Never, Never (20 page)

“Your reputation precedes you.”

“Does it?”

He gently kicked a chair out and she sat in it, crossing one leg boldly and slowly over the other.

She leaned over the table. “It does. I've heard your name whispered in many dark corners on the island.”

“I've not had the pleasure of hearing yours,” he said over the mug.

“Malena.”

He took her hand and brought his lips to it. She did not blush.

“What brings you to my table, Malena?”

“I wondered if you'd buy a drink for me.”

Hook considered for a moment, and she leaned over closer to him. Her scent was sweet, and she was boldly perfumed. She smelled nothing like Tiger Lily. And perhaps that was the precise reason that he gave in to her.

She was pleasant enough in conversation and certainly a pleasure to look at, and, to his surprise, he preferred her company to the dark solitude he'd been craving.

“Having a drink with the famous Captain Hook.” She laughed a girlish, sultry little laugh. “None of my friends will believe it.”

“And none of my crew will believe that I've had the pleasure of the company of someone as lovely as you.” He grinned at her and stole a glance over her shoulder, at Jukes and Flintwise, who were cackling and looking in their direction. His grin deepened and turned a bit wicked.

She smiled at him coyly, and then yawned. “I'm quite tired, Captain.” She ran her dark red fingernail along the rim of her glass in slow circles.

“I hate to see you go.”

He didn't feel much of what he was saying, as though someone had scripted the lines for him. But, he did feel a very noticeable jolt of heat when she whispered, “There are some awful rogues about. I wonder if you'd walk me to my room.”

He set down his glass and let her take his hand and lead him upstairs. When they reached the door to her room, she leaned back against it.

“This is you?”

“Yes.” Her bold gaze did not leave his for a moment when she asked, “Would you like to come in?”

Hook was uneasy, and he shifted his weight from one foot to the other.

“I'm no harlot,” she said. “I live above the tavern.”

“Is that so?”

“I swear it.” She leaned harder against the door and opened it, and Hook was drawn inside with her. Her room smelled like her perfume—strong, sweet, and sensual. She closed the door again and stood there, waiting for him in the candlelight. His pulse began to race, and he reached out and touched her collarbone. He couldn't decide if the heat in his torso, in his face, his throat, was from desire or guilt.

Probably it was an extremely potent mix of both.

His fingertips burned where they met her skin, and he breathed in shakily. She took a step closer to him and put her hand on his torso, then let it fall downward, until it rested low on him, much too low. Hook ground his teeth against each other, and she grinned up at him. Tiger Lily's face flashed across hers, and he blinked and stumbled backward. None of this was right.

“I can't do this,” he managed, voice rough and conflicted.

“Don't worry about her.”

He frowned and looked at her again. “Who?”

“The girl. Whoever's got you looking so guilty.”

He looked off into the corner of the room. Tiger Lily's dark, smooth skin, her smoke-and-flowers scent, her laughing voice. Those things mattered. They
mattered
.

But Malena pulled him back to this place, this room, with her fingertips and silky voice, when she said, “She's not here with you. I am. Think about me.”

Malena took off her overcoat, exposing her shoulders and the swell of her breasts. Hook clenched his jaw, torn. She was not, and would never be, Tiger Lily. But she was beautiful, and she was soft, and she was standing there, inviting him into her bed. He drew in a ragged breath, and despite Tiger Lily's face in the back of his mind, he reached out his hook and flicked it across the top button of her shirt, sending it falling open. Then he jerked the hook back, terrified of touching her skin with the thing after the disaster with Tiger Lily.

His pupils darkened as her chest rose and fell, and his heart pounded through his ribcage, and she wet her lips. One look at her body was enough, and Hook gave over to her. She tore off every piece of his clothing and he let her, trying to ignore the fact that her skin was too pale, and her smell was too sweet, her voice too smooth. When she kissed him, he growled low and kissed her back with fervor. If he could drown in the taste of her, he could black out the memory of Tiger Lily's lips.

