In The Arms Of My Pirate

Savior or Sinner?

Charles watched that Palmer woman closely. A wave of panic crossed through her body, then anger.

"I'm not a woman. My name is Octavian Palmer—"

"Don't," Charles said, settling his back against the bank of sand, safely hidden behind the clumps of salt grass. "Any doubts I may have had were resolved by her," he said, gesturing with his chin toward the place where the ghost had vanished.

The Palmer woman's eyes widened and her shoulders sagged. "How... How long have you known?"

"Since the moment we met," Charles said, remembering the wild, feverish way the woman had fought against the pirate crew.

"You saw my chest bindings," she said, her voice darkening.

He nodded. The moment he had pulled her by the front of her shirt, he had seen the bindings wrapped tightly around her chest to disguise her figure.

"The crew--?"

"If the crew knew," Charles interrupted, a wave of suppressed memories washing over his mind. "You would already have suffered a fate worse than death."

The Palmer woman wrapped her arms around her knees. Whether it was for warmth or comfort, Charles couldn't guess.

"What will you do to me?" she whispered.

Charles glanced at her. Those childish lips were set in a firm line, a fiery defiance glowing in her brown eyes. She was terrified.

"Keep you alive."

"Why?"

Charles opened his mouth, but paused, the words hanging heavy in his throat. He dug his fingers into the loose sand, letting the grains slide between his skin. "You are the only clue I have about my sisters," he said, voice soft as he watched the pale sand shift around his fingers.

How easily life and hope seemed to slip through his grasp, he thought bitterly.

"Will you harm me?" she challenged.

Charles snorted. He had to admire her defiance in the face of such a threat.

"Get some sleep, Racoon," he said, tugging the cherry-handled knife from his waistband. He tossed it to her.

She caught it by the handle. Her fingers tightened around the dark red wood, her gaze flitting from it to him.

"You're safe enough for tonight," Charles continued, settling deeper into the sand bank and closing his eyes.

"You dare to sleep while I have a knife in my hand?" she asked.

Had it been anyone else, the tone in her voice would have made him reconsider. But Charles didn't fear her. He couldn't.

The thought of her made his heart soften, and that was far more dangerous to a pirate captain than any blade.

"I'm the only one standing between you and the crew," he said, eyes still closed. "I'm sure you'll choose wisely."

He must have been right, because the Palmer woman fell silent long enough for Charles to drift off to sleep, his dreams haunted by the Ghost of Hatteras.

***
Octavia watched the captain sleep, the knife gripped tightly in her fist.

He knows, she thought, her mind racing. If he knows... he could give me up to the crew at any moment.

Then another thought chilled her bones. Is he keeping me for himself?

She gritted her teeth and raised the dagger over his chest.