He had found something that would make his life worthwhile.
It was all thanks to this woman that lay sleeping, just as secure in his arms as he was protected in hers. And now he knew what it was like to be in love, the headiness, the breathless intensity. The realization that in their predicament, the world really could harm him if anything should befall her.
Gregory watched her sleep. Her hair fell in disarray over her shoulders and over his arms where she used him as a pillow. He couldn’t remember lying this way, sleeping with her pressed so intimately against him, but they must have fallen asleep together like that. Secure in each other’s arms.
Her skin was alabaster white. Scars marred the perfection of her skin, some small, other had left a pink jagged line. She was a china doll. Fine boned, smooth skinned, toned, hardened. But her nipples held all the magnificent color of her hair. He was drawn to the nubs that had hardened with the cool air, realizing it would soon wake her as it did him.
Beside them were some neatly folded blankets beneath their pile of clothes. A sardonic smile touched his mouth. Conveniently left buy the old woman, no doubt. He reached for their clothes that lay crumpled next to them, drew a blanket over her, and reached for his own. Tangled in the arms of his shirt was her satchel. He shook his shirt, pulling it towards him to try and dislodge it so as not to wake Estelle. He carefully withdrew his arm from beneath her head so that he could look further. She stirred, but was soon asleep once again. The satchel upended and the contents scattered. He picked up the folded map that fell to the ground.
Gregory unfolded the map, uncreasing the recent folds and crinkles that it had endured while in the satchel. The sketches he had made on the landmarks now crystallized into meaning. The topography showed the same land undulations as the island they were on. Seeing it as Estelle had discovered on the edge of the cliff left no doubt in his mind. He quickly located the scoop in the mountain range and the course that would take him directly to a cave.
This must be the same cave from the ancient legend. The same cave that could save Elias and bring an end to Jack Cutlass’s tyranny. The same cave that would let him end his constant searching, his duty to the Navy and let him start a life with Estelle. For the first time in his life he knew that — somehow — he could make it all work.
The night had given way to the new grey light of dawn, before colors pricked the sky to wake the world for the day ahead. He saw that they were next to the stream that was the center of the map. There was no sound of the waterfall, so they could be much further along the river than he might have thought.
He stood, pulling on his clothes, searching for a landmark that could identify their location. As he watched, rays of sunlight broke through the grey and he saw the golden glow on the top of the mountains lighten. There was not a trace of doubt in his mind. The scoop that was so clear on the map was now backlit by the sun, the edges glowed a pure gold, a shining beacon on the path to the cave. It was no more than a mere mile away. Gregory’s smile widened into a satisfied curve. The end of the day would mark the end of this nightmare.
He would just have to make sure that they both got through this alive. If there was a chance of survival, a chance to live the life he now wanted to firmly grasp with his two God given hands, no matter what it took, he would do it. He wanted to tell her how strongly he felt, needed to find the right time and space so he could tell her how important she’d become to him. When she woke, he would be sure to find the right moment.
Estelle stirred, throwing her head to one side. She murmured something unintelligible in her sleep. Gregory knelt beside her. Her body was tense now, so at odds as she had been in the soft pliancy of sleep. A frown marred her forehead as she tossed her head again. A thin sheen of perspiration layered her skin.
She started to moan and thrashed her arms. Her features contorted into a look of fear. Gregory held her and called her name softly to save her from the grip of a nightmare. Her heart beat at a rate of knots, she breathed as though she had run a mile. And still she slept.
“Estelle, wake up,” Gregory said.
She cried out and raised her hands as if fighting. “Claire! Dalia!” she said. She woke, flushed and bathed in perspiration and looked directly at Gregory, catching her breath.
“You’ve had a nightmare. You’re all right now,” Gregory said, holding her to his chest, waiting for her to recover.
“No nightmare,” she gasped.
“Sometimes they seem so real, but believe me, you were here all along,” he said.
Estelle pulled away from him, just enough so that she could speak to him face to face. “I know nightmares. I’ve had enough of them. This was real. It was Dalia. She was in my head, talking to me, telling me what is happening, right now as we speak. My friends, Dalia, Claire — they’re in trouble. The village is in trouble.” She grasped his forearms. Her eyes were clouded with fear. “There is a power. A dark magic. It’s after them. It wants to destroy the village. Dalia is hiding it, but she’s getting weak. There’s no telling what the dark magic will do to them.”
“Is Dalia strong enough to hide a village?” he asked.
“I don’t know. She was strong enough to hide my ship the night when … ” Estelle gnawed her bottom lip.
“When you kidnapped me,” he finished.
Estelle nodded. “But a whole village … She’s weakening. We have to go. I have to help them,” she said.
She went to stand, but Gregory held her to him. “We need to think things through. How are we going to protect them from this magic?”
Estelle shook her head, her mind in clear turmoil and wiped her hands over her face in desperation. “There has to be some way to stop the magic, stop Jack before he gets to them. Maybe if Jack thinks we are alive, he’ll leave them alone and come for us.”
“And what if he succeeds in finding us? He’ll attack us again and we might not be so lucky as to have the old woman on our side to keep us safe. Or alive,” Gregory reasoned.
