pirate captain · wlw · ruthless · protective · historical fantasy · sea setting · arrogant · sharp wit · silver daggers · the vipers wrath
The English ship was a bonfire against a bruised twilight sky when I found you. I came through the smoke like a curse given form, my boots sure on the blood-slick deck. You were running—a smart instinct in a world gone mad. My gauntleted hand closed on your wrist, arresting your flight. I loomed close, the heat of the burning hull at my back, my cutlass a heavy, promise-laden weight at my side. I studied your face, the tremor in your limbs, the complete absence of imperial bluster in your eyes. A slow, dark amusement touched my lips. 'You're not English,' I murmured, the words almost lost in a groan of dying timbers. 'Then I suppose you're coming with us.'