Belle and the Pirate

by Vivienne Savage

  “I wish we had more time,” she whispered.

  “I know.” James’s arms surrounded her from behind, and a tug drew her back to his chest. “I know. So do I. But know this, my feelings won’t change because you’re small again.”

  Tink twisted around to face him. “But we won’t be able to kiss. To hold hands. To…” She closed her eyes and gestured toward the bed.

  James tipped her chin up. “That doesn’t matter. Not to me.”

  The flutters in her stomach matched the racing tempo of her heart. She opened her eyes and tears spilled past her lashes. “I love you,” Tink whispered. “I don’t think I’ve ever said it.”

  “And I love you. Sprite or human woman, that love will never change.”

  Without another word, she seized James’s face between her hands and kissed him, imbuing every ounce of her affection and passion for him into the gesture. She wanted to burn the moment into her memory forever.

  The last rays of sunlight slanted in through the windows as they broke apart, marking the moment she’d raised the glass vial to her lips three days prior.

  A painless transformation swept over Tink’s body, though she was spared agony in the physical sense alone. The enormity of her love for James surpassed her profound sadness, and the fairy glow surrounded her first with surreal, rose-hued light before her appendages shrank and her lover rapidly grew in size. No longer standing before him as his equal, she hovered at eye level, instead.

  Sorrow and heartache became a turbulent storm, warring against the whirlwind of emotion surging inside her condensed frame. While tears spilled over her cheeks, an inevitable surge of affection for James smothered the minute pangs of anguish thudding inside her chest.

  I love him. I love him with everything I have, and nothing will ever convince me those three days weren’t worth it.

  James offered his hand. Once she perched on his fingers, he raised her to his lips and kissed her golden head. The same love shone in his blue eyes.

  “The way I feel for you will never change, Belle. This merely marks the beginning of another adventure for us. A different one borne of love, not lust.”

  “Companionship without sex,” she whispered.

  “And I will happily cherish you until the last day we have with one another. For your mind and your heart. Now, shall I pour you a bath, or will you join me in the shower box on the ledge?”

  Tink wiped her face with both hands. “The ledge.”

  If she couldn’t touch her pirate and caress him the way she wanted, she could at the very least enjoy the view.

  Chapter

  CONALL PRESSED HIS nose to the damp soil at the base of the tree and inhaled the scent of wilderness and morning dew. Tink had always told him tenders of the green preferred to rise with the morning sun. The grass still smelled sweet, fragrant with the sprite who had crawled out of her tiny burrow.

  And then there was something else, smoky and acrid, a smell he’d never forget because it had been all over the foul trap he’d found Tink inside years ago: Liangese gunpowder.

  Positive they were on the right trail, he raised his head and nodded sharply left and right. Four of the wolves in the pack fanned out as directed to scout their surroundings while he proceeded ahead with two more in a tight triangle. A pair of his largest wolves fell behind, the stocky brutes prepared to charge forward and leap into battle if the three charged into an ambush.

  The Liangese loved ambushes. Alistair had warned them of that.

  Whether or not the poachers even spoke their language had been his concern initially, until he realized there’d be no conversation or apologies from the lawless invaders.

  A hint of crushed grass and disturbed flora told them they were on the right path. Another mile took them to the edge of a glade where a gentle stream trickled over rocks. Beside it, a single tent stretched between the trees. While no one was in sight, mesh cages of steel and gold had been piled beside the smoldering campfire. Faint wisps of smoke arose from it.

  Some sort of toxin or sleeping agent, Conall thought, keeps the little ones docile and weak, incapable of using magic to escape their bondage or fool their captors. The thought of Tink in such a trap infuriated him and turned his vision red with anger. Across the glade, a noise rustled in the brush, and two men emerged from the trees carrying two more tiny cages. They both wore green and brown garments stained with mud and decorated with leaves. Their faces had been painted.

  All the better to hide among the sprites and lure them to captivity. Filled with rage, Conall charged them.

