Unhooked(61)

“I don’t know how,” I whisper.

He frowns softly, as though considering the problem. “This island is of the Queen, and if you are of the Queen as Fiona believes, you’ll be able to speak to it,” he tells me softly. “You’ve only to desire it, lass.”

Like it’s that easy. But I shake off my frustration and press my hands against the cool rock that separates me from Will and the Captain. Closing my eyes, I concentrate on the pulse of the island, hoping I will again feel that flare of warmth. But no matter how hard I try, nothing happens.

“It’s not working,” I tell them.

When I open my eyes, the Captain is rubbing at his bruised chin and considering me. “I’d say you’re not wanting it badly enough, lass.”

“Of course I want it,” I snap.

“No. You don’t,” he says, ignoring my spike of temper. “You may say that you want us free, but you don’t really mean it. Not completely.”

“Figures,” Will mutters behind him, shifting uneasily.

But I do want him free, and I peer through the opening to tell him, when he speaks again.

“You know you need to free us. Part of you may even want to. But here”—he reaches through the narrow opening and brushes my hair back from my eyes before he taps gently at my temple—“here, you worry you’re making another wrong choice. You worry I’ll be angry. Or perhaps you worry I’ll go back on my word and take your life. Perhaps you worry you’re not enough.”

I start to deny it, but the warmth of his fingers sizzles along my skin as he traces down my cheeks, my neck, heating me in places far beyond the reach of his touch. I step closer to the rock that separates us, leaning into the comforting warmth of his hand. “I don’t know how,” I whisper, the overwhelming ache of that defeat shattering the last of my resolve. Because he’s right. I do worry that I’m not enough to do this.

“You don’t have to know. You just have to want.”

“I do,” I plead.

“You must want it with the whole of your being, Gwendolyn. This island is of the Fey, and the Fey live and breathe desire. It creates them, sustains them. But in its purest form, desire has no thought of fear or misgiving. Neither can you.”

He’s so close to the bars that I have to angle my head up to look into his eyes. Even with the jagged rock between us, I can feel the warmth of his body, the gentle brush of his breath as he speaks. My heart beats unevenly in my chest.

“You can only want,” he whispers, his voice soft and tempting. He is so close that I can smell the familiar spice of clove, the crispness of the sea air that not even the sweat and grime of battle can overpower, and I do want. Unaccountably, what I want is him.

“You can do this, lass. You stood toe-to-toe with me time and again, and never once flinched. You stepped in front of a madman, your back straight and your shoulders squared against the devil himself as you plead for my life.” Then he lowers his voice, and what he says next is only for me. “You’re more than enough, Gwendolyn.”

And in that instant, I believe him. My fears fade away, and all my doubts are suspended, because I want. And what I want is nothing more than to feel his body against mine. So I can know what it would be like to put to rest, once and for all, the simmering tension that always seems to boil over between us.

And the moment I let myself admit that desire, the moment I lose my hold on propriety and logic and self-preservation and fear, the stone goes hot beneath my hands. A pain, alive and sharp, shoots up my arm. Before I can pull back, the stone between us disappears, and I tumble into his arms.





His brother was not looking at him, but into the field before them. “Run,” his brother commanded, “and keep running until we’re out of this, understand?” The boy nodded, unable to find words. “Don’t stop, no matter what happens.”

The boy understood then what his brother intended. Suddenly. Fiercely. “I won’t leave you,” the boy said—an unbreakable oath. . . .





Chapter 27


I LAND AGAINST THE CAPTAIN’S chest with a thump, and the unexpectedness of his body against mine—the heat and strength of him—has me scrambling away. The corner of his mouth tilts, just a bit, but then he turns from me, all business once again.

I wrap my arms around myself and rub at an ache that throbs near my shoulder. I feel suddenly cold and uneasy. The rocky bars that were between us are completely gone. I don’t understand what happened, but I can’t deny the result—I did this. I made them disappear, and that knowledge settles uneasily into the hollow space in my chest.

The Captain isn’t paying any attention to my own personal identity crisis, though. Relief washes over his face when he sees the steel hand and, turning his back to me, he has his shirt off and the arm reattached in a matter of seconds. Miraculously, the cold dead metal springs to life, the fist clenching and opening as a smile of satisfaction lights his face.

“Come,” he says as he pulls his shirt back over his bruised chest. “We’ve not time to be wasting.”

Led by the dimming orb Fiona left us, we make our way carefully through the dark tunnel. The Captain seems to know the way, but the tunnel is endless. Beyond the halo of its swiftly waning light, I can hear the rustling of the Dark Ones in the distance.