Tyler almost sighed with relief as his feet touched the firm boards of the deck once again. It wasn’t that he minded being up in the nest, but he’d lost count of the hours that had passed. He could barely feel his fingers or his face, his lips were numb. He wanted to do nothing more than hurry below deck and attempt to warm up, perhaps find a bowl of stew. His stomach roared loudly at the thought of food. Tyler groaned and rubbed his hands together, blowing hot breath on them in an attempt to get some feeling back. He’d find Pips first, as Anya had asked. She hadn’t let him be forgotten up in the nest, so he’d do the same for her.

  It was fortunate that it didn’t take him long to find the tiny crew member, she was in the galley, the first place he’d thought to check on a night like this. Most of the crew were gathered in there. He ignored the urge to fill up a bowl, instead aiming for the recognisable blonde bun. “Pips!”

  She turned and glared at him with her usual sunny demeanour. “Yeah?”

  “Anya’s up in the nest, she told me to let you know.” Job done, Tyler was about to turn on his heel to fill his empty stomach, when he caught sight of the blood running from Pip’s face.

  “What’s she doing up there?”

  He froze in place, unsure why she was looking at him like that. “She took my post for me, Jim forgot to send someone to relieve me.”

  “She’s terrified of heights.”

  “What?”

  “You didn’t know?” She sounded almost pissed off, like Tyler should have known something like that.

  “She didn’t tell me.”

  Pips swore under her breath. “I’ll go find Blue – you get up there and make sure she’s okay.” He swayed slightly, and Pips narrowed her eyes. “On second thoughts I’ll head up there, you go find Blue. How long were you up there anyway?”

  “I don’t know.”

  ~

  Blue was in his hammock, eyes closed though Tyler knew he’d be awake – it was impossible to sleep when Ollie was talking at you. He didn’t even hesitate when Tyler explained the situation, throwing himself out of his hammock and slinging his braces back over his shoulders. He didn’t bother finding a shirt, but shoved on a jacket as he ran, Tyler doing his best to keep up. He was a fair few paces behind, by the time he made it to the mast Blue was already halfway up, climbing with expert speed. Between him and Pips they coaxed Anya down, Blue carrying her some of the way. Tyler swore to himself as he heard her startled gasp as a gust of wind caught at her, the way she clung to the mast. She was shaking when Blue gently lowered her to the deck, collapsing onto her hands and knees.

  Blue pushed Tyler, “What the hell did you let her do that for?”

  He staggered back a step, not taking his eyes off of the petrified figure that huddled at their feet. “I didn’t know she was afraid of heights, she came up by herself.”

  Pips crouched beside Anya, wrapping an arm over her. “Are you okay?” It was like watching a child coax a parent, something wrong about it. He’d never seen Anya like this, Anya without a smile on her lips, a laugh not far away.

  Her breathing was slowin
g, calming down. She lifted her head a little. “I’m fine.”

  Tyler stopped himself from leaning over her, from crowding her, but couldn’t help but ask. “Why did you do that?”

  She sat up properly, rubbing her hand across her brow. Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes locked onto her knees. “Jim wasn’t going to send anyone.”

  Pips helped Anya to her feet. She rocked slightly.

  Tyler reached forward and pulled her into his arms. “Thank you.” She tensed against him for a moment, then made a sound somewhere between a breath and a laugh, and gripped the back of his shirt tightly.

  Chapter 7

  Canasta vs. Poker

  Tyler collapsed into his hammock, not even bothering to slip off his boots. Everything ached, parts of him that he didn’t even know existed ached. He’d lost count of the hours he’d worked, lost track of the seemingly endless list of tasks Jim had given him. Finally he’d been allowed to go below deck. Jim was pushing it, he knew that. But likewise he knew that he could not speak out of turn. Jim wanted him to do that, he wanted a reaction. Tyler was determined that it wouldn’t start with him.

  Beside him, Ollie opened his eyes. He blinked a few times, then let loose a gaping yawn before smacking his lips together. “You just get in?”

  “Yeah.” Tyler didn’t say any more, but he didn’t have to.

  “He’s being unfair – this goes beyond probation. You didn’t do anything to piss him off did you?”

  “Not that I know of.” A lie. But he certainly wasn’t going to go into the whole thing with her nephew.

  “Happens to all of them in the end. The power gets to them.”

  Tyler opened his eyes a crack, checking who was listening in. “Ollie, leave it. He’ll get bored eventually.”

  Ollie reduced his voice to a hiss, also suddenly conscious that this was not the best place for this discussion. Jim was the first mate after all. “It doesn’t bother you?”