The Kraken's Mirror

by Maureen O. Betita

  He reached for the bottle and she surrendered it.

  “I saw that picture, in your mirror and assumed you were hunting for me. It startled me.”

  “When?” she demanded. “I lost that picture! It fell out of the mirror at the festival before I woke up here. Or went insane—whichever. You couldn’t have seen it!”

  “The mirror slipped from your pack the morning I left you in bed. I nearly woke you to ask why you carried it, but when I looked again, only my face stared back at me. I left you and went looking for answers. I feared you were a trap.”

  “How would that have worked? I set a trap for you, tricking the vampires into blinding me?” She snorted. “Great plan. Wow. I suck at being a private eye.”

  She tossed a last bit of bread into her mouth, hauled her basket around and removed several of the morning’s gatherings from it. He watched her set two flat boards on the ground then open the paper envelope with pink flowers in it. She painstakingly arranged the petals on a single sheet of paper, selective in how she spaced them. He inched closer to watch. Next, she set another sheet atop it and used a smooth, rounded tool to continually press the petals between the paper.

  “What do you hope to accomplish with this? Some pagan ritual? Gathering flower essence?”

  “Nope. I’m hoping to get some color into the paper for the books I craft. I want some color for the covers, and the dyers won’t share their secrets.” She lifted the top piece of paper carefully. There was a bit of pinkish blush to both top and bottom sheets. She sighed. “Too light. I was hoping for darker.”

  He grinned. “Stay here. I know what will transfer better.”

  When he returned, she’d worked two other of her morning collection. Some dark leaves pleased her. A group of yellow flowers gave her some highlights. He held out a branch of deep purple flowers. “Try these.”

  “Oh!” She smiled. “Those might work!”

  He knelt beside her as she went through the process again, and this time, the results were quite satisfactory. She repeated her actions, mixing some of the petals and greenery, until they were gone. “Nice! I’ll have some stock to work with. I hope the colors don’t fade too quickly.”

  “Which dyers were stingy?” he asked, an idea growing for a third rendezvous.

  “On St. Marteen. Some guild rules.” She shrugged. “They bought several books, but won’t trade for dye. Bastards.”

  She packed away her papers, wood, and tools. “Will you show me where the purple flowers are?”

  “Of course. Later.”

  “Later?” Spreading her hands, she looked directly at him. “What do you want from me? I won’t spy on Mick for you. I won’t betray my shipmates.”

  “That’s good, I don’t need you to spy on Mick. I already have a good source on the Quill. But thank you for crediting me with such a nefarious purpose.”

  Her hands fluttered. She glared at him, brow furrowed. “A spy?”

  “No, a source. To make certain our two ships do not anchor near each other.”

  “Yet, you are here.” Her voice dropped in volume.

  “Because I needed to see you, Emily. And three months was too long. The dreams become impossible to sleep with.”

  “No, I’m not ready to talk about trying to sleep—tell me why Mick is determined against you. I know he says you stole the Immortal from his father, but what is your side of this?”

  “You are certain I have a story and am simply not a villain and thief?” He tilted his head at her, interested in her reply. Why wouldn’t she believe Mick?

  Mrs. Pawes turned her legs, one thrust out in front of her, the other tucked under the first, and she crossed her arms and studied him. “I find there are generally at least two sides to any story. Usually more than two. He won’t talk about it. Other than to glare and stomp off. That tells me there are truths he isn’t facing or won’t acknowledge. I find myself doubting his justification for this vendetta and I think he doubts it also. Just a sense I have.”

  “Ah. Did I steal the ship from his father? No. His father gambled her away, and I took her back.” He reached toward her. “Toss me your sandal; I’ll repair it while we discuss my villainy.” He reached into a small pouch at his belt, and removed a large needle and some twine to set about insuring her foot safety.

  She sniffed. “He lost it to you. The man with the curse of good luck? Wouldn’t that be stealing?”

