“If this is going to go any further you need to realise that there are rules,” she purred.
“I’m not that good with rules.” Tyler straightened up as her finger hooked through the waistband of his trousers. “Then again I can be flexible.”
Irena grinned wolfishly, “One, you can’t tell anyone – they’ll start thinking I give you preferential treatment and it won’t do me any good. Two, don’t expect me to give you preferential treatment.” She was trying to be stern but a certain breathlessness was affecting her speech which may or may not have had something to do with the path that Tyler’s hand was wandering. “Three, don’t ask me about myself, or expect me to give a damn about you or your past. This is not that sort of relationship.”
Tyler answered with a wordless nod, free hand sinking into her hair, pulling her back to him. She was all too happy to let him. They didn’t even bother to undress properly.
Chapter 10
No questions, no answers
Tyler chuckled to himself again. He’d been thinking about yesterday. She’d been – well, they’d been good. He’d known he wouldn’t have been her first; women didn’t act like that on their first. He didn’t mind at all. It had been over quicker than he’d hoped, pent up flirting didn’t serve his stamina well, but he was pretty confident there would be more opportunities. They had a deal after all. He grinned.
How like her to set ground rules, especially for something like that. It wasn’t like he was asking her for a proper relationship, this was attraction. Lust. Distraction. It’d burn out after a while, it usually did, and by then it’d be the opportune moment to return to land. But no reason not to have a little fun while their paths were intertwining.
He could still smell her perfume, his fingers remembering the feel of her skin. He kept staring at the door to the captain’s quarters. The whole day he’d barely been able to keep his eyes off of her, had to stop himself from approaching her, getting too close. They were both practiced liars, but after something like that he was more afraid that his body would betray him.
Tyler flicked a card loose, made it disappear, reappear. It was all sleight of hand, trickery. All he was good at. The door opened. Tyler tried his best not to look too hopeful. Irena stepped out, stretched her arms above her head, a thin strip of skin peeping from the hem of her shirt. She looked around, saw him, smiled. Tyler nodded back, lips creeping into a wider grin. Irena tilted her head, nodded. He didn’t have to be told twice.
He didn’t try to hide, he didn’t need to do that. Walking with intent was less suspicious than people thought. Look like you’re up to no good and that’s when people would look twice. Irena shut the door behind him, pulled across the bolt.
She didn’t bother with talking. Her hands crept around the back of his neck, kissing him with an intensity that heightened his senses, becoming just mouth and tongue and fingertips. His back hit the door with a dull thud, enough to snap them free.
He felt Irena smile against his lips, “I think we have a little more time to play with.” He flicked open the buckles of her belt. Thieves fingers were useful. She lifted her arms as he tugged up her jacket, tossing it into the corner of the room and not wasting any time in peeling off her shirt. Tyler stroked his finger along the branch of blossoms that cupped her breast. Beautifully etched against her pale skin, the palest of pinks suggesting the hue of the petals. Understated, and so at odds with what he’d expect of her marks, if any.
“You didn’t think I was the sort to have tattoos?” Irena grinned, slipping his hands from her torso and turning around. A wolf prowled down her spine, from her shoulder-blades to the waistband of her trousers. Almost sketch-like in quality, it’s eyes so skilfully done that looked alive, like it would blink and spring from her skin any second. She glanced back over her shoulder. “I’ve noticed you don’t have anything as extensive.”
He’d been shirtless on deck enough times, plenty of the men were. “But you liked what you saw, clearly.”
She smiled, slipping her hands up his ribs as he pulled his shirt off. “I know enough of the thieves to recognise your marks.”
“You’re breaking your own rules.”
“I’m not asking, I’m telling you I know what they mean. Poppy for Reds, crossbow for Arrows – Right?” He didn’t reply, but she didn’t need one. “Though, I don’t know of this one.” Tracing the ink that marked out his past, she took great satisfaction in the goosebumps that arose when she stroked the sensitive skin of his inner wrist, pulling free the strip of fabric he used to cover it. She’d seen it in the prison, and been all the more interested in it for the fact that he’d attempted to hide it.
“You don’t need to know what that one means.” The marks of a thief were ambiguous enough that they could get away with wearing them without the police figuring out the system. The place they marked your body or the size of the piece said a lot more about your status than the number of symbols you bore. Pirates of course learned to recognise them, they were something of a cousin to the thieves. But the one on his wrist was something not even well known amongst other thieves.
“No questions.”
“No answers.” Lips met once more, conversation over.
~
Irena strode through the carnage, her swords bared, Anya and Negrita clearing a path for her, cutting down all in their way, leaping, whirling. They were artists with the blade, the swords their brushes, blood their paint. They both dove deeper into the carnage and then it was Irena’s turn. She moved like a wildcat. No. Tyler grinned to himself, like a Wolf. Her blades spun too fast to see, her opponents falling at her feet as she prowled, a faint snarl on her face.
Tyler threw himself back into the fight. At first he’d found the combat a little trickier, he’d hold back in raids, content to take a defensive stance. He was adept at fist fighting, but swords and pistols – these were relatively new to him. His main weapon on the streets had been a pair of knuckle dusters, those trusty friends also lost to the guards that had arrested him. He sighed a little. He did miss those, the comforting feeling of slipping them over his fingers, hands shoved deep in his pockets. He’d broken many a jaw with those demons.
