Other Islands: Book Three of the Hook & Jill Saga

by Andrea Jones

  Too well, Hook remembered Jill’s recklessness in the wake of her triumph with the tigress. As the turbulence of the falls pushed and pulled at him, threatening his balance, he stepped with care, feeling the way with his feet through the pebbly bed at the bottom. Hoping to avoid another twist of an ankle, Hook was grateful for the security of Cecco’s presence, and for the hand he’d missed when tending Jill’s madness before. This time, there was no need for the cruelty of binding her with a belt. Cecco’s sash was gentler. Yet the woodlands encroached on the farther shore of this pond, and, even with Cecco’s hands and sash to hold her, Hook dreaded lest Jill, the most adroit of deceivers, find a way to slip from her men’s protection and disappear in the tangle of the trees. The memory of the river rushing his beloved away kept Hook’s teeth on edge. If she escaped to the wilderness, the huntress was sure to be hunted herself, by man, boy, or beast. Amid the many quirks of this Island, even the girl who’d grown up here might be swallowed up and lost to him. The commodore’s pirates could not row to the rescue this time. Hook and Jill and Cecco must prevail against Jill’s own nature, and they must overcome her impulses on their own.

  His own impulses must remain submerged as well. As before, in this, her latest triumph, Jill transformed into the embodiment of victory. The feline gleam in her eye provoked her lover’s every sensibility. As she’d torn her antagonist, Hook had felt the blending of their souls. The weapon in her hand became, in his eyes and in his intuition, the claw that her storytelling caused him to bear. No wonder she lusted for it now, and no wonder he returned her lust. Jill, in her victory, was the pure incarnation of power. Body and soul, Hook was hers.

  So also was Cecco. He glimpsed the fascination on Hook’s face, and knew it mirrored his own. He had listened as Hook warned him what to expect from Jill’s blood-rage. Today, that prediction played out. As Hook foretold, Jill’s beauty burgeoned as the spirit of her totem possessed her. Her victim’s blood striped her face, her body moved with the litheness of the predator. The wild light in her eyes, the radiance that shifted her blue eyes to green, reflected the sensuality of her most intimate passions. Cecco was captivated, and inflamed. Had the Silent Hunter made love to this tigress, on the night he coerced Jill to couple with him? Cecco, too, burned inside as he envisioned her copper brave intertwined with her. He understood Jill’s madness; he likened it to the monster that ruled his jealousy, the brute that, like hers, turned his own gaze to green.

  But this time, Cecco controlled that monster. Jill needed her husband. Overwhelmed by a yen to kill again, she was devoid of desire to protect even herself. All she required was a weapon, and a victim’s flesh to tear with it. Cecco took care that she should find nothing sharper than her nails, but, always, she was aware of Hook’s claw. Jill had already searched Cecco’s body for a blade. Now, with certain instinct, she glided through the water, closing in on her lover. Cecco saw her clutch at the bands of Hook’s harness and press her feverish flesh up against him. The commodore held her close, but he had his own kind of brute to control. He hoisted his hook out of reach.

  They had all three agreed that Hook must not divest himself of his barb. It would be another form of madness to defend her without his hook in this situation, with their weapons hidden, all of them naked or nearly so, and one who required constant watch. With Cecco here this time to restrain her, Hook kept one flesh and blood hand for Jill, and an iron one to guard her. Both men knew that, even now, some enemy might be nearing, whether man, Pan, or animal.

  But the animal drawing closest was Jill, and her bloodlust was reaching its peak. She gripped the straps at Hook’s chest like ropes in the rigging, climbing, reaching, for his claw. The tether strained as she dragged Cecco with her. Hook held her in the crook of his elbow, and stretched his empty arm through the water, for balance. As the current surged around them, Hook urged her under the waterfall, half swimming, half tumbling. The spray misted in their mouths. With relief, Hook felt Cecco’s grip, firm and supportive, holding his elbows, keeping his head above water. Jill thrashed between them, grunting and spitting, her hair wild, her cheeks flushed beneath the blood there. And still, she longed to draw more.

  Once he’d steadied Hook, Cecco performed the next task. He gripped Jill’s hair close to her skull, to secure her, and, with the tail of her shirt, he wiped the blood from her face. He tried to be tender, but gentleness proved impossible. She shied back from his hands, twisting to the side. Trapped between Hook’s ribs and Cecco’s grip, she gritted her teeth and kicked at Cecco’s ankles. The water slowed her blows, and he endured them, but when her knee struck out at his groin, he sidled back to stand behind her.

