A Pirate's Dream

by Marie Hall

  Why did he suddenly look so tense?

  Had she kissed him wrong?

  Had he not liked it the way she had?

  Both jaw muscles twitched in his cheeks as he bit down on his molars. He looked angry. His brows furrowed, and his lips thinned.

  “Did I do it wrong?” she asked shyly.

  Nimue didn’t have much practice with men. Growing up, she’d stolen a few kisses from scullery boys. But those had been quick pecks and little more. Two years ago, she’d fumbled her way through a tongue kiss with a handsome pirate named Pretty John, who’d groped at her breasts, squeezing them too tightly and making her groan, but not with excitement. She’d come away from the experience wiping at her wet and slobbery mouth and disgusted enough by it that she’d never tried again.

  Sircco had barely touched her—his hands had never left her face—and she’d snapped like a raging bonfire for him. Fear slithered slickly through her gut. What if she’d been the only one to feel that? What if he’d experienced what she had with Pretty John?

  Feeling stabby and humiliated, she lifted the fork and speared a slice of smoked fish with it.

  He grabbed her hand. “You did everything right. Everything.”

  His voice was even deeper than normal, and she was sure she was not imagining the sudden rise in water temperature.

  Shoving the fish into her mouth, but barely tasting it, she tried to hide her elation at the compliment, but the corners of her lips were twitchy.

  Leaning back on his hands, Sircco stared up with unblinking eyes at the frescoed dome ceiling.

  She shoveled the food in her mouth more out of necessity than because it tasted good—which no doubt it did, but her tongue seemed too full of Sircco’s flavor only. The silence stretched between them.

  Awkward at first, until he’d scooted back a ways, so that he rested against her knees.

  She wasn’t sure whether to move them or not. She knew how fish viewed her legs—as a morbid fascination, and nothing more. But then his fingers began to play against the tops of her feet. And though it tickled, it also felt heavenly. His touch was inquisitive, soft, and yet exploratory.

  She finished the last wedge of cowfish cheese, and didn’t know what to do next.

  Should she move?

  Did she want to?

  No, not really. But she was growing uncomfortable sitting so still for so long. But if she moved, would he stop? She swallowed, growing more and more unsure with each passing second.

  A moment later, he glanced over his shoulder, noted her empty plate, and sat up. “Here, let me take that for you.”

  Smothering a groan of resentment at the stupid plate for diverting his attention, she handed it him.

  Sircco swam back to the standing tray, set the plate down, then asked, “Are you thirsty?”

  “A little.”

  Reaching toward the tray of spirits, he went to pour her a dram of whisky.

  “No, none tonight. Do you have any cider instead? I’m afraid to drink alcohol after that migraine. It can help fuel them, and I’d rather not have another one tonight.”

  “I did not know that. Of course, I have cider.” Then grabbing a clear decanter, he poured a tumbler full and returned back to her side.

  She took it gratefully, practically swallowing the entire thing in one gulp. Wet, cool, and bubbly, it flowed down her throat. She loved the magic of this place. She loved how she could still feel the icy chill of drinks that were left out.

  Sighing with satisfaction, she watched as he grabbed the book he’d been reading when she’d come in.

  “Are you sure I’m not interrupting you?” she asked when he once more settled next to her side.

  There were two chairs in the study—one for her and one for him. This was his private reading room, where no one save his personally invited guests were allowed. Never had he sat on the floor at her feet before, or she at his.

  “Do you have any other place to be, Nimue?” He lifted a dark brow.

  Rolling the crystal across her lips, she mumbled, “No.”

  He shrugged, opening his book.

  “Sircco, are you sure you’re comfortable sitting on the floor? You’re a king. Wouldn’t you rather I—”

  Smiling softly, he shook his head, causing the tiny hermits to float up and scrabble back for the safety of his crown. “I like where I am, as I enjoy where you are. In here, I am not a king. I am simply Sircco.”

  She gulped at the heated intensity of his stare.