“We have to end this curse.” Estelle grasped Gregory’s upper arms, fingers digging into his skin. “We have to try. I don’t care if I die, but I have to try and save them. There are so many innocents living in that village and Jack will destroy them all.” A broken sob fell from her lips.
He wanted to wipe away the painful anguish that was clearly written on Estelle’s face. He felt her pain, knew her torment and realized her desperation. Jack Cutlass was on his way to wipe out everything she knew. There were hundreds of lives at stake.
“We will do it together,” he whispered.
With a cry she melted into him, desperately finding comfort. She wound her arms around his shoulder, pressing herself against him. Her lips found his and she was kissing him with all the aching grief that poured from her. He wanted to take it away, help her stop feeling her agony. He kissed her back, desperately, urgently, meeting her touch for touch. This was a kiss of anguish, a needing of each other on that one true level when two can only be as one. This kiss was the true melding of souls, of reaching out, of taking in, of answering a call so deep, so passionate that it bound them together.
He took her to the ground. There was no asking, for both took, needing the comfort that the other could only provide, the understanding of two of the same, the completing of two halves. Estelle fell back beneath him, tossing her wild hair so that it fanned around her head like a fiery halo. There was no concealing the look of need on her face, the way her lips opened and her eyes narrowed. She knew what she asked of him, and he could not refuse his firebrand devil-angel.
He positioned himself between her legs. The tip of his erection found her ready entrance and he pushed inside. She gasped, throwing her head backwards in exquisite agony. Fully sheathed, her heat seared. Her tense muscles surrounded his erection, wet and tight.
He withdrew to his tip and plunged into her honeyed sheath, the
head finding the end of her womb. She groaned, called his name, clutched his shoulders, dug her fingernails into his skin, branding him as hers and he willingly let her.
He rocked against her, grinding his hips to hers, finding the internal top of her womb with every powerful plunge. Estelle rocked beneath him with each thrust, her breasts quivered as she moved, the nipples tightened into hard nubs. He took one between his teeth and flicked his tongue over the top.
She screamed, jerked and he took her breast fully into his mouth, sucking, tasting, pounding. She tensed, gasped, wound her legs around his hips, locking her ankles together, grinding herself around him.
He plunged into her once more and exploded. He ground his teeth, enjoying the exquisite, unbearable torture his own orgasm that seared through his body. He closed his eyes, riding out each shiver that coursed through his body. He sank boneless over her, nuzzling her hair, smelt their lovemaking mixed with her own perfume and accepted the post coital waves as it engulfed him in a light slumber.
Half asleep, he managed to roll to his side so as not to crush her with his large frame. He carefully removed himself from her, taking his arm from beneath her head and placed the blanket over her to keep her warm.
He quickly dressed and stoked the fire once more so that the flames supplied the heat to keep her warm against the morning chill. Gregory picked up with sword and sheathed it in his belt while he watched Estelle sleep.
This was not the way he would have planned, but it would be for the best.
He wouldn’t have her hurt by Jack Cutlass again. If it meant that he would traipse through the island to the cave then so be it. Jack was on a mission to destroy not only her, but everything she had worked for and if Jack knew she still lived would come to kill her with all a dark vengeance. She would not be safe. Not if Jack knew she was alive, but here, in the safety of the runes, she would be.
He picked up the map and folded it carefully so that it could fit into his pocket. Reluctantly he stepped over the line of the runes, not looking back, for if he did he knew he would go no further, and strode into the bush that would lead to the cave and either end this cataclysm, or his own life.
Chapter Twenty
She was in a warm cocoon, bonelessly content, sated, drifting in a gratified state of being. She yawned, stretched, a smile tugged the corner of her mouth as she felt the parts of her body that were so delightfully used by Gregory. Her body was wonderfully relaxed, warming to the idea of more of the same treatment until she remembered her dream. She sat bolt upright with a gasp and held a shaking hand to her chest, feeling a bitter cold creep into her insides.
Jack Cutlass was heading for her village and everyone in it; his intent, to main, kill and destroy. Somehow she had connected with Dalia while she had slept and she had learnt of Jack’s despicable goal to have everyone killed — slaughtered — in his fight for vengeance against them all. Her friends, everyone Jack considered rightfully his on the island were all in danger. Claire had felt the horror. Knew it was caused by Jack Cutlass. She’d known the feel of Jack Cutlass when he’d kidnapped her before Estelle had found her. By the message in her dream, Dalia was barely hanging on keeping their location hidden and safe by using her gift. She couldn’t possibly go on much longer and when she unable to hide their village, Jack would attack.
Gregory had a plan to save them. He was going to help her. He’d promised.
There was nothing here but the fire that had long ago burnt out into a pile of blackened coals. The sun was high in the sky. But no Gregory. She dressed quickly, waiting for Gregory to come back. He couldn’t be too far away. He would be waiting for her to wake so that they could attack Jack Cutlass. But, why would he let her sleep if he knew the urgency of her situation?