  Working together, the two men disentangled her fingers from Hook’s brace. Cecco wrapped Jill in his arms and restrained her, bracing her back with his chest. With his hands full of Jill, he was unable to sketch his banishing gesture, so he simply murmured, “Bellezza, lovely one. Be purged of this bloodlust.” He and Hook raised her up, into the falling water; then, as Hook had done that day in the river, Cecco bent his knees to submerge her. Once, twice, three times, the men immersed their woman in the font of the pond. Each time her face surfaced, she sputtered, and Hook pushed the hair from her forehead. Each time, she fluttered her lashes to blink them open, and the eyes of the tigress fixed upon his. The tint of emerald endured.

  The rite was half done; Jill’s body was cleansed. Her shirt appeared to have soaked up the residue. It clung to her, dingy and thin. Yet her divine spark of savagery lingered. Where once her lips matched a ruby, her mouth now looked hungry for blood. And still she struggled— grasping at nothing, grasping at everything— reaching out with the arms Cecco pinned above her elbows. She tore at the tails of her shirt first, she raked Cecco’s thighs and, finally, as her wrists crossed in front, she caught his bracelets. She curled her fingers into them, and held fast. The bangles bit the flesh of Cecco’s arms, and he was glad for it. The grip seemed to satisfy Jill, and her thrashing subsided.

  Hook stood before her, his barb submerged and lost to her vision. “Jill, my love. I remind you that you are a woman.” With Cecco holding firm behind her, Hook gripped her chin, bending down to lay a kiss upon her. As the water foamed all around them, he touched her lips lightly with his. He was wary of her reaction, but, calmer now, she accepted his embrace. The rush of the falls deafened the three of them; they each grew numb from the noise. Whether because of the din, or the chill of the spray, or because of Hook’s human touch, Jill’s demon began to loosen her claws.

  Hook pressed her lips more heartily, and she responded to his kiss. The tension of his fingers at her chin relaxed. Cecco too, eased his stance. Still intent upon holding Jill steady, he allowed her own legs to sustain her. Neither of her keepers released her, but both felt fresh hope. As she leaned toward Hook, opening her lips to him, she wrapped one ankle around Cecco’s leg. Her toes caressed him, including him in this embrace.

  The three of them stood thus, lost to time as Jill indulged in her men’s attention. Cecco’s hold became a hug. Hook’s lips were cool; hers still felt feverish. She trifled with Cecco’s bangles…and without warning she yanked her head back. Cecco evaded the blow, but Jill had unsettled his balance. She hooked his knee with her foot and pulled, and he pitched backward into the water with her body falling on top. Her hair floated above him, spreading like tentacles. She clung to his bracelets, trapping his arms, and she didn’t let go. As he worked to keep both of their bodies from sinking, this instant became an eternity.

  Jill seized a breath before she submerged, but Cecco was caught unawares. Having inhaled in surprise, he’d gotten water in his throat. The momentum of their fall pressed them down to the bed of the pond. Choking, he convulsed, and he had to let go of Jill’s arms. Water stung his nose and burned in his lungs, but she refused to free her hold on his bracelets. As he tried to shake her off, the metal pinched the skin of his arms again, and only as black spots blotted his vision did he feel her grip slacken.

  While th
e waters churned before Hook, he couldn’t see through the disturbance. He plunged below to look for them. In the muted world underwater, he saw Jill searching for footing and slipping on the bottom, her arms stroking to ascend to the air. Tethered to Cecco by the sash, though, she was trapped as if by an anchor. Cecco was flailing, stirring up clouds of sand with his heels. Bubbles streamed from his mouth. Clearly, he was panicked to get to the surface, and neither one of them would breathe until he reached it.

  Hook shot up to catch a breath, then plunged under water again. He seized Jill by the elbow and hauled her up until the tie between the two stretched taut. Jill didn’t fight Hook as he pulled her, but when she reached the end of her tether, she clutched at his arm and scrabbled toward the surface. Inhibited by her grip, Hook grappled with the sash, then slashed at it with his claw. He repeated the motion, slicing at the fabric until the sodden weave parted, and, finally, it broke.