  “Now. Would you like me to read to you?”

  She nodded slowly. “What are you reading tonight?”

  “Stories of my people’s history.” He touched a blunt finger to the pages. “I like to reacquaint myself with our past. It helps me to remember.”

  “How old are you exactly?”

  His cockeyed grin was full of boyish youthfulness. “And if I tell you, will you run away from me?”

  She laughed. “Why would I run?”

  “You might say I was too old to be your friend.”

  Friend. Goddess, she wanted to be so much more than that. Stop that, Nimue. Friends you are, be a good little pirate.

  “Age does not bother me. We live in Kingdom, after all. My father is hundreds of years old compared to my young mother. But truly, how old?”

  Resting his weight on his palm, he shrugged. “How old do you think I am?”

  “I think”—she tapped a fingernail to her lips—“that you are quite old. Ancient. Decrypt. Over the hill. Am I right?”

  He chuckled. The sound reminded her of a nice warm whiskey, smooth, silky, and hot all at once. “You make it sound as though I’ll turn to dust soon.”

  “Well, I didn’t want to say anything, but you are looking rather aged, my friend.”

  His nostrils flared, and he swatted at her toes, tickling them gently and making her laugh.

  “Stop that! Stop it.” She stomped on his hand when he didn’t. Narrowing her eyes, she pressed her heel down, waiting to hear him mutter about the obscenity of legs and how unsightly they were.

  “I now know your weakness, little pirate.” He grinned, showing off an expanse of straight white teeth.

  And if she hadn’t been a pirate, if she’d been a mere girl, she may have swooned at the sight of it.

  Rolling his wrist out from under her, he traced the tip of her foot once more, before bringing his hand back to his side.

  She couldn’t breathe properly. He’d not seemed disgusted at all by the sight or feel of them.

  Why not?

  Feeling out of sorts all of a sudden, she gestured at the book. “The... the story. What is it?”

  A smile she dare not attempt to decipher flitted through his stormy eyes. “It is a tale of the star pool.”

  She frowned. She’d never heard of the star pool.

  “I’m not surprised you’ve not heard of it. The pool is heavily guarded and for folk eyes only.”

  “What is it?”

  “It is where we go to die, where our souls can rest.”

  She shook her head. “But mother told me that when Talia died, she turned back to water and then vanished.”

  His lips tugged down into a frown. “Talia had no time to return to Calypso’s bosom. It is why the sea mother allowed her new life.”

  “But I thought Tinkerbell had reincarnated mother’s soul?”

  “Aye, in a way, she did. But only by the blessing of the Sea. Folk live long lives. Endless lives. But we can die, just like anyone else in Kingdom given a grievous-enough injury. When a maiden senses her time has come, so long as she’s within Calypso’s protected waters, she will be granted life enough to swim to the star pool. That is where we give back our souls to our mother.”

  “Do the rest of you come back the way Talia did?”

  “No.” He shook his head slowly. “Hers was a special case. I believe my mother felt badly for the star-crossed lovers. Never before had folk fallen for a legger. Talia was special in many ways.”

&nb
sp; Both sad and happy to hear his words, she smiled back at him. The spirit of Talia rested in her mother. Without Calypso’s favor, her mother wouldn’t exist today, but sometimes, it was hard to hear these stories coming from him, because it was obvious to her that Talia had been his great love, too.

  Forgetting the fact that she was a legger for a moment—which she never could do anyway—how was she supposed to compete with the ghost of his greatest love? Mother had never out and out told Nimue that Sircco would have taken her back if she’d agreed to stay with him the first time she’d come to visit, but Nim suspected that had Trishelle even so much as hinted that she shared in his feelings—legs or no—he would have moved heaven and earth to keep her by his side.

  “Read to me, Sircco.”

  Nimue didn’t want to talk right now, but she also wasn’t in any great hurry to leave the peacefulness of his library. Even though they’d often shared moments alone, there’d always been the sense that they weren’t truly alone, not with the constant movement of servants and folk just outside the doors.