  “No, he didn’t lose it to me. He lost it to another, and I won it from that other. Mick’s father gambled to excess. Sometimes he was quite fortunate. He first took possession of the Immortal from a wager. He and Mick did quite well in the colonies, then came to the Caribbean. Daniel wanted to take his luck back to England. Where it deserted him. And he discovered opium.”

  “Opium. Oh. Does Mick know about that?”

  “No, no reason to further tarnish his memories.” He wove the twine through already existing holes, binding the strap on tightly—waiting for her to ask more. She was being unusually quiet for a woman, in his experience. He glanced up at her to see her staring intently at him. “Yes?”

  “You care for Mick.”

  It was a statement, not a question. He declined to comment. After a long moment, she continued the interrogation.

  “If he lost the ship to a wager, why is Mick convinced you stole it?”

  “Daniel’s solicitors delivered a letter at his death, accusing me of trickery, deceit, a true litany of all manner of criminal behavior. Mick was grieving and believed it. He never asked me for ‘my side’, Mrs. Pawes.”

  “And you never attempted to correct his misguided vengeance?”

  “No.” He intended his tone of voice to curtail any further curiosity.

  She unwound her arms, bent her extended leg and clasped her hands atop the lifted knee. “But your curse could be at the heart of Daniel’s luck changing. Right?”

  “My curse could be at the heart of anything and everything that touches anyone who gets within 100 miles of me. Or not.” He blew out a breath and met her eyes. “Generally, I need to be present. I wasn’t, when he lost the ship. I did consider that my influence might have been involved. And I left funds with a lawyer to keep Daniel out of debtors’ prison. To return the ship to him while he was lost in Madam Opium’s embrace would have been irresponsible.”

  “That was extremely conscientious of you. And I bet he resented the hell out it.” She shook her head, eyes still on his face. “Begrudged it, decided it was an admission of blame, and grew more and more bitter. Very tangled. And Mick started out using your curse for his good fortune. I heard how he kept company with you for some time. He stayed close enough to benefit from your luck, but kept enough distance to not be hurt. I can see Mick doing that. Which means he likely blames himself along with you for his father’s losses. He tempted your curse to strike back, take its measure of blood one way or the other. How miserable.” She looked away for a moment. “I’ve thought a great deal about how good luck could be a curse. No one else seems to blame you for the curse. Save for Mick.”

  His breath stilled; his mind went blank. How did she do that? It took him years to reach the same conclusion. He nodded. “I’m impressed, quite astute of you. Are you satisfied with your observations? The explanation of my side?” He tried not to sound bitter, but her prodding brought up thoughts he’d rather not revisit.

  She shrugged. “It’s a hypothesis. This luck thing sounded so nice, but it isn’t, is it?”

  He dropped the subject completely and ignored her question. Setting the sandal down, he leaned back. “In my dream, the same one I’ve had every night this week, we are in my cabin.”

  Chapter Ten

  She swallowed nervously while he related his dream. It was the same one she kept having, causing her to toss and turn every night and wake wet and trembling on the edge of orgasm.

  “…the light is enough. I lift you to the tabletop and ask permission. You nod and tremble….”

  She shivered, instinctively hunchi
ng in a hypothetical effort to protect her breast.

  He lifted his hand, voice full of passionate wonder. “…your right breast. My favorite. The needle slides through easily, and you give a small cry. I can feel your body, taut and frightened, but also”—his eyes met hers—“curious and alert, aware. I ease the ring through and close it. Wipe the small amount of blood away. I take a step back to look and it is perfect! The soft, burnished gold contrasts with the blush of your nipple. We kiss, and you are wild with demand.”

  She shivered, feeling that bite in her right nipple, remembering the dream with an aching bit of vividness.

  “Hours later, you reciprocate and I take your ring. Small, silver.” He stopped.

  She stood up and turned away from him. Almost without thought, she stripped her shirt away, letting it fall to the grass at her feet.