  His claws tore into the ground before he pushed off the earth and lunged, elongating his furry body into a powerful pounce. He took one by surprise, but the man’s companion ripped a vial from his vest and hurled it at the ground.

  Snarling a warning to his kin, he spring-boarded off the second man and bounded away. At the same time, three other wolves ran a circle, nose to tail, widening out as they summoned wind magic to create a wind tunnel. The mysterious fumes rose skyward and dispersed.

  The shorter of the two poachers danced beyond reach and drew a knife, while the taller, broad-shouldered one drew an enormous saber from his belt. As a dire wolf, Conall stood eye to eye with most men, but the agile Liangese people knew how to outmaneuver shifters with spry acrobatics.

  Can’t let them hit me. No telling what’s on those blasted things.

  It could be liquid death itself, a toxin able to kill him with a single nick. With that sobering thought in mind, Conall watched his footing and remained light on all four paws. Then he feinted to provide one of his pack mates a precious opening. The long, curved knife came within an inch of slicing Conall’s throat, but the result was worth it.

  Bhaltair, one of their massive bruisers, darted across and tore the dagger-wielding poacher’s thigh with his teeth. Pain broke his adversary’s concentration and gave Conall the upper hand, a chance to disarm him and close his teeth over the wrist of the man’s dominant hand. He mangled it without lingering, darting away to initiate a lethal game of tag. When Conall rejoined the circle, Raghnall dashed in and tore out the tendon above the second poacher’s heel, hobbling him. The wolf narrowly missed a swing from the blade, blown off course by the force emitted from Conall’s howl.

  Back and forth the wolves took turns, wearing down their enemy without allowing them the chance to fight back. They staggered in the wind as blood dripped from their fingers and shattered vials littered the rocks at their feet.

  One poacher fell to his knees and clutched the grisly remains of his hand to his chest, powerless and stripped of his only defense.

  A thunderous crack split the air. Behind them, another man stood in the trees with a smoking weapon in his hand. Raghnall stumbled forward as a bloom of crimson spread across his majestic snowy pelt.

  There had been more poachers after all, armed with a weapon Conall had never seen. And then it was the only thing he saw, the only thing that mattered, his perception of it colored by the scarlet haze of his fury. His paws barely touched the ground, and time around him slowed. Raghnall had already collapsed, his breathing labored and difficult as blood seeped beneath him. The poacher had shoved another charge of gunpowder into the mouth of his tool, his movements mechanical and well-practiced, unflinching in the face of potential death.

  Conall raced toward him. Gunpowder and smoke filled the air again, and the ball punched him in the shoulder, knocking him off course for less than a second. His pulse thumped. Before the next beat of his heart, Conall landed upon his enemy and took the man’s face in his jaws. Fingers pushed with futility against the alpha’s thick neck. Then a final scream echoed between his teeth before he clamped down.

  Two other wolves appeared at his side the moment he stumbled off the body. Pain radiated up and down his shoulder, and blood dripped to the forest floor.

  “He got you with his boomstick,” Bhaltair said. “Raghnall, too.”

  A short distance away, Lachlan knelt beside the motionless mound
of ivory fur that had once been his brother. Conall swore under his breath.

  “Dig it out with your hunting knife,” he said to Bhaltair.

  Another wolf emerged from the forest. “What was that thing? You were right about them planning to ambush you, but this one snuck by us. We killed one of them not so far from here returning this way with a much longer weapon.”

  “I think it’s a pistol,” Conall growled. “I’ve heard of them before, but never saw one with my own eyes until now.”

  “It killed Raghnall,” Lachlan groaned into one hand. “Killed my brother with one blow. Where’s the fairness in that? Where’s the honor?”

  Conall grimaced as Bhaltair wedged the tip of his blade beneath the hard iron ball and pried it loose, sending sparks of agony flying down every nerve ending from Conall’s neck to the tips of his fingers. “There is no fairness, lad. None at all. The bleedin’ cowards come into our land, taking what they want and using their alchemical trickery. But we’ll stop them.”

  “Damned right we will,” Lachlan growled.