  Jill soared to the surface, and Hook followed her. He couldn’t stop to watch her now. He had time only to exhale and inhale, then he dove down to fetch Cecco. Free of the tether, the captain rolled to his knees. His head hung down and he pushed at the bottom as he tried to raise himself up. With a single hand to save him, Hook grasped the leather wrap on his hair. Slowly, with Hook’s help, Cecco stumbled to his feet, and his heavy body rose. As soon as his face broke the surface, he suffered a paroxysm of coughing. His eyes stung and his lungs heaved, but once Cecco stood, Hook abandoned the man to seek Jill.

  Hook shoved the trickling hair from his eyes. Jill’s half of the maroon sash undulated on the pond, but Jill herself was gone. From the corner of his eye, Hook glimpsed a flash of white. Llike a vengeful siren, Jill rushed up from the water to seize his wrist and take command of the hook.

  And this time, Hook allowed it.

  Once she clutched the claw, he made use of her grip. Steadily, he pulled her up against his chest. With his good arm, he encircled her. His right arm he held at the level of his face, while she fingered the carving on the base of the hook. Her eyes were wild again.

  Cecco, red in the face, finally ceased coughing. He took in the scene; he saw what had to be done. Snatching up the shred of his sash, he approached Hook and Jill, slowly, trying to calm the wheeze of his breathing. Jill’s back was to him. She didn’t spy him closing in, and soon the two men surrounded her. Carefully, Cecco draped the sash over the hook, and wound it round. As he disguised the claw, it seemed to lose fascination for Jill. Her brows drew together as if she was puzzled, then, miraculously, she let it go. She set her hands on Hook’s chest, melting into his hold.

  Neither man trusted her surrender. Just as they had done in Hook’s quarters, they pressed her between them. Jill was no stranger to cages, but, this time, her imprisonment seemed to free her. She sensed their protection; she warmed to their affection. Her panting steadied, and the tension of her muscles eased. She rolled her head back to rest on Cecco’s shoulder.

  Hook bent close, speaking to her over the sound of the falls. His voice swam in her ears.

  “Your men defend you, Jill, just as we pledged.”

  “Your two men protect you.” Cecco’s chin rested on her temple. “One at your back, Jill, and one of us, always, before you.”

  And Jill steeped in her protectors’ presence, tranquil in the whirling world around her, their figures firm as they supported her, fore and aft. Cecco caressed her shoulders. Hook’s hair set a dew of droplets on her cheek. Their skins smelled damp, but familiar. Each man’s warmth soaked into her, front and back, and— standing nestled between them, sheltered, cherished, her tiger’s eyes closing and her woman’s heart beating— deep down in her center, Jill felt the fulfillment of a wish.

  Each member of this pride restrained a beast; none were tamed, but all survived. And all of them thrived— in unity.

  CHAPTER 36

  Bigger Games

  As happened one hour before, while Jill was beguiling her victim, a series of musical notes hit the air. Although the music tried to be noticed, this time it wasn’t perceived. The spatter of the falls overpowered the sound. Jewel flitted above the bathers, doing her best to be heard. With her peacock-blue wings aglow, she chimed and she chimed, and, at last, desperate to catch Hook’s attention, she seized a hank of his hair, preparing to deal a sharp yank.

  While Jewel gathered her strength, a new sound rang out. This one was more hearty than hers, and it rose above the rush of the waters, to echo round the lake. Hook turned toward it, catching sight of Jewel wringing her hands in distress. He gathered that his fairy had tried to warn him. Incensed at the interruption, he glared at the other intruder.

  Pan perched on the rocks above the western bank of the pond, his hands cupping his mouth as he shouted, “Belay, there!” Engaged in a game of Royal Navy, he wore a sword in his belt and the French blue jacket Jill had sent to the hideout. The coat was made to fit Flambard, and it was so large that it gaped at Peter’s wrists and flapped about his body. The three boys of his crew stood in the long grass behind him. Each of them clutched knives in one hand, and balanced cutlasses in the other.

  Peter’s eyes were charged with adventure. Little Chip, crowned with golden hair, posed with his sword in the air and one foot braced on a boulder. Like Peter, he looked eager. Bertie and Bingo appeared pale, and somewhat less enthusiastic.

