Unhooked(47)

Suddenly I see Owen, his plump hand holding a short sword and slashing wildly at Pan. I can see the smirking arrogance across Pan’s face as he thrusts his dagger forward, pushing Owen back toward the fray. The boy’s chest heaves great panting breaths, and for a moment he holds his own. Then I see the gleam in Pan’s bright eyes, and I realize that he’s only toying with the boy.

Pan’s knees bend ever so slightly, and I know that in a moment he will be aloft, and Owen will be doomed.

“Owen!” I scream, trying to warn him.

The boy’s eyes look up to find who called his name, but it’s a mistake to take his attention off the fight even for a second. Pan’s already in the air, already over and behind him, and the same moment Owen’s eyes meet mine, Pan drives his dagger deep into the boy’s back.

“No!” I scream as Pan’s blade finds its new sheath. Owen’s eyes go wide, his face contorted in a kind of shocked agony. “No,” I whimper. But my protests are worthless. Owen—the boy who was so easily flustered by a kind word—has already crumpled to the ground, his blood a terrible flower blooming across his back.

Pan glances up at me, his eyes bright with the rage and the delight of battle, and he smiles before he gives me a jaunty salute and plunges into the battle once again.

“No,” I moan, unable to take my eyes from Owen’s still body. Because I know his death was partially my fault. Maybe even entirely my fault.

But his death is only one of many. And I’m helpless to do anything but watch.

Angry tears are burning at my eyes when I hear a scratching from behind me. I turn in time to see a gloved hand grasp the edge of the window, and a moment later a head of night-black hair appears. Then dark eyes meet mine.

“Rowan?” The name comes before I can stop myself, but the moment the roundness of it curves my lips, I realize I’ve never called him that before.

He’s as startled by my use of his name as I am, and that momentary surprise softens his sharp features. Then his grip on the sill of the window slips, and his expression is once more serious. “A little help, lass?”

There is such a look of panic on his face that I scramble over without thinking twice and, grabbing ahold of his arm, I help to pull him into the room. Olivia makes a keening sort of sound and backs away to the safety of the bed.

“What are you doing here?” I say as he pulls himself to his feet.

He rights his jacket by giving it a few sharp tugs to smooth it into place.

“I thought it was fairly clear,” he says, gesturing to the window. “I’m rescuing you.”

“Rescuing me?” I say, incredulous. He looks so earnest, so serious that I almost laugh, but then I stop myself. “You can’t seriously think I’m just going to fly off with you after what you did to Olivia?”

“I don’t bloody well fly,” he grinds out, taking me by the hand and starting to pull me toward the window. “And I haven’t done anything to her.” He glances over at her. “She seems well enough.”

“You attacked her earlier,” I tell him. “You left her for dead at the End.”

“The End?” he says, his expression twisting in confusion. “I’ve done nothing but try to reach you since you flew off with him, lass. I’ve never had the pleasure of even meeting your lovely friend,” he says, extending his hand toward Olivia as though they’ve just been introduced. The Captain gives a roguish grin, but Olivia flinches away, her eyes wary.

“Then your crew did it,” I said. “Which amounts to the same thing. She could have died out there.”

The Captain goes very still and turns to me. “My crew has done nothing save work night and day making sail to rescue you. I’ve no idea what you’re on about.”

“But Olivia—”

“I’m not here for Olivia,” he snaps. “I’m here for you.”

I blink at the resolve in his tone, speechless for a moment. And then my thoughts turn darker as I remember everything Pan told me about how the Captain survives in this world. “Why me?”

But the Captain doesn’t react the way I expect.

“I—” He runs his gloved hand through his hair, mussing it so a dark lock falls over his forehead. Then he looks up at me, and his expression is bunched with confusion “You left,” he says simply, as though he’s still trying to understand how or why it happened.

“Of course I left!” I back away from him again. “It’s not bad enough you feed kids to sea monsters, but you let the Dark One kill that boy,” I say, my voice rising. “And then you took his life.”

I see the moment when he understands what I’m referring to. His brows draw together, and his whole expression goes serious as he stalks toward me. “It was the Dark One that took his life,” he says, grabbing my wrist and pulling me toward him with a sure tug.

I try to jerk away, but I can’t escape. “I saw everything that night, Captain. I know exactly what you did. I know why you did it, and I know there was part of you that enjoyed it,” I say, thinking of the look of horror and rapture on his face as he had taken that glowing thread.

“You know nothing,” he says, jerking me closer yet, until I’m forced to tilt my head back to look up at him.

“I know enough,” I say, refusing to back down.