  They doused the campfire with water from the stream and freed the trapped sprites. The little ones trembled with gratitude, but none of them had crossed paths with Tinker Bell or seen her.

  After they buried their packmate beside the tranquil stream, the pack continued west along the riverbank. By evening, they found evidence of another group in the area, though two threw themselves at the mercy of the wolves and surrendered after one of their cohorts fell.

  “What do we do with them?” Bhaltair asked, rubbing his chin. They hadn’t prepared for prisoners.

  “I say we kill them,” Lachlan muttered.

  Conall shook his head. “It isn’t for us to decide now. They may not deserve our kindness, but we should ask our king and queen what they want.”

  * * *

  Less than a day had passed since the last update from the search party, but Anastasia remained on pins and needles. She hated staying behind while they headed into dangerous territory.

  Alistair and Teagan had already encountered a foe armed with dragon’s bane, proving the treacherous worms had prepared for an encounter with him. Fortunately, they hadn’t expected two dragons, and together the pair had overcome the poison-wielding bandit.

  Ever since, she and Sorcha had done their best to keep Elspeth ignorant of their fears while entertaining the younger children. Just as they set the lads down for the evening, a high-pitched whistle, like the harmonic note of a crystal glass, came from the room where she kept her scrying ball. Anastasia rushed into the library with Sorcha on her heels and slipped into the chair. Conall’s solemn features gazed at her from the cloudy sphere.

  “What’s wrong?” Sorcha blurted out. “What happened?”

  “We’ve set several sprites free.” Despite the good news, pain tightened the alpha’s eyes.

  There had to be more to the story. “You lost someone,” Ana whispered.

  Conall nodded. “Aye. Raghnall is gone. One got the drop on us with a pistol. Shot me, too.”

  Sorcha sucked in her breath and reeled. Without wasting a second, Ana abandoned the seat and put her friend on it instead. “Are you all right? How bad was it?”

  “Not serious,” he assured his wife. “I swear to you, I’ve been careful since. I’m already healing from it.”

  “Would you tell me the truth if you were seriously hurt?” Sorcha demanded.

  “I would. The injury is minor and not why I’ve summoned you both.” He glanced away from the mirror toward another wolf nearby before his blue eyes darted back to them. “We encountered more since then, but two surrendered. What do you want us to do with them?”

  “Do with them?” Ana echoed.

  “Are we to kill them or keep them prisoner? Lachlan is angry and hurting from his brother’s death. He wants them dead, but they’ve surrendered, and it feels like nothing less than murder to me.”

  “How bad is it there? Do you suspect there are more?”

  “Aye. We’ve encountered them in groups of four and three today. There are bound to be more. They’re bold, and they’ll only grow worse if we don’t take back the south from them.”

  Anastasia kneaded her brows with two fingers. “You’re right. We’ve spent so long clearing away all signs of the Scourge and rebuilding, we hadn’t realized we lost the south to Liang.”

  “Tell us what you want us to do, and we’ll do it,” the wolf said.

  “If they surrender, take them captive. They’ll be our prisoners and a bargaining chip until we’ve gained what we want from their emperor.”

  “And the others?”

  “Kill them.”

  “Aye. Will do. We’ve already liberated a dozen terrified sprites.”

  Contacting her husband to share the news introduced Ana to a hint of the old Alistair—the dragon who had razed villages on the border of Cairn Ocland and Dalborough to avenge his fallen parents. Before she could talk reason into him, he flew into a fitful rage and declared he was heading to Liang. Teagan hastily promised she would convince him to return home, and then the communication ended.

  Blast.

  Sorcha wiped one of her cheeks. “I can’t believe Raghnall is gone.”

  “This has gone on too long. If their emperor won’t answer our letters, he certainly won’t see Alistair in person.”

  It would come down to a fight, no doubt, and while Alistair had grown powerful over the years, she doubted he could stand against the force of the Imperial Army. What if he didn’t see reason? What if Teagan couldn’t talk him down?