  For a moment, she could pretend that it was just the two of them and that he wasn’t simply infatuated with the idea of her, but that he felt as deeply for her as she did for him.

  Two more months, and she’d be gone. She could do this.

  He settled into an easy cadence, his voice deep and soothing, lulling her into a dreamy haze as she imagined what the star pool must look like.

  Hearing the tales of warrior mermaids who’d fought well and valiantly, given their lives for Calypso, and gone on to find their peace within a cave full of glittering souls.

  But then he stopped talking, and she sensed the heavy press of his eyes on her. “Sircco?”

  He looked not at her face, but at her legs, which were now completely bared, as she’d crossed them at some point.

  Cheeks flaming, she rushed to cover them up. She didn’t usually care if she flashed some skin—this was how the gods had made her—but she felt suddenly naked in front of him.

  “Don’t.” His voice trembled. “Don’t cover them.”

  Fingers curled tightly into the fabric, a tremor zipped down her spine when he set the book aside and reached out for her.

  He didn’t just use his fingers this time or glide them gently down her foot. He slid them up the back of her calf, his movements excruciatingly slow.

  “Uncross your legs, Nimue,” he commanded, and it never occurred to her not to obey.

  She was agonizingly aware that only a thin scrap of fabric covered her center from his now very-penetrating gaze. He continued his cursory exploration, moving from her calves to her knees.

  Banging her head back on the chair, she bit down on her tongue, swallowing the hungry moan threatening to reveal just how much she enjoyed his touch. But then he moved from her knee to her thigh, fingers outstretched, and kneaded her muscle, her flesh.

  “Oh, Gods.” She could no longer contain herself and moaned loudly when he circled the inside of her leg, his fingers coming dangerously close to her heated center. “Don’t... don’t go any higher.” She stared at him, at the lightning and thunder cracking through his amber eyes.

  He paused and looked at her, not moving a muscle.

  She would not survive this if he touched her. She would melt for him, and give him everything. Nimue both wanted and feared it. If he pushed even a little, she would spread herself wide before him, and she would hate herself come morning.

  Digging at the coral armrests, she waited on bated breath to see what he would do.

  With a grunt, he moved his fingers downward, and she wanted to weep at the emptiness she now felt, but soon, that was forgotten as his touch turned less studious and more skillful.

  Just like what he’d done for her earlier, the waters around her began to roll. Kneading into her flesh and making her arch her back as her senses came alive with blistering speed.

  His scent of clean waters saturated her nose. The calloused warmth of his palms and fingers rubbing against her sensitive, soft flesh. The heaviness of his breaths as he traced all the way down to her toes.

  Gasping, when he lifted her foot, and traced between each of her toes.

  She could not endure the agony of such pleasure for much longer.

  Then he dropped her foot, and she felt cold. Desolate.

  “Go back to bed, Nimue. Go, and lock your door.”

  With an inarticulate cry, she raced out of the room and up the steps, never once looking back, running as though the hounds of hell nipped at her feet.

  Chapter 12

  Stygia had dressed in her most provocative set of pearls, wrapping them around her body in such a way as to add movement where desired to accentuate the sensual sway of her hips and breasts.

  The sun had just barely begun its rise in the watery skies. Her purpose was simple—to regain Sircco’s trust once more.

  She’d been too obvious and petty in her dealings with the legger, but no more. She’d worked too long and too hard to gain her king’s ear to simply allow herself to be cast off as she’d been.

  And what was a legger to her? Honestly. Allowing herself to become jealous of such a... a hideous creature such as that. Humans were little more than Calypso’s rejects.

  Fluffing out her hair, she swam through the palace gates.

  In the above, humans had guards with weapons positioned as a first line of deterrent to anyone wishing to seek audience with their king or queen. But the folk were more civilized, allowing any to come and go as they pleased.

  She smiled when she slipped through the palace doors and into the great hall. There were only a few servants up at this hour, and they were likely only the ones preparing for the morning’s breakfast.