He had proclaimed that they would get Cutlass together, fight together to protect Paradise and her friends. But the clearing was very quiet. There was only the faint call of birdsong and the leaves that rustled in a slight breeze.
“Gregory,” she called. Her voice seemed to be absorbed by the trees and she knew it had not traveled far. She called again, leaving no doubt by the tone of her voice of her building urgency.
She ran to the edge of the clearing, trying to see through the thick greenery, until she had gone a full circle, calling his name. A prickly, uncomfortable feeling caused a lump in her gut.
She found her satchel, opened it and scattered the contents over the ground. The map was missing. She sat back on her haunches. He’d taken the map and had left her here after he had promised that he would help her end Jack’s reign.
She had given her body to him, had been overtaken by passion. She had given him all that he had asked with the deepest faith. She had given him the night. Had awakened to him. Had given him her absolute trust. She had given him her heart.
And now he was gone.
She had listened to his tender words, and worse, had believed them. What a fool she had been to have handed herself over to him. It was against everything she had learnt about men. He had leveled all the rules she had erected to protect herself and now she found herself kneeling in a soft grassy patch trying to still her spinning mind and her racing heart, feeling what she had gone out of her way not to endure.
Pain at the hands of men.
It seemed she had not yet learned her lesson.
She swiped the tears from her cheeks, letting the betrayal, the hurt burn into a searing anger. She clenched her teeth, narrowed her eyes and swallowed the lump. It was a lesson learned. A hard lesson, but that’s all it was. A lesson that taught her that she was right in the first place.
A hard life’s lesson.
She staggered to her feet, blinking back more tears that threatened to spill. She closed her eyes, breathed in deeply, feeding off the reckless anger that welled inside. When she opened her eyes, they were clear and she was steady on her feet.
She bent, picked her belt off the ground, replaced her sword in its sheath and her satchel at her hip. Estelle strode to the circle of runes and kicked each and every one in all directions as far as she could, destroying the circle that had held them both safe for the night. There was no room for safety now, only revenge.
Estelle tipped her head back and yelled, “Come on, old woman. You know I’m here. I need you. Now! There’s no hiding me anymore. Come to me,” she yelled. Anger and impatience had her stalking the patch, her hand grasping the handle of her sword.
“You look like you want to fight.”
Estelle swung to face the old woman merging from the shadows of the trees. She stalked to her. “Tell me what’s going on. I want to hear the whole truth this time. No rhymes, no riddles, just the truth.”
The woman tutted and shook her head. “Such a headstrong woman. Quick to anger without knowing the full story.” She walked to the now dead fire and waved her hand above it. In an instant the flames flickered to life and was crackling warmly. Soon she had the pot boiling with a perfumed brew. She poured two cups and handed one to Estelle.
“Sit. Drink. And we shall talk.” She sat on a rock with a sigh and sipped from her cup.
Estelle watched her for a while and when she didn’t stir again, decided that to do as the old woman asked would be the only way she would get any information out of her. Estelle took her place on the opposite side of the fire. She smelt the brew and for once didn’t recoil from the fragrance. She carefully sipped and was happily surprised when the cup held no more than a pleasant tasting tea.
“That is good. You are opening to reason,” the old woman said.
“How did you get your powers,” Estelle asked.
A ghost of a smile flittered on her wrinkled mouth. “The powers one receives from a life of need. Such is the way of magic. A blessing and a curse.” She nodded her head. “Like you, I needed to survive and I found a way in which I could. The rest — practice. It’s not so hard once you
get the knack.”
“What happened to you?” Estelle asked.
The old woman sighed. “Ambition. Power. Life beyond death. I was sold and bought for all of it by someone I thought could not harm me. I was wrong.”
“Tell me who did this to you.”
The woman shook her head. “Amor Fati does not bend to your wishes, you bend to it.”
“I don’t believe in this Amor Fati. Look what it did to you,” Estelle said.
“Love didn’t do this to me. Jack Cutlass did.” The old woman stabbed her with a stare so direct that Estelle felt it penetrate with a wince.
“But, how? You can protect us from Jack. How come you couldn’t protect yourself?”
“Because he tricked me. I was not always the woman you see before you. Then, I didn’t know how cold and ruthless he could be. I thought we were in love, or at least I was with him. But in the face of what he sold me for, my love didn’t stand a chance. He didn’t care, he used me for what he could get. I didn’t know how ambitious, how hungry Jack was for power, and the power he was offered was the ultimate power of a god. How could he refuse?”
Estelle looked into her half emptied cup of tea. “They are tarred with the same brush.”
“You are speaking of your man? I tell you he is nothing like Jack Cutlass. You have seen into his soul. You cannot believe what you are saying.”
“I believe in the proof. He left me after … last night. He promised he would stay and fight Cutlass with me. He knows everything I hold dear, everything I have fought for is in danger, and even promising me all this, he has left me. He is exactly like Cutlass,” Estelle said, feeling the hot prickle of tears behind her eyelids once again.
“Those are words of momentary anger. You know this man keeps his promises and it is this promise that had him leave you this morning. The good in his heart, the love he has for you, has propelled him to face the danger alone.”
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