  “This is hopeless. I… fighting a war in our own homeland against the Scourge was one thing, but these aren’t mindless undead and ghouls. Save for building a wall, how do we keep them out?”

  Anastasia clenched her jaw. “Perhaps we should build a wall. A great, enchanted wall of thorns and brambles too tight for any human to penetrate. It would take me days, but I could do it. I’ve got Eos’s blood in my veins, after all. The greater problem is that it doesn’t return our lost ones already taken.”

  “No, it doesn’t. Sweet stars, I feel sick. Why can’t everyone just leave us be? First Dalborough with their hate of our gods, and now these… Is there no one who will side with us and help?”

  “My father will, but his hands are tied as he’s north of us, but there’s…” Anastasia jerked her gaze toward the map on the wall. South of Liang, the vast desert nation of Samahara stretched across the parchment as a glorious beige and gold stain. “I know who we can ask.”

  “Who?”

  “I’ve recently been in contact with another sorcerer. The Grand Enchanter of Ankirith. We’ve exchanged spell components by bird for a year now.” Anastasia bent down and circled her palm above the crystal ball. Within moments, the handsome visage of Joaidane appeared.

  “Hello, Joaidane.”

  “Greetings, Anastasia. To what do I owe this pleasure?”

  “I… I need your help.”

  The welcoming smile faded from his face. “Something dire has happened? What may I do to aid you?”

  “A good friend of ours went missing. While searching for her, we’ve discovered Liang has trespassed across our southern borders and abducted dozens of our citizens. Perhaps even hundreds right under our nose.”

  “I see. Would you like my assistance in seeking this friend, as well?”

  “No. We’ve already located her. Tinker Bell is—”

  “Tinker Bell, you say? I’ve met her,” Joaidane cut in. “A little woman as large as my thumb with golden hair and green eyes. She traveled with a good friend of mine.”

  “You’re friends with Captain James Hook?”

  “Proudly so.”

  Anastasia stole a look at Sorcha. The huntress fixed her with a smug smile and mouthed, “I told you so.”

  Indeed, she had. Blinded by her father’s faith in Eisland’s monarchy, she’d thought sweet and innocent Tinker Bell had been deceived by a suave crook. Tink hadn’t been the one fooled, however;
her father was the one charmed by an evil man.

  “He’s a good man, then?” Anastasia asked, unable to hide the doubt in her voice.

  “My friend, if he were not a good man, I would have struck him down with lightning and sunk his ship to the bottom of the Viridian Sea. He isn’t merely a good man, he is the best of them. Do you not realize what Eisland has done?”

  “We’ve heard a little bit from Tinker Bell,” Anastasia replied. “And I’ve spoken with my father about the claims. He says the idea of Eisland dabbling in the slave trade is preposterous at best, a story made up by a deserter who stole the kingdom’s best ship. Tell me, Joaidane, what do you know?”

  “I’ve seen the slaves,” the sorcerer said, eyes glinting with inner fire. “Broken and dispirited, some damaged and near death. I have seen mothers with bruises from protecting their children and little ones who were ripped from their families. This is the reality of the Ridaeron Dynasty. They sell their people to Eisland to work the vineyards under the guise of indentured servitude.”

  Aghast, Ana raised a hand to her mouth. Blinking didn’t soothe the burning at the corners of her eyes. “Children?”

  “Yes, even children. And he has saved them all, allowing them the chance at a new life. A better one. Many refugees from their slave ships come and seek a new life here in Samahara, and we grant it to them. Had I known Belle was a friend of yours, I would have offered to try and send her home myself, but you may rest assured that once he has given his word, James Hook is good for it. He will see her to Cairn Ocland once he is able.”

  “We’ve been worried about her.”

  “For good reason, as I’ve understood it. He rescued her from the Golden Goose, a Ridaeron treasure galleon that often sails between its homeport, Liang, and Eisland in the transport of goods both legal and less so. As I understand it, James found her caged in a box destined for a Ridaeron nobleman’s house.”

  “Poor Tink.”