  “So hot,” she heard herself mutter. “Too hot. Damned hot.”

  A small part of her wondered what she was doing, but it was miniscule. The larger part knew, understood. Knew the immediate need to cool her body. Mixed into the chaos, a voice screamed at her to tear his clothes off, make him give her what she wanted, what she needed.

  She opted for the water, instead. She undid the small corset and let it fall atop her shirt and the tie of her breeches. Without looking at him, she stepped over the rocky edge of the bath and into the water.

  Better. It wasn’t too warm, wasn’t too cold, but just right for her fevered skin. She moved into the deeper water and bent, then began to stroke her way across the bath, ducking her head down, trying to drive away the clamor inside. She swam underneath, enjoying the quiet, the cool. She let it wash away the need to think.

  Finally, the need to breathe brought her back to the world. She stood, only inches of her face above the water. The rim of her basket showed at the edge of the pond. He was gone?

  A moment later, the water stirred behind her. She glanced down and there he was, swimming around her. The surface was like glass.

  How interesting. You’d think it would be full of insects and little plants and the rich muck of this world.

  Her brain shut off when he rose before her. The long tendrils of his hair obscured half his face. He stayed low in the water, eye to eye with her. Long, strong arms swept around her, pulled her close until they were pressed together, from chest to crotch. His cock was blessedly stiff, but he left it pressed to her mound, no attempt to burrow home. Yet.

  She sucked in a fast breath, her arms, floating near the surface, seemed to move with a mind of their own, and one closed around his shoulders. The other brushed the hair from his face, to reveal the other eye.

  “‘Like a wine-dark sea,’” she murmured. “I never knew what that meant until I sailed on the Mediterranean.”

  He smiled. “Ah, Homer’s words. But this sea, this pool, does not inspire such thoughts.”

  Men could be so dense.

  “Your eyes, Alan. If I could drink your eyes, I would stay forever drunk.”

  One side of his mouth rose. “I find the same upon your lips, Pawes.”

  “Emily,” she whispered, as his lips drew close to hers.

  “Emily.” He exhaled and kissed her.

  Her arms wrapped around his neck, pulling herself higher. The boiling fire at her pussy demanded she attend to it.

  This is totally insane. This is totally nuts. This is totally—oh, shit.

  He held her from climbing atop him. Instead, he walked to the shore, constantly kissing her. The man kissed like a summer breeze after a long winter’s night. This man could give lessons on kissing to Prince Charming. To Prince Not So Charming and the entire royal family. His mouth was wet enough, his tongue the perfect gentleman, or the rogue. He knew when to breathe, when to use his teeth to nibble. He made her forget how desperate she was to feel more of him, elsewhere.

  He set her on a mossy ledge, releasing her mouth. She protested when he parted her legs and, standing between them, lowered his head. He still stood in the pool.

  She lost the ability to think. The curse words poured from her, while her hands gripped his head, yanked at his hair until he peeled her fingers loose. Her legs tightened around his neck, and he removed them, spreading her wider.

  “I want to look. I had no chance to admire this beauty at the Raven. Your eyes were too aware of light.” He blew a cool breath across her and slipped his tongue down to dally with her again.

  She’d caught her breath when he began again. And she’d thought he could kiss lips sweetly!

  ***

  When she dropped her clothing and walked into the pool, he’d been mesmerized. She’d already stroked her way nearly to the other side before he dropped his breeches, stripped away his shirt and joined her in the water.

  It did little to cool his body, but it did bring focus to his mind. The water caressed his skin, energized him for further pursuit. She was a seal—he was the shark. She charmed him when she spoke of his eyes. She disarmed him, deflecting him so that he found control over the perpetual fever. He wanted to be buried in her cunny, but he wanted to feast his eyes upon it first.

  Every morning, he woke to the scent of apples in his cabin. It drove him mad. Three days ago, the crew shouted when they netted a large wooden crate found floating near the ship. When they tore it open, a bounty of green apples spilled forth. Mama Lu told him to look for signs. One hell of an omen.