Anya had been the one who’d helped him train, taught him how to properly hold the blade, how to treat it as an extension of his body. She’d given up hours of her time to give him extra practice, even Irena had commented on his improvement, with witnesses, a rare accomplishment. She barely glanced at him outside of the meet room, preferring to keep their relationship to her quarters. He understood why, but it was still too tempting whenever he saw her, he never managed to keep in the flirtatious remarks. But he was like that with most of the girls, his confidence, as always, preceding him. He was a charmer, he always had been. Yet another reason why he always managed to get himself out of prison some way or other.
He adjusted his grip on his sword, holding it firmly as he parried the attack that came for him. He battled with them for a time, until someone else cut them down. He’d never been too keen to get his hands dirty. It was easier to talk yourself out of theft than manslaughter. Yet another habit that was hard to shake. Though he had of course killed before. You didn’t survive as long as he had on the streets without having to cut a few throats. It was kill or be killed. But he’d never had a taste for it, not like some of the guys he’d known. He’d watched some of them hang. Far fewer than he’d expected.
His left palm was sweaty, his arm aching with the strain. Anya was left handed too, but she could fight with either. He was stuck with one hand for now. He had no idea how Irena managed with two blades. They were beautiful swords, skilfully made, even he could admit that, despite his lack of experience. She used them as if it were no more effort than pointing a finger. They were her claws. The first time she’d drawn them, for practice on deck, Tyler had been stunned to see how she worked with them. They were shorter than you might have expected, but Anya had explained that shorter swords tended to be more useful during raids on ships, there w
eren’t many pirates who used broadswords or greatswords. They’d only get caught up in ropes or sails.
Irena appeared before him again. As she landed she swore and dodged, but blood sprayed from her arm as a bullet sliced past. Her eyes got darker. She threw one of her swords into the air, grabbing her pistol with her now freed hand, slinging it free of the holster and shooting the man who had grazed her with his bullet, before she shoved the gun back into place, and caught the blade as it fell back to her hand.
Tyler felt his jaw drop open.
Irena caught his eye, gave him a quick wink, then launched herself back into the action.
He’d almost forgotten about the pistols. As if she wasn’t deadly enough with those swords.
Something commanded his attention, he tilted his head. Jim was under attack, from about three different assailants, two at least were under his control, but the third…Tyler barely even registered what was happening before he threw himself across the deck, his arm meeting the sword that had been heading for Jim. He gritted his teeth as he felt the metal bite through his leather arm brace. Lucky he had that on really. Tyler collected himself and drove his sword through the chest of the man before him, up and through his ribcage, dropping him to the ground. By that time Jim had managed to finish off the other two.
“Thanks.” Jim sounded breathless, a little stunned.
Tyler was surprised himself, he hadn’t known he’d had it in him. He just nodded, hoping that the adrenaline would last for what was left of the raid. He flexed his palm a few times. He was not looking forward to seeing what lay underneath the leather. Stupid really, to use his body as a shield, but there hadn’t been time to come up with a better idea. There was no time for further conversation, the raid carried on.
~
Tyler grimaced, peeling his blood soaked shirt from his skin. The cut was pretty deep, but clean at least. It was hurting like hell now. Cat slapped his hand away as he went to poke the wound, gripping his wrist and turning it to better catch the light. She stroked her finger down the stem of the poppy on his forearm, now sliced in two thanks to the blade he’d blocked. “I’ll do my best to keep it aligned.”
“Don’t worry. It’s nothing of importance.”
Cat didn’t ask any more. She was good like that.
Without a word she handed him a leather strap, which he bit down on gratefully. She was a pretty good healer, but no matter how skilled, stitches were never pleasant. He tried his best to ignore the sensation of the needle breaking through his skin, the pain that redoubled each time the thread was tugged.
He had three tattoos. The poppy had been the second mark he’d had inked on his skin. The parlour had been grimy, nothing better than a backstreet artist with sunken eyes and a hasty home-rolled cigarillo hanging from his lips. Tyler hadn’t been expecting much, hell he was surprised he didn’t catch anything while in there. He wasn’t lying when he said it wasn’t anything important. It was a thief mark, the mark of his gang. It hadn’t been his when he’d joined it, when they’d inked him.
Before the poppy he’d had one other tattoo, a loaded crossbow on his shoulder. Another relic from a rocky past. Another thief gang that had tried to own him. Tyler liked to think of himself as more of a leader than a follower. That was where the third mark came in. The fabric had come loose at some point in the raid. He’d not thought to replace it before coming to Cat. Hopefully she wouldn’t know what it meant. He glanced at the pattern on the inside of his wrist. It was on the other arm to the one Cat was working on. It wouldn’t mean much to most people. He curled his hand into a tight fist.
In no time at all she was done. Tyler knew better than to look over her work. He spat out the strap, closing his eyes tightly as the pain prickled up his arm. His hand felt numb. Cat gave the newly stitched up wound one last clean, then wrapped it in bandages.
