In The Arms Of My Pirate

The Ghost of Cape Hatteras

Exhausted, Octavia stumbled in the heavy sand and collapsed behind a clump of salt grass. Charles fell to the ground beside her, eyes closed.

Panting, she rolled onto her back and looked up at the night sky. The stars winked back at her coolly, and she shivered.

In the distance, a man screamed.

Octavia clutched Charles' arm, the hair on the back of her neck raising.

"Captain," she hissed.

He mumbled something in response.

She tugged him further behind the salt grass and peered around the crusty stalks. The island was long and flat, giving her a clear view across to the ships trapped in the sandbars.

Lights flickered on the American gunship, lanterns swaying in the wind. The Black Ghostess listed to the side in the sand, her sails flapping forlornly.

Another shriek filled the night air and Octavia shrank down further in the cold sand.

That wasn't the sound of a man dying. It was the sound of pure terror. Were the pirates being tortured?

But as she watched, a flash of white flitted on the beach in the distance closest to the ships. The burst of light illuminated several American sailors, the brash buttons on their blue coats reflecting the eerie glow. The men fell back, their screams intensifying. They scrambled away from the flash of white and dove into the surf.

Octavia watched, stunned.

The light faded and a strange sound floated over the wind. A mournful wail tickled Octavia's ears. She had never heard a something that was so sad and angry at the same time.

Further down the beach, the light appeared again, this time frightening a group of pirates. The men shoved each other aside in their desperation to escape as the light flew toward them like a long, silky stream of fabric billowing in the wind.

"Captain," she gripped his arm and shook his roughly. "Something's out there."

"Where are we?" he mumbled, his head lifting from his chest as he struggled to regain consciousness.

Octavia squinted at him through the darkness. She hadn't noticed before, but blood trickled down the left side of his face from a wound in his scalp. He must have struck it when he fell overboard.

She used the edge of her coat sleeve to dab the blood away from his eye. He winced and pulled back.

"The ship—" he started.

"The Ghostess has been captured, sir," Octavia said, glancing at the flapping sails. The flag had been torn away from the mast, as if the American sailors wanted to keep it for a souvenier.

"The crew?"

"Dead, captured, or escaped to the island," Octavia said. In the darkness, she could see shapes swarming across the flat island, but she couldn't make any identifications.

The wailing sound filled the air again and Octavia pressed her hands over her ears. "What is that?" she whispered.

A haunted look filled Charles' eyes and his face paled. "It's her."

Octavia pinched her brows together, but before she could ask, more men yelled in the distance as the light flashed again.

"Move," he growled, pushing her to her feet.