She was eager and sensual and clawed at his back and shoulders as he buried his face in her neck and used her as an escape. It was bare, meaningless feeling. And, hollow though it was, it felt good. But no matter what he did, no matter how hard he tried to focus on the feeling and the body of the woman beneath him, he could not push Tiger Lily's face from his mind. When it was over, and she was sleeping, naked, against him, he found that he was emptier than he'd been before. And Tiger Lily haunted his thoughts.

P
AN WAS ABSENT FROM THE MAINLAND FOR QUITE
some time, and as Hook was something of a celebrity on Keelhaul, and with no Peter or Tiger Lily to motivate him to leave, the
Spanish Main
stayed docked there for the length of the captain's sabbatical. The pirates busied themselves with rum and looting and the occasional woman. Hook did not behave entirely differently.

He found that being known to every citizen of Keelhaul did not work against him in any capacity. Every tavern he entered had a free drink waiting and a host of women more than willing to throw themselves at him. At first, he found it difficult to ignore the guilt, unable to force Tiger Lily from his mind. But as this grown-up paradise in the midst of Neverland grew colder, so did he. Consequently, his bed grew decidedly warmer.

One morning, after a heavy snow had fallen the night before, Hook woke and looked out the window. There was a woman lying next to him, one whose name he could not recall, and he did not care to. The sunlight streaming happily in and warming his pillow had him somewhat preoccupied.

The woman stirred and turned over, eyes heavy, hair mussed. Hook did not turn; he simply stared out the window.

“Captain?” she asked, voice still having that dreamy, scratchy quality it has when one wakes.

“Hm,” he replied.

The woman sat up, not regarding the soft sheet when it fell from her chest. She ran her fingers up and down Hook's bare back. He did not react.

“Distracted?”

“It's warmer today,” he said, uneasy energy building in his limbs and gut.

She frowned. “Seems that way.”

Hook stood and wrapped a blanket around his waist, then walked over to the window, leaning halfway out of it. The sun warmed his torso. The snow that had buried this place the night before was reduced to a couple small piles of slush, puddles melting and running in brown rivulets down the streets.

He ran his tongue along his lips and squinted up at the sky. That familiar flavor back on his tongue. The sky that impossible blue.

“He's back,” he snarled, throwing the blanket to the ground and whirling away from the window.

“Peter Pan?”

Hook pulled on his clothes and boots and strode out the door purposefully, without giving so much as an acknowledgement to the woman. Starkey and several members of his crew were already gathered outside.

“Captain—”

“I'm well aware, Starkey. Time to cast off.”

Starkey nodded.

“Gather the rest of the crew. Meet me at the
Main
. And hurry.” If the island faded into nothing as quickly as it had appeared, they didn't have long.

“Of course, sir.”

Hook walked powerfully toward his ship, compelled to return, knowing that if he stayed on Keelhaul a second
longer, he was risking disappearing with the island, and he wouldn't have the opportunity to return to Neverland until Peter left again. He boarded and stood, and ran a hand through his tangled hair. It was longer than it had been when they'd first come here. And there were whiskers on his face, lining his jaw and popping up over his upper lip. They weren't more than a shadow, but they pointed to the time he'd aged since he'd been here.

He perked up when he heard the familiar sound of a clock in the vicinity. The crocodile. The blasted crocodile. What was it doing all the way out on Keelhaul?

Following you
, whispered a voice. He backed up instinctively, shrinking into the middle of the deck toward his quarters, blood cold in his veins, and reached for his sword, starting to shake. “Pick up your feet, dogs!” he cried, muscles seizing up. “Or I'll skewer the lot of you.”

This seemed to quicken the pace, and Hook smiled coldly, masking the panic that frayed his nerves.
Tick-tock. Tick-tock. Tick-tock
. The men boarded one by one, and Hook backed away from the wheel.

“To the mainland!” he cried, voice uneven.