“Don’t overstretch yourself or you’ll tear it open and I’ll be coming at you with the needle again.” She tidied away her supplies, preparing for whoever was next. “Three weeks and I’ll pull them out for you.”
Tyler nodded and hopped up from the bench, tucking his belongings under his good arm. It wasn’t far from Cat’s room to the galley, and after that he could do with a meal, and some rum.
~
He found himself a spot on the benches, doing his best not to jostle his tender injury. There were plenty of others who looked a little more ragged than they had before the raid. Tyler scratched at his forehead, poured some of the rum down his throat, and tucked into the bread and cheese Anya had found for him. Dinner wasn’t till later. He suspected it was out of pity that she’d fed him. She never seemed to get injured, despite being Irena’s second.
“Do you mind?”
Tyler glanced up.
Jim stood above him. He’d changed his clothes, his hair was slicked back, still a little damp. Tyler hadn’t had a chance to wash yet, he probably still smelled of blood. He scooted a little further along to let Jim sit down. Jim said nothing further for a moment. “That sting?”
Tyler flexed his arm, glancing at the bandages, “A little.”
“There’s nothing gained from being a hero you know.”
“You’re welcome.”
Jim’s expression remained schooled, but he chuckled a little in his throat. Tyler smiled to himself.
Nothing more was said while Tyler worked through his snack, and a fair amount of rum. It was numbing the pain at least. Jim spent the majority of the not-conversation staring into the bottom of his tankard, running a hand through his hair between glances at the thief. If Tyler didn’t know any better the first mate was trying to hand him a white flag, and he was all too happy to accept it. But he kept up the silence, it suited this truce, too many words had been thrown between them for it to need to be voiced.
Jim nodded as Tyler stood up, empty plate in hand, and Tyler returned the gesture with a matching duck of his chin. Conversations bubbled around him as he scooted his way through the gathered hubbub back to the galley. Anya was leaning against the doorframe, arms folded, smiling at the hulking figure of Jim. “He’ll be hard pressed to treat you like shit now.”
Tyler tossed his plate to the pile of washing up, and returned to stand at Anya’s side. “Time will tell. I can assure you that wasn’t the reason I did it.”
“I know.” Anya smiled, though Tyler couldn’t discern the meaning from it. She picked at one of her nails, ducked her head and cleared her throat. “You know, you’ve never told me much about your past. I can’t place your colouring or your accent. Where were your parents from?”
“I don’t know. I never met them.” He hadn’t meant to sound so clipped, he knew Anya meant well, it was just that his parents were a sore topic for him, even now. Irena got it at least. The rules between them gave him the perfect loophole, no need to talk about himself or his past, as was so often expected in relationships. It wasn’t that he’d had a cruel upbringing, they just hadn’t been around. He’d made his own life, brought himself up, and while he was quite proud of that, it was hard to talk about. No one could relate to it, so what was the point.
Anya wandered further into the galley, where steam billowed from countless pots on the boil. Tyler looked after her, but remained at the door. She continued, “It’s rare you’ll find someone round here who doesn’t have something they’re ashamed of. People go to sea for one reason, to run. I get that.” She adjusted the lid on one of the pans, stopping bubbles of stew bursting from the rim. “Please don’t push me away just because you don’t think I can handle whatever you’re hiding. I’m stronger than that.”
He took a step, but she didn’t turn to look at him again, so Tyler turned on his heel and wandered back through the crowds of pirates, her words ringing in his ears. I’m stronger than that. Though, or maybe because he knew she couldn’t hear him anymore, his reply slipped between his lips, barely a whisper. “No, you’re not.”
Chapter 11
The compass
Irena’s hands were
under his shirt, her fingers snaking below the band of his trousers and grasping–. Ah. With a triumphant grin she peeled back from him, the pistol gripped in her hand. She ran her eyes over it, then looked back at Tyler. “I don’t remember issuing you with one of these.”
“I…found it.”
“Is that what you call it? I already told you, no privileges. No pistols until I’m convinced you know how to use them. Outside of this room you are just another crew member.”
“What about inside this room?”
Irena’s lip curled, a lock of her gorgeous hair falling over her dark eyes. That intense gaze locked him in place, held him prisoner. She stroked the scar that marred his arm. “You’re lucky I like a man with war wounds.” It was still red, still a little tender but the stitches had come out now so at least Tyler could stretch without fear of them snapping – not that he doubted Cat’s skills. “I never said thank you. He’s tough on you, I know, but he means well.”
Tyler started, he’d not expected a thank you. “Why is Jim your first mate? And before you argue I’m not asking about you, I’m asking about him.”
“Because he has always been there.” Something about her tone betrayed vulnerability. He decided not to push it. “He joined my father’s crew when he was six years old, he was always the baby, even when my brothers and I were born. I think my father saw him as his first son. It was hard for him, I think.” Her sentence drew to an abrupt halt. Like him, she sometimes seemed to say more than she wanted to. Words were harder to keep down than most would think. He felt it too, the more time they spent together the more he felt inclined to talk. Irena frowned, turned away to rest the pistol on the tabletop. The bell rang outside. Land.
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