  Once she lay open before him, he filled his eyes with the bounty revealed to him and tasted. Her curse words were a symphony, reaffirming his every move. Twice, she trembled then shuddered with release. Only then did he stand, climb out of the pool and lay beside her.

  She still gasped as he meddled with her breasts. “I do like them both, but the right one, she was first and will always be my favorite. Shall I look for a ring, likened to what we both dream of?”

  “Uhhhh!”

  He chuckled at her inability to speak. He pinched the nipple and she flinched, lifting her head to snarl at him.

  “Don’t tease, you love it,” he said.

  “Not always!” she protested.

  He gestured toward the blanket and she nodded, muttering, “I am insane.”

  “As much as I appreciate your mystification, I don’t find it flattering that you continue to assert you are insane.”

  “Yeah. Well. All right. I admit you may not be the massive villain you’re portrayed as, but you’re still the perceived enemy of my captain’s lover. I. Shouldn’t. Be. Here.”

  “Don’t fight it, dear Emily.” He knelt down, guiding her to settle before him. “I don’t know or understand. I don’t care. I want what I want. You. Here. Now.”

  “Oh, shit. Me, too.” She whimpered when he again claimed her breast, marveling at how completely it filled his hand. He loved how her nipple hardened so delightfully against his palm. She reclined back on the blanket and he rose above her.

  “This time, I want to see your eyes. See me. Watch me, Emily.”

  She gasped when he entered her. He waited no longer. He released her breast, locked his eyes on hers and moved. Her eyes widened, lost focus, found it again as he paused to give her time to recover. They were like two rich and wondrous coins. He moved harder and she spewed vulgarities. Determined to hear more than curse words from her, he held himself in check, keeping to a speed and rhythm that would put a younger man to the test.

  At last, she lost the profanity and cried out his name. And he filled her, shuddering at the blessed release.

  The afternoon was one of sweet excess.

  The light failed and Emily started. “I have to head back. They’ll be looking for me. If they find me here with you, it would be bad.”

  “They won’t look until morning. By now, they assume you’ve made camp.” He grasped her head and urged it back to his crotch. “You’re not done.”

  “Alan! What if…?”

  He increased the pressure. “You try a man’s patience, Mrs. Pawes. I tell you, I know the crew. They won’t come out after you now—
it will be dark soon. And there is no moon tonight. They won’t worry about you. The island is perfectly safe. Finish!”

  “I’m not sure I’m doing this right.” She examined his erect cock, one hand holding the base.

  He laughed. “There is a wrong way?”

  “I don’t have a lot of experience.”

  To his satisfaction, she made a face at him when he laughed again, but dropped the objections. Her mouth was small, but the talent of her lips and tongue made up for that.

  They finished off the bread and cheese some hours later, and he built a small fire. And they talked. She asked about the ship, about how his crew survived his curse.

  He shrugged. “The Immortal itself is immune to the flip side of my affliction. The crew interacts little with me, but is devoted to the ship. I asked Mama Lu about it once. She agreed that my luck saw me hold the ship; my luck saw the crew able to work it. For without them, the ship would be of little use to me.”

  “Makes as much sense as anything.” She traced a scar at his right side, followed by another that curved at his bicep. She went from one to another. He didn’t know what she surmised about his scars, until she stopped and stared into his eyes.

  “Each one is a dead man, right?” She sounded extremely serious.

  He nodded, oddly reluctant to admit that fact.

  “What is easiest? To kill a man outright, with pistol or sword, or knife, or to know that any who attempt to kill you will end up dead?”

  The question unnerved him. He looked away, actually pondering the question. He cleared his throat. “I should have brought more wine.”

  “Alan, please. I want to know.”

  Deep breath.

  “Outright.” He kept it simple, hoped she would accept it and drop the subject.