The pirates responded with a collective shout. And they set to work. Hook stared back at his own little piece of Neverland, quivering from his head to his feet when he caught a glimpse of the massive reptile splashing into the sea and smiling coldly at him.

Hook stumbled back into his cabin, slamming the door shut and scrambling over to his bed. He crawled in and rolled over to his side, pulling the covers up over his shoulders. Focused on the warmth. Pretended, for just a moment, that he was six years old again and his father was going to come in at any moment and dispel his nightmares of nasty creatures in the shadows.

He shut his eyes until the cold had mostly gone away, and the thought that the massive beast was lurking just
feet beneath him had mostly retreated into the inaccessible recesses of his mind. Then he sat up, one corner of the comforter still hanging from his shoulder, running his hand over his face.

As he gazed around his empty quarters, he was immediately regretful that he hadn't convinced a woman, any woman, to come back with him. Without a body next to him, he was reminded why he'd avoided this place for the last several Neverdays. This cabin was nothing but painful. He clutched the blanket, knuckles whitening and disappearing into the folds. Here was where he had kissed Tiger Lily. And where he'd fouled it all up when he'd gored her.

The scene played out in front of him, hazy and just as painful as when it happened. About this time was when he would usually go in search of a distraction. But here, on the sea, there was none to be had. He slammed his hook down onto the frame of the bed. She was gone, and she would continue to be gone, and that was all there was.

So he was left with nothing but a loneliness that gnawed through his bones.

But crashing through the silence came a loud thumping on the deck, and then a thundering, as if every pirate aboard had suddenly taken up running and had chosen to train around him, in all directions. Hook shook his head, snapping out of his sorrow, and stood quickly, brushing his fingers over his coat.

When he left his cabin, he was met with Starkey in his face, urgent and panicking. He reached out without a word and took the spyglass from Starkey's hand, then brought it to his eye.

Filling the circle was a flag, flapping and waving in the air. The emblems sent a shot of fear straight into Hook's heart. He knew them as well as any good English boy obsessed with pirates. The only history lesson he'd
ever paid attention to. There was a skeleton brandishing a spear in one hand, directing the tip toward a blood-red heart. And in the other hand, he held a goblet. According to legend, the undead fellow on the flag was toasting the devil.

He brought the spyglass down from his eyes and looked at Starkey. Both of them said in the same breath, “Blackbeard.”

He remembered drawing pictures of the sail, tacking it up in his room. Sometimes, he'd even pretended that that was where his father went, all those days on the sea, even if it didn't exactly fit within the time frame. It wasn't possible, really, that it was Blackbeard in this vessel, either. The fellow had died nearly two centuries ago. But, in Neverland, stranger things had happened.

“Some fool child's conjuration, no doubt,” Hook grumbled under his breath.

Starkey quirked a brow. “Come again, Captain?”

“Never mind, Starkey. Ready the cannons.”

As he said this, a blast rang out, and the ship jolted and trembled. Bits of wood splintered off the ship's side and flew into the air. Hook jumped, slack-jawed for the moment, and tried to convince himself that it was one of his men, an unusually prepared crew member already firing upon the enemy ship. But he could not lie even to himself. They'd wounded the
Spanish Main
. Bested him. This brought out the fear in him as well as the malice. For Hook, the two generally went hand in hand.

He whirled around and glared, fiery-eyed, at his crew. “Fire on them, you fools! Don't just stand there, or I'll kill you myself,” he cried.

The men hopped to organized action in the presence of their captain. Several of them were at the cannons, and several more were grabbing the guns. Hook and another
few went for the swords. He would always prefer the sword, despite its lack of power. He enjoyed its elegance.

The cannons fired again and again, from both sides, but he did not flinch, did not even slow down. He simply pressed forward, looking ever more the devil, wondering if perhaps the skeleton on the flag was toasting him.

The ships careened toward each other, and the men braced themselves as they crashed. Jukes winced as a shudder rippled through the
Spanish Main
, and the ships scraped against one another. Hook ground his teeth, hoping the damage to the
Main
wasn't too great.