  She’d angered everyone in her attempt to show Sircco just how pathetic and soft that legger was, but no more. She’d had weeks to consider where she’d gone wrong. Stygia was still smiling when she turned the corner, but the smile vanished the moment she caught sight of the legger running away with her midnight-black curls whipping behind her and Sircco staring up at her with longing pooled in his bronze eyes.

  A level of hatred and rage such as she’d never known suffused her bones.

  How dare she? How dare that simpering, spoiled, evil creature attempt to get her hooks into the Sea King? He was a God among men. And the legger, she was nothing.

  “That little bitch,” she hissed then plastered herself against the wall.

  Sircco turned and reentered his library, closing the door softly behind him.

  Taking a deep breath and forgetting everything she’d promised herself would never happen again mere moments ago, Stygia turned and fled.

  There were ways to ensure that stupid legger disappeared for good, ways that could never get traced back to Stygia. Waters churning around her as she powerfully stroked through the waters of the deep, Stygia vowed vengeance.

  That legger might have fooled the rest of them—she might even have the ear of the queen and king—but Stygia would show them just what a liar the legger was.

  You could never trust a legger, especially not one of pirate’s blood. Hook’s daughter, there could be none worse.

  No matter the cost, Stygia would vanquish this threat to her crown once and for all.

  *

  Sircco pinched the bridge of his nose, staring deep into the flames of the hearth. One fact had become obvious to him—he wanted her. Desperately.

  His body still burned to mate with hers. The ache in his tail had only grown worse when she’d left.

  Keep her.

  The words teased at him, taunting him. Two months was all they had left, and then she’d come before him as countless others had and request her release. He would have no choice but to grant it.

  But how could he? How could he let her slip away?

  Yes, she was lovely, and her legs unbelievably so. They’d been so warm and so soft. She’d made tiny mewling sounds when he’d traced beneath her kneecaps. He’d always thought the bumpy ridges a
horrendous deformity of circumstance, but now he wanted to lave his tongue down the length of, if only to hear her moan again.

  What could he do? What should he do?

  Staring at the fresco of woodland nymphs and does he’d commissioned centuries ago because of Talia’s perverse fascination with the above, he now viewed the half-naked woman as alluring, not grotesque. The way their hair swayed behind them as they danced, the way their legs bent, no longer reminding him of marionette’s on a string, but a sensual movement that enticed the eye to look further.

  In some ways, he felt as though he knew Nimue and in other ways as though he knew her not at all.

  A gentle rap of knuckles sounded at the door.

  He knew that touch immediately, and every nerve in his body flared to life as he raced for the door. He threw it open.

  Her large owl eyes stared back at him. “You scared me,” she said it softly.

  He touched his palm to his chest. “I am sorry, Nimue. I did not—”

  “But not for the reasons you think.” She shook her head. “You make me feel things. Too much. I’m scared when I’m with you, Sircco.”

  Wanting desperately to touch her, hold her, he refrained. “I don’t know what to say.”

  “Nothing.” She shrugged, tucking a long strand of hair behind her ear. “Or say something. Tell me you aren’t doing this because I remind you of Talia.”

  “You do not remind me of Talia.” He all but snarled. “You are you, little pirate, and I like you. Very much.”

  Anyone could walk past now, hear their conversation, and see their king with his heart in his throat, held spellbound by a mere slip of a legger.

  Her lashes fluttered. “I can’t sleep right now.”

  Lip twitching, he reached for the curl of hair that’d slipped over her right breast, but he recalled that he should not touch her, not unless she gave him the okay. Touching her was dangerous to his sanity.

  “Are you restless? Would you like to tour the gardens or—”

  Words died on his tongue when she leaned up on tiptoe, causing the length of her body to press against the length of his as she cupped his cheek. Her touch was magic, easing the demons eating away at his soul.

  “But you need sleep. I see it in your eyes. You’ve been up all night.”