  Peter cried, “If you think to sail today, Hook, think again. Thy doom lies…at hand!” Peter tried to keep a stern, captainy face, but his own joke tickled him so irresistibly that he laughed. Heartened by his levity, his boys hopped about the grassy slope before the ferns that bordered the forest, brandishing their swords.

  Hook lowered his chin. “I’ll handily thrash you, should you dare come within reach.”

  At the familiar ring of Peter’s voice, Jill’s pleasant reverie broke. Her eyes blinked open, and she swiped the moisture from her face. After some moments, the mother within her awakened and recognized the boys, and once she did she didn’t waste a moment. Whether thinking of kids or of cubs, she took advantage of the distraction. She sank beneath the surface and slipped from her keepers’ sides. Hook spun to plunge his claw in the water, attempting to snag her by the tail of the shirt. His barb was still masked by the sash, and she wriggled away. Cecco swore and leapt forward, splashing, to recapture her.

  Both men moved too late. Her creature cunning prevailed. Like an eel, she swam to the bank; like a mermaid she slithered up upon it. The grimy blouse clung to her figure and her hair fell in ropes down her back. Her eyes burned green again. And now, she felt a swelling in her lungs. The bubble she’d tamped down inside herself, when Lean Wolf lay bleeding at her feet, bobbled free of her control. She threw back her head, opened her throat, and, drawing deep from her diaphragm, Jill piped a bellow to the woodlands. Her holler radiated outward, throaty and visceral. At once her spirit lightened, unfettered from this dreadful force.

  Peter listened as he looked down on Jill from the slope, gaping with admiration. When the reverberations died away he exclaimed, “I hoped we’d hear a story from Red-Handed Jill, but that was almost as good.”

  Jill only sat curled on the bank, smiling a secret smile. It reminded Peter of the tiger’s face that the twins had carved on the totem pole at the Clearing. He opened his mouth to remark on it, but stopped, leaving his jaw hanging open.

  Another bellow rose up behind him. It was a harsh, feral roar, and an answer to Jill’s. All the children’s eyes stretched wide, and, apprehensive, they rotated to look over their shoulders.

  The tigress padded through the foliage, emerging to stand in the grass a few bounds from the boys. She was a young cat, compact but powerful. As her striped sides heaved with her breathing, her eyes shone emerald in the sunlight. Stretching out her great paws before her, she popped her shoulder blades up on her back, and dug her claws in the soil. When she opened her mouth wide to yawn, her pink tongue curled between teeth as long as Peter’s fingers, and thicker. Five members of the present company were reminded o
f the crocodile.

  Jewel zoomed to Peter’s side, frantic, to tug at his jacket. The boys, too, crowded round him, hampering his motion, but Peter himself remained keen. He’d come for the glory of dueling with pirates; a fight with a tiger would do just as well. But, however, “Bertie, Bingo, stand aside. You lubbers aren’t bold enough to battle pirates and lions, both. Chip, which foe do you choose? I’ll challenge the other.”

  By this time, Hook and Cecco had swum to shore and hurdled from the pool. They stood dripping at their stations on either side of Jill. The rag of sash lay huddled at Hook’s feet, and neither man held a weapon, save the claw.

  Jill did not acknowledge the men. She was looking up the slope to the level of the boys, locked in a stare with the tigress. Eyeing Jill, the cat prowled three steps closer to Peter. Jewel’s chiming, inaudible over the waterfall before, became a shrill and sure warning now.

  Chip didn’t need Jewel’s alarm to alert him. He was thinking fast. “Let’s play your game of changing sides with them, Peter. I’ll be the tiger today, and you be the pirate captain…if they agree to switch places, of course, and fight as Lost Boys.”

  “One of my best ideas!” Peter said, happily. He looked down on Hook, and the boy was immediately immersed in his role. His voice deepened in a skilled imitation. “Brimstone and gall! Well, ye scug, dost give thy word to fight as a Lost Boy?”

  Dryly, Hook commented, “It would seem prudent to inquire of the tiger first.” He observed Jill, whose gaze still commanded the animal’s. She seemed to sustain some mystical connection with the beast. Was she holding it at bay, or was she prodding it on? Through the link Hook himself shared with Jill, in his gut he felt the primal pull of the wilderness. As before, he dared not grant it its head.