Though he had easy access to the other ship and her captain now, Hook hung back, cool and unaffected—and not just on the outside. Let the braggart come to him, for Hook was made of more than a menacing flag and a bloated reputation. He was Captain Hook.

It was not long before Blackbeard and his band of reprobates boarded the
Spanish Main
. They were aggressive and loud, roaring as they jumped onto the ship. Large, with tattoos on several faces. One fellow even had a mouth full of gold and thick piercings in his nose and eyebrows. Another was short and fat and dirty, and the one beside him had to have been nine feet tall.

Hook, however, was focused on an altogether different quarry. He took one look at Blackbeard and tugged his jacket sleeve over his hook, hiding the iron. Then, as the opposing captain noticed him, he raised an eyebrow, turned on his heel and walked easily over to the starboard deck.

Blackbeard bellowed. Hook clenched his jaw and smiled wickedly, shrinking his hook farther into his sleeve. The beast of a man thundered toward him, but Hook remained with his back facing the ruffian, and he twirled his sword round and round. At the last minute,
when Blackbeard's breath was nearly upon his neck, he turned, blocking the man's cutlass with his sword.

They were total opposites, the captains. Where Blackbeard was hulking and terrible, Hook was thin and elegant. Where the brute had a thick and scraggly but extravagant beard, Hook had a shadowy spray of whiskers that spoke of easy nonchalance. Though Blackbeard's cutlass was monstrous and heavy, Hook's was light, almost lovely.

Hook noticed the difference in the blades, and with Blackbeard's weight on him, shaving bits of metal off his sword, Hook grinned wryly.

“What?” Blackbeard growled.

“Oh, nothing. It's just that your reputation suggested something entirely different than what you are.”

The men separated and Blackbeard came at him. Hook easily parried the slow and hurtling blows.

“How so?”

“Well,” said Hook, blocking and blocking again, and thrusting for good measure, “you're large, that's for certain.”

“I've cracked skulls with one hand behind my back,” the other man grunted, movements becoming labored.

Hook struck then, powerfully, a loud clang in the midst of the roar of battle around them. He leaned against the blade, and his face was no more than a few centimeters from his enemy's. “That, I believe. But you don't frighten me in the slightest. You're strong, you've got a sword the size of Neverland itself, but you'll never land a blow. There's as much brain in you as there is in that skeleton on your flag.”

Blackbeard fairly roared at that and slowed even more. Hook, however, was only gaining momentum. “Tired?” he taunted.

The other man's nostrils flared. “Never.”

Hook smiled and came at the man, feet nearly dancing with the swordplay.

“A man as small as you would dare challenge me?” the pirate rumbled. “I'll split you in two in a blow.”

“I'd pay to see that. And a man as stupid as you would challenge me? Have you never heard my name?”

Hook mustered all the power in him and drew his sword across his chest. He released it into the other pirate's blade with impossible force, feral scowl practically radiating from him, and his hair blew around with the blade, making his face even more menacing, if that were possible. His hook crept out from beneath his sleeve, gleaming in the sunlight. The ruffian stepped back suddenly, eyes bulging. Hook smiled, kicking the man's sword away with his boot. Then, he held up the hook and stared down at the man.

“I didn't—You're, you're—”

“Captain Hook? Aye. Perhaps you've heard of me.”

He pulled his hook back, vicious light in his eyes, and began the slash intended for the ill-fated pirate's chest. But he was stopped mid-swing by a small voice.

“Wait! He's not the captain! I am.”

Hook turned to find a small boy staring back at him, and he raised an eyebrow, an uncomfortable sort of recognition in the depths of his heart. The little boy had freckles sprinkled across his face, cropped medium-dark hair, a mischievous look in his eye. He couldn't have been more than eight years old, and he looked almost comical in a captain's garb, brandishing a much-too-large-for-his-body cutlass. He pointed the cutlass at Hook, tip bobbing this way and that, as his skinny arms